“So where’s your brother?” Antonio said.
Esteban finished carefully filling a corn tortilla with chunks of meat.
“Miguel prefers to fuck his whores and consume our product more than he cares about dinero. I envy you two,” he said, raising his steak knife and pointing it at Antonio and then Christopher.
“Bad blood ruins things,” Esteban continued. He took a drink of wine. “But we’re not here to discuss Miguel. I’m here to discuss a peace treaty so we can form new borders that will ensure a bright future for both our organizations.”
His sharp eyes fell on Lino, the captain his man had tried to kill the day the nuke went off in Sacramento.
Lino held his gaze. Antonio had brought him for a reason: to show that bad blood could be forgiven. Every decision he made was careful and deliberate—every word he spoke, every order he gave. That was how you became a king at the end of the world.
And now he knew why Esteban had asked him to come here. The Vega organization was suffering from a rift that threatened to split their drug empire in two. Esteban knew that Antonio would move in at the slightest sign of weakness, and he wanted to make a deal before Miguel went completely off the reservation.
That made Mariana even more important.
Antonio ate in silence, feeling out his enemy while dining at his table. And Esteban seemed to be doing the same.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Esteban said. “That the reason I called you here is to make peace because of my brother.”
He traced his fork back and forth like a symphony conductor. “Not the case.”
Esteban took another bite of food, chewed, and swallowed. He was every bit as calculating as Antonio.
“Make no mistake. This does not mean Miguel and I aren’t working together,” Esteban said. “Nothing changes. We’re stronger than ever.”
Antonio continued to eat. He wasn’t really hungry, but he didn’t want to show disrespect right when things were going his way.
“Shall we discuss the borders, then?” Antonio asked.
Esteban set his silverware down and nodded. The staff came around and cleared the plates. Christopher took a map from his suit pocket and spread it on the table.
Negro and Esteban both stood to get a better look.
The map of central Los Angeles was divided into the four zones controlled by the Morettis, Vegas, Nevskys, and everyone else—mostly Bloods, and a few smaller gangs that had managed to avoid extinction.
But there were several disputed areas in Central Los Angeles that Antonio wanted. Streets his soldiers had fought Vega sicarios and bled for over the past five years.
If Esteban wanted peace, Antonio would use it to his advantage.
“I want these areas,” Antonio said.
Esteban studied the map. “Then I want these blocks south of the Four Diamonds.”
“Hell no,” Christopher said out of turn.
Antonio calmly shook his head at Esteban. “You can have the piers at Long Beach.”
Esteban laughed. “Nevsky territory.”
“Not for long,” Antonio said.
Negro spoke in Spanish to his uncle.
Everyone knew that the piers in Long Beach were dying real estate, but Esteban had to know he wasn’t going to get any territory around the Four Diamonds.
“It’s a deal—if you take care of the Nevskys,” Esteban said.
“We will take care of them,” Antonio said. He could feel his brother looking at him, but this was part of his plan. Taking care of the Nevskys didn’t mean he would give Esteban the new territory.
“I will pull my men back from the areas on the map,” Esteban said, “and once the Nevskys and the cucaracha gangs are gone, we will meet again, perhaps at your table.” He stretched out his hand.
Antonio held back. “How can we trust that your brother will respect these new borders?”
Esteban used a spoon to scoop up salsa verde still on the table. “Because if he doesn’t, I will put him in a barrel of acid.” He tilted the spoon, pouring the green liquid back into the dish. “Perhaps I will do that to Eduardo Nina someday too, like I did to his former patrón.”
Antonio hadn’t forgotten that his supplier and Esteban were enemies, dating back to the cartel wars before the Second Civil War, but he kept tight lipped, not wanting to derail their new deal. Instead, he reached out and again shook the hand of his enemy. Then they sat back down, and one of the lovely housekeepers poured them more wine.
“Make no mistake, we sit here as friends, but once you leave this house and head back to yours, we will again become enemies if the barriers on this map are crossed.” Esteban turned his gaze to Lino. “I’m sure our friend here remembers how I deal with my enemies.”
Lino didn’t take the bait.
“And you should also make no mistake,” Antonio said. “If you betray me, I will send you to hell with the rest of the narcos whose coyote I have become by helping them cross to the other side.”
Esteban hesitated for a few seconds. Then he folded his hands together. “I’m glad we got that out of the way. Now, who’s ready for dessert?”
He snapped his fingers, and a servant opened a door across the room. The click of high heels echoed in the living room as a dozen Latinas in short, tight dresses walked in and stood side by side.
Antonio had seen plenty of sex slaves in his day. His family continued to run its own lucrative operation, but he preferred not to see them.
He rose from his chair, wiping his lips on a napkin. “Thanks, but I have a wife to get home to,” he said.
Esteban shrugged. “To each his own.” He held up his hands and said, “How about some flan, then? Elsa made a batch that is glorioso.”
She smiled and started off for the kitchen, but Antonio politely declined.
“I don’t like flan, but thank you for a pleasant evening,” he said.
Esteban and Negro both nodded.
“Follow me, por favor,” Elsa said.
She escorted the Morettis toward the door and smiled politely as they left.
Antonio looked over his shoulder halfway down the stone path. Negro winked at him and gave his dimpled grin, but Esteban wasn’t smiling anymore.
Something told Antonio this “peace” wasn’t going to last very long, and that was exactly the point. He was just biding his time before he could finish off the Vega family once and for all.
* * *
The first thing Vinny Moretti did every morning when he wasn’t at home was smoke a cigarette. With one eye open, he fumbled for the pack. Careful not to wake up his girlfriend, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and took the pack to the window.
He didn’t believe a damn word Esteban and Negro had said in the meeting, but they probably didn’t believe a damn word his uncle or his father had said, either.
Vinny pulled back the ratty drapes. A dark cloud was rolling in from the west, threatening the city with yet another dust storm.
The solar panels on the rooftops across the street were already retracting into their protective cases, and people were rushing to cover their crops with plastic tarps before the toxic dust could kill their plants.
“What the hell, Vin?”
Adriana Napoli, his girlfriend of two years, rolled over to shield her eyes from the glow, exposing her naked back and the dragon tattoo climbing up her spine.
“Sorry,” he said, closing the drapes a bit.
He lit a cigarette and enjoyed the view. Blocks of concrete floors rose across the skyline. Metal mezzanines and balconies of the upper floors were already filling with workers wearing masks and goggles to protect their lungs and eyes.
He leaned to the side for a better view.
Being seen in the slums of central Los Angeles was a risk. Several Moretti enemies were in this area, though most were low-level gangbangers who had survived the violence by keeping a low profile. Guys like Reggie Harper and his cousin, Lil Snipes.
Vinny still couldn’t believe Lil S
nipes had survived. He was lucky his uncle hadn’t finished him off, but sitting in a chair unable to use his cock ever again was enough punishment for any man. Worse than death, some might say.
Taking a drag off the cigarette, Vinny opened the drapes again and blew the smoke outside.
This was the most densely populated area in the entire country. He couldn’t see it, but the Goldilocks Zone, formerly Hollywood, was only a few miles away. Because why not build the Las Vegas of LA just outside the ghettos?
The zone was now blocks of clubs, high-end restaurants, and brothels for the city’s one-percenters. Places where you could order tender Kobe steak, melt-in-your-mouth toro sashimi shipped from Japan, a fifteen-thousand-dollar bottle of Armand de Brignac Brut Gold champagne, or a woman from any corner of the world. Or a guy, if that was your thing.
The Golden Oyster, a casino his uncle had built eight years ago, was located in the strip of expensive clubs and eateries. Most of its slot machines and card tables had come from the Commerce Hotel.
Now the Oyster was the most famous casino in all California. It was also where he had met Adriana. He loved the all-nighters out there, but with age and advancement came responsibility, and he rarely visited the area now.
“Vin, shut those,” she grumbled, flipping back over, so he could now see the flower tattoos just above her breasts.
He turned back to the window for one more glimpse. Gazing out over the real world was something he still loved to do but couldn’t at the Moretti compound.
This was real life: the rusted cars, the people up at the ass crack of dawn to make a living, the kids playing soccer in the streets, the smells of ethnic cooking. This was the real world.
The people walking in the streets were slaves to more than the poison running in their veins. They were slaves to the entire corrupt system that ruled Los Angeles—a system that his family helped run.
Last night after the meeting, he had come here instead of going home to his wife, using work as an excuse. He was doing a lot of that lately.
Like a lot of people, he and Carmen had gotten married too young, at a time when he thought more with his dick than his brain. How was he supposed to know that Carmen would break his balls and complain about every damn thing? Nothing he ever did would be good enough for her.
“Vin, come on, shut those!” Adriana said. There was annoyance in her voice, sure, but nothing like the anger and abuse that his wife heaped on him.
He pulled the drapes partly closed and took another drag of his cigarette.
“What time is it?” Adriana moaned, one hand on her head.
“Time to hustle.” In his reality, it was always time to hustle. He was always grinding, day in and day out, and would keep doing it until his uncle came through on his promise and made him captain of his own operation.
He was sick of being a grunt and handling shipments. He wanted to be in charge of people and property, not schedules. He had thought that after securing the deal with Eduardo Nina, he was going to be a captain and Doberman would be made. But neither of those things had happened.
Adriana sat up in bed, the silk sheets pulled up just below the flower tattoos. She watched while he dressed.
“When do I get to see you again?” she asked.
He shrugged.
“Vin, when’s the last time we had dinner together?”
“I don’t know baby, but I’m going to try and arrange that soon.” Not exactly a lie, but arranging dinner was not easy. If Carmen found out about Adriana, or if, God forbid, any of his enemies . . .
You can’t let that happen. You have to be careful.
She let out a sigh. “You know all I want is you. I don’t care about going out. We can eat here, for all I care. As long as I’m with you.”
“I know. I’ll make it happen soon, I promise.” Vinny pulled on the ripped hoodie he used as a disguise when he came here.
“That’s sexy,” Adriana said.
He tightened his belt and then walked over to kiss her, admiring her light-brown skin in the dim first light. The other reason this could never be anything serious. Adriana was part Italian, but her mother had been black, and being with her would be a serious breach of Moretti tradition—a stupid and racist tradition, but a tradition nonetheless.
But it wasn’t her complexion that distinguished Adriana from his wife or any of his other girlfriends in the past. She didn’t care about the diamonds or the designer handbags. She loved him for the man he was, even when he didn’t love the man he was.
He kissed her on the lips, and her long fake nails pressed gently into his neck.
“Stay a bit longer,” she said. “We can have round . . .”
“Three,” he reminded her. “Sorry, baby, I’ve got to run.”
She gave him a puppy-dog look, and he considered staying. But that would just make him want to leave his wife even more.
“Sorry. Really, I got a long day ahead of me with my cousin.” He slipped into his tennis shoes.
“When are you going to make captain? Haven’t you earned it?”
“Workin’ on it,” he said, mumbling with a second cigarette between his lips. He had a plan to find the Saints, and it started with the port.
They had plenty of people there in their pocketbook, and one of them would help lead them to the ghosts terrorizing the Moretti organization.
A loud knock came on the door, and he reached for his pistol.
Adriana jumped out of the bed.
“You expectin’ someone?” he whispered.
She shook her head.
Vinny motioned for her to stay back as he crept to the door. Squealing tires on the street outside the window stopped him in mid stride.
Shouts followed.
Not even eight in the morning, and someone was already pissed off.
“Who is it?” he asked.
A rough voice replied. “Open up, Vin.”
Vinny checked the peephole to confirm that the voice belonged to his father. He opened the door, but stood in the way to keep Christopher from coming inside. “Whoa, take it easy, please,” Vinny said.
“This fucking place smells like piss,” Christopher said.
Vinny moved to block his view of Adriana, who was in the other room.
“You really think coming here is smart?” Christopher said, throwing up his hand. He hung back slightly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
The anger in his voice surprised Vinny. Something had to be wrong.
“The Goomah is coming early,” Christopher said.
“Oh shit, how come no one—”
“Check your phone.”
Vinny looked at the couch, where he had left it and not looked at it since last night.
“Fucking will get you killed,” Christopher said. “You make mistakes when you lust over a woman.”
Vinny heard breathing and stepped out to see a tall, muscular man with blacked-out tattoo sleeves and a scar across his face.
Doberman, you son of a bitch.
Doberman was his best friend, but selling Vinny out wasn’t cool.
“Sorry, bro,” Doberman said as if he could read Vinny’s thoughts. “I can’t lie to your dad.”
“I didn’t need him to show me this shithole,” Christopher said. “Meet us outside. We’ve got a new task for you that involves your cousin, after we get the shipment secured.”
“What task?” Vinny asked.
“You get to play babysitter.” Christopher turned away from the open door and began walking back down the hall, then stopped and turned slightly. “Oh, and tell that sweet piece of ass this is the last time you’re going to see her.”
Vinny clenched his jaw.
“Dude, I’m sorry,” Doberman said after Christopher had rounded the corner.
“I’ll be outside in a few,” Vinny said.
He closed the door and looked at Adriana.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“No one . . .”
“Vin?”
“Trouble,” he admitted. “My family knows where you live now.”
“So what?”
Vinny shook his head and grabbed his backpack. “You don’t get it, do you?”
He hadn’t told Adriana many details about his job, but she had to know his family would never approve of her.
She walked over and wrapped her arms around him from behind, her skin warm on his. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her what his father had ordered.
“Be careful out there today.” She kissed him on his cheek and then retreated to her closet to look for something to wear to her job at the Golden Oyster.
She pulled out the red dress he had bought for her. “I’ve been saving this for a night with you.”
He forced a smile and grabbed the door handle, his back partially to her.
“Wait,” she said.
“Yeah?”
Adriana’s cheeks flushed. “I love you, Vin.”
Vinny turned to the woman he should have married.
“I love you too.”
-5-
Camilla tried to ignore the stares on the bus. She swallowed nervously when the driver stopped outside Staples Center to pick up a group of women and teenagers. Their white uniforms were stained with blood from working in the factory where the city raised and processed hundreds of thousands of chickens.
She wanted to hide in the shadows from the gazes of these hardworking people. Everyone on the bus was poor, judging by their clothes, exhausted faces, and body odor. Some were probably getting off their second shift of the day, still unable to make ends meet.
And here she was, dressed like a narco wife . . . or a puta.
Camilla hated getting dressed up. She couldn’t think of many things worse than squeezing into a tight sequined dress that required a strapless bra and thong underwear that didn’t show through the snug, sheer fabric.
Tonight, she had done both, taking two hours to carefully apply foundation, jet-black liquid eyeliner, fake eyelashes, and merlot-colored lipstick.
She had cursed up a storm as she crammed her feet into three-inch stilettos and clipped in the twelve-inch hair extensions. But God damn did she clean up well!
She could feel it in the gazes from men twice her age and from the younger men who turned as she got off the bus and sauntered toward the Catalina rooftop bar.
Sons of War 3: Sinners Page 7