by LP Lovell
“Uh, sure. Thank you,” I say quietly, nervously tucking my hair behind my ear.
He orders me a glass of wine as well as a scotch for himself. “What brings such a pretty girl here alone?” he asks.
Steeling myself, I glance at him. He could be handsome. If I were a normal woman without a tainted view of the world, I’d probably be sucked in by his face; the distinguished edge to his demeanor, and the way he oozes confidence and power. But I’m not. I know well what men like him are capable of. Those dark eyes flick over my face, and I force a smile on my lips.
“I just stopped in for a drink before I head home.” I drop my eyes to his chest before lifting them back to his face in a slow show. I can do this. “But maybe I’ll stay a while.”
He smirks, and the bartender slides another glass of wine in front of me. “Good. My name is Yani, and yours?”
“Anna,” I respond.
A slow smile curves his full lips before he takes my hand, brushing a kiss over the back of it. “It’s very nice to meet you, Anna.”
I inhale a shaky breath. This man condones the torturing of innocent children and women. This man is not what he seems. I just have to remember that, and I can do this.
3
Anna
I follow Yani out of the bar, feeling the heavy weight of his palm on my back as we walk towards the elevator. There’s a ping before the doors slide open and we step inside. Luckily there are people in here, and I’m able to easily keep my distance from him. As soon as the doors open on his floor, he’s pulling me out and along the corridor with a certain urgency I recognize all to well. He’s a man who wants something…me.
He opens the door to a hotel room, and with each tiny movement, the tension in my muscles ratchets. I glance down the corridor, hoping to see Una magically pop up, but she’s nowhere to be seen. What do I do? I know exactly what will happen when I step through that door. Bile rises up my throat, and I shiver as a cool sweat clings to my skin.
The heavy click of the door handle descending ricochets around my skull before his fingers are wrapping around my wrist and I’m dragged inside the dark room. My back hits a wall before his warm breath assaults my neck, followed by his lips. I freefall straight into an abyss. It happens so fast that I barely have time to register the descent into utter blackness. My mind checks out until I can barely feel his lips on my skin. I fight back to the surface, forcing myself to be present, not to be a victim. Placing my hands on his chest, I push him back slightly.
“Don’t get shy on me now,” he says, and then he’s right there again, crushing his body against mine. His hand fists in my hair before his lips slam over mine. I’m so shocked that for a moment, I just freeze. He tries to force his tongue inside my mouth, but then he stills, his entire body going rigid before he pulls back. I can just make out his wide eyes in the darkness, and then he coughs, and something wet and warm hits my chest.
Suddenly the room illuminates, and I’m left facing Yani, the blade of a knife now protruding through the front of his throat. Blood trickles from his lips, and his wide, unseeing eyes are focused on me before he drops to the floor with a thud. Una stands in his place, her tiny frame covered in tight black clothing. Bending down, she yanks her blade from Yani’s neck and rolls him onto his back before whispering something. And then she kisses his forehead. What the hell? When she stands up, the man is left with a bright red lipstick mark on his skin.
She wipes the blade over her thigh, the black material instantly soaking up the blood. “You might want to go and clean up.” I follow her gaze to the blood spatter coating my chest and trickling between my breasts. My hand trembles as I lift it, trying to wipe away the crimson liquid. “The bathroom is there.” She takes my shoulders, steering me toward the door. It opens in front of me, and Sasha walks out, clutching his arm, which is hanging at a strange angle. He jerks his chin at me, his expression devoid of…well, anything. When I step into the bathroom, I see a pile of bodies in the shower cubicle, at least four that I can make out.
“Who are they?” I ask.
Sasha positions himself and slams his shoulder into the doorframe, clenching his teeth and hissing out a breath. “His Elite bodyguards,” he grates out, testing his arm as he gently moves it back and forth.
I notice the bruise blossoming over his cheek, and a couple of small cuts on his arms. “Are you okay?”
He frowns as though the question confuses him. Sasha is a soldier through and through; efficient, his only aim the next mission. Emotions are something he doesn’t seem to possess, and I fear him every bit as much as I pity him. He’s lost. Like a child without a parent. Una is all he has, and he clings to her, even if he is still one of the most lethal killers in the world. They understand each other. He’s more of a sibling to her than I ever will be.
“I am fine,” he says before turning away from me. I turn the tap on and hold my hands under the water, splashing it over my chest and trying to wash the blood away. Luckily the dress I’m wearing is black, but of course, it’s Una’s so it would be. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear anything else, and it does hide blood so well.
I glance at my reflection, and the girl staring back at me doesn’t look half as shaken as I feel. It’s not that Una killed that man. It’s not that there are several dead bodies tossed in the shower cubicle behind me…it’s that he kissed me. His lips were on mine, and that’s something that I’ve only ever willingly given Rafael. But I was here willingly wasn’t I? It was for a purpose. So why do I feel like I’ve betrayed him?
“Come on. We have to go,” Una says, appearing in the bathroom doorway. “You did well.” It’s small praise, but the most I’ve ever gotten from my ice queen of a sister. I just helped kill a man, a bad man, and that knowledge brings with it a sense of power, of rightness.
When I first came to New York, Una told me that in this world, there are the weak and the strong. The strong survive, and the weak die forgotten and inconsequential. We all make choices, and I think I just made mine. I want to be strong.
4
Rafael
The car tires bump over the rough pothole-filled streets, a fine cloud of dust trailing in its wake. The night is getting ready to give way to dawn, but evidence of its casualties lay everywhere. The skyline glows a subtle orange as parts of Juarez burn. As we round the corner, we approach one of the Sinaloa bars. Glass windows are shattered across the street along with several bodies. Bullets litter the ground like some kind of morbid decoration and blood pools across the dirty ground. This is my wrath. This is what Dominges unleashed when he ordered Maria killed. There was a time when I would have looked upon it with a degree of sadness, where I would have felt sorry for the people caught in the crossfire of a cartel war because there are always innocent casualties. Now, I see nothing but dead Sinaloa. I feel nothing but a sense of justice, a bloodlust temporarily quenched—until tomorrow night.
We pass by the scene, winding through the derelict roads until we reach an overpass. Carlos pulls the car to the side, and I get out, taking a cigar from my pocket. I place the cigar to my lips and light it, letting the smoke heat my lungs.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Carlos asks, his voice devoid of any kind of emotion or accusation.
“I’d say we owe the Sinaloa a debt. This might go some way to paying it.” Killing their men isn’t enough. They’re simply expendable cannon fodder for the higher-ranking guys. I need to hit them where it hurts and drive a reaction…
Carlos nods, folding his arms over his chest as he looks up towards the bridge above us. In the darkness, I can just make out the silhouettes of several figures. The sound of sobbing fills the night air, a symphony of fear that lifts my spirits because I want it. I crave it. Anyone linked to the Sinaloa is fair game, and their pain, their suffering; it’s like a rabid need driving my every waking moment.
“Drop them,” I call out, and the sobbing turns to screaming, blending with hysterical pleas. I squint into the darkness and then o
ne by one, the three women are thrown from the bridge, stopping short of hitting the road at my feet as they jerk on the length of rope. Limbs twitch and muscles tense as their necks snap. I’d usually at least feel something, but there’s nothing. Only mild satisfaction that the Sinaloa Lieutenants who love these women will suffer, that they will feel a fraction of the pain I feel over losing Maria; an innocent woman who only ever helped everyone around her. The Sinaloa have cost me everything because in losing Maria, I was forced to let go of Anna, and they cost Anna more than anyone should have to give, long before I even met her.
I’m fuelled by this constant rage, and it feels as though it will never be extinguished, not until their entire cartel is burning at my feet. I’ve never been a good man, but I once had some form of moral compass, a line I wouldn’t cross. Now…there are no such constraints, they’ve been consumed by my grief.
Every time I close my eyes I see Maria’s face, her unseeing eyes staring out of her severed head. It haunts me, mocking me and whispering of all the ways that I failed her, all the ways in which I’m weak. I’m Rafael D’Cruze. That never should have happened on my watch, in my city.
Carlos lights a cigarette and the scent of the smoke blends with my cigar smoke, catching on the cool night breeze. “Well, that’ll piss them off.”
“Good.” I toss my cigar to the ground and crush it under my shoe, sparing a last glance at the three bodies gently swaying under the bridge. If they love their women even half as much as I love Anna, then they’ll be coming after me with everything they’ve got, and I welcome it. I want them to rush at me, to make a mistake, but I have no doubt Dominges will rein his men in. I have no such strings holding me back. Carlos and Samuel are usually my voice of reason, but with Maria’s death, none of us have the inclination for mercy. The streets of Juarez are a bloodbath and we; the top of the Juarez cartel, are bathing in it, painting our faces ready for all-out war.
“Send the boys to the bar to pick up the money. And contact the Russian. We’re going to need to buy more guns.” Carlos nods and starts walking towards the car. “And Carlos…” He pauses, and I glance at the swaying corpses. “Now is the time to send your family away from Juarez.”
My rage is too blinding to consider repercussions and consequences at this point. I’d hate to see one of Carlos’ kids killed in the crossfire.
Carlos doubles over, retching to the side of me. My jaw clenches along with my fists as I stare at the scene in front of me. Several of my men have been nailed to the exterior wall of the bar, their bodies decorating the outside like morbid mannequins. The huge masonry nails protrude at jaunty angles from their arms and legs, making them look like giant voodoo dolls.
This particular bar is a good pick up point because it’s on the very outer edge of Juarez, in the desert. I sent my guys here days ago to pick up, and it seems they’ve been here ever since judging from the smell.
“We have a rat,” I say. There’s no other way the Sinaloa could have known this was a pickup point. They’ve hit the last three pickups. Dominges seems to be a step ahead of me at all times, and I don’t like it.
Samuel nods. “I’ll start digging, but I think we need to cut off.”
Carlos frowns at him. “We’re in the middle of a war.”
“I’m not fucking running,” I growl.
“It’s not running,” Sam snaps. “We’re all cut up about Maria, but Rafe, our guys are dropping like flies.” He gestures towards the bodies hanging from the wall.
My temper spikes and I step up to Samuel, pressing my chest to his. “Do you think you can do a better job of running things?”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course not, but you’re not thinking clearly. It’s like you’re just doing shit to aggravate Dominges.”
“Damn fucking straight,” Carlos snaps. “He killed Maria.”
“I’m aware!” Sam glares at him. “But we’re powerful because we’re smart. This shit.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder at the smoking carnage. “This is Dominges’ style. It’s not ours. We’re smarter, stronger, better because we think shit through and approach it rationally.” He’s right. Of course, he’s right, but I don’t want to hear it. At this stage, I just crave the blood and the death—the blind destruction “I want revenge just as much as you, but revenge means winning, not blindly hacking away at whoever happens to be there. We need Dominges, not his men.”
“We can’t get to him,” Carlos says.
“We can,” Sam looks at me. “Just not directly. Be smart, Rafe.”
I sigh and drag a hand through my hair. My rage is still right there, just simmering beneath the surface and waiting to bubble over. “What do you suggest?” I ask. Samuel has always been my right hand, the guy who tells me the shit no one else will. I wouldn’t have held onto the cartel without him.
“We step back. Just us and our closest men. Trust no one. Press him from all angles.”
I hate it. I hate everything about it, but he’s right. I need to pull back and re-group. I will not lose this fight because I acted rashly. That’s exactly what Dominges wants, and I know because it’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do. Only I can’t do it to him because his family have been moved. I’m left with pressing his men.
“Fine. We pull back. Temporarily.” I’m no coward, but I’m also not stupid. The definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again without a different result. Well, this back and forth between the Sinaloa and the Juarez cartel is insane. It requires a different approach, a more tactful one—a more intelligent one. And that is where I have always excelled. Not everything can be smashed with a hammer, but the Sinaloa will end up shattered. “And halt our cocaine distribution.”
“What?” Both Samuel and Carlos say at the same time.
I smirk. “You want smarter, well this is it.”
5
Anna
I gently rock Dante back and forth as he grizzles.
“Two minutes,” I say to him as I wait for his bottle to heat. He’s not patient when it comes to his evening milk.
When it’s ready, I take the bottle and the baby into the living room and sit on the sofa. He grasps at the bottle, and I tilt him against my arm, letting him have it. He goes silent instantly. George, one of Nero’s Dobermans, shadows my every move, staring obsessively at the baby. He’s like Dante’s own personal bodyguard. Reaching out, I pet his head, and he rests his chin on my knee.
“You’re good at that.” I look up and see Tommy, one of Nero’s guys step into the room. I like Tommy. He smiles more easily than the others, and I know he’s Una’s favorite. In a house full of assassins and mafia bosses, he’s a refreshing change.
I sometimes struggle with the intensity of this place, or rather the people in it. Rafael is a boss, and his guys are in the cartel, but that house always felt more like…a family. The guys…and Maria. My heart clenches painfully at the thought of the woman who I know was like a mother to all those boys. Rafe could never be described as soft, but he was for her. He would have done anything for her.
I miss them all. Rafe, Lucas, and even his surly brother, Carlos. I miss Maria, and I know that if anything, I’m the one who has it easy because I’m not there to see the empty kitchen absent of her warmth. Would it even be the same now? Would it still feel like a home when the beating heart of the place has been so mercilessly ripped out?
Tommy flashes me a small smile and heads into the office. He reminds me of Lucas. The innocent one, the one who has managed to keep his humanity amongst monsters. For a moment, loneliness creeps up on me. I miss my life, the only one I’ve ever had.
Taking my phone from my pocket, I open up the phone book and stare at the only four numbers there. Lucas, Nero, Rafael, and Una. My finger hovers over Rafael’s name for a second before pressing Lucas. Placing the phone to my ear, I listen to it ring several times before it finally cuts off.
“Hello?”
“Lucas. It’s me.” There’s a beat of silence.
“A
nna,” he says, his voice full of relief. “I was worried about you.”
“Don’t be. I’m safe with Una.”
“I wasn’t worried about that, just…that you might not be okay.”
I smile, fighting back the wave of conflicting emotions. “I miss you, Lucas.”
“I miss you too. It’s not the same around here without you.”
The urge to ask about Rafael is eating away at me. Is he okay? Has he killed Dominges yet? Does he miss me? I’m not sure I want to know the answers to any of these questions. “How is everyone?”
He hesitates. “As good as they can be.”
“It’s okay, Lucas. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“Anna,” he groans. “It’s not that. I just…we’re at war. You don’t need to hear about it.”
Of course not—because I’m weak and fragile. “It’s fine, Lucas. I uh, I have to go. I just wanted to hear a friendly voice.”
“I’m always here, Anna. And you’ll always be my best friend.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Thanks,” I whisper before I hang up.
Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I force the tears back and inhale a deep breath. That was a stupid idea. Hearing Lucas’ voice has made me feel even more homesick for a home I no longer have, but it re-affirms what I already knew; there’s no way I can handle talking to Rafael.
Picking Dante up, I clutch his now sleeping form to my chest and stand up. He stirs and fusses a little as I walk him up the stairs and place him in his cot. I take a seat in the rocking chair in the nursery and wait as he drifts to sleep again. George curls up on the floor in front of the cot, vigilant as always.