by AJ Adams
I've a nasty mind, so I recognised it right away. "He's setting the scene for a lawsuit."
"Yes." Persia grinned. "Thanks to you, I've been getting an excellent education. James is using it as a worked example of legal intimidation."
James would be all over that. She'd be safe under his care. "Listen to him, fresa. He's the best."
Persia smiled. "I'm learning lots. I feel like that shit hot lawyer woman in Law & Order."
"Watch out, corazón. Lawyers play in court. Players use the law for leverage and then blackmail or extort."
"Sounds like Colin," Persia sighed. "James says you're to tell me war stories about your legal battles. He says you've an inventive mind."
"Ay, fresa." I'd walk over broken glass to help her. Despite her upbeat tone, the pain lingered in her eyes. I put a hand in hers, asking gently, "Persia, about your family. How are you?"
"It kills me, Jorge. But I have to accept it."
"Pobrecita!" I swept her into a hug. "If I could change it, I would."
Her voice was muffled as she buried her face in my neck. "I'm glad I have you, Jorge. I feel like I've fallen down a black hole into a dark alternate universe."
She was right. It described my world perfectly. She shouldn't have been there. Persia deserved better.
She snuggled into my side. "Being with you keeps me sane."
If she needed me to get her out of this mess and back into the light, I'd be there for her. "Anything you need, just say."
"Like I said, dancing," Persia smiled. "I don't mean to sound like Kowalczyk but it's important to be seen out and about."
"It is?" I thought it over. "Not for me. Our associates can't be seen too much with us."
"You know your business people best but if you want Bubbles full, try to nurture public sympathy," Persia said firmly.
I hadn't considered that. Back home, everyone knows who owns what and the press understand they'll pay for bad reviews in blood. Theirs. In London, the rules were different.
Luckily, I had an expert on tap. "Persia, advise me. What do I do?"
"We go in alone, sit at the table, and look proud and kind of pouty sad." Persia had it down pat. "Just like all those agony stories in the Daily Fail."
"The who?"
"All the papers have nicknames," Persia grinned. "Anyway, we sit there long enough for the journos to take a few snaps. Then we dance because it'll make a nice picture."
"Any photo of you is guaranteed front page."
"Aww," Persia kissed me. "Afterwards, I'll go to the loo and gave the stringers an exclusive."
"You're kidding!"
"Newspapers pay money for candid shots and insider quotes," Persia explained. "I tell them we're just horrified, that you're a humble olive oil salesman at heart."
"What?"
"Sorry, that's Italian mafia," Persia joked. "Okay, I'll say you're a humble avocado salesman. But seriously, I just talk about how sweet you are."
It made no sense to me. "And that helps?"
"Trust me. They'll still show my bare bum to the world but they'll also reprint all the complaints on Twitter about the deepfakes and they'll hint Kowalczyk is to blame. They'll balance it with a report on how awesomely you treat me."
"Presumably then you'll lie."
Persia patted me lightly. "Come on, love. We've been over that."
She was generous to a fault. "But how does that help? They need to hear I'm not cartel."
"No, they won't believe that," Persia said. "This isn't about a clean sheet for business permits, Jorge. This is about being liked. And in London, we don't mind crooks as long as they're honest about what they are and kind to old ladies, kids and pets."
That was an eyeopener. "You sure?"
"Absolutely. That's how London's iconic criminals, the Kray brothers, stayed around so long. They were total bastards to their own people but old ladies could go about, knowing they were dead safe."
It was history I'd heard before but not considered. Before I could ask more, the doc came out.
"I have removed the drain." The eyes were as fiery as before. "He's healing well."
"Great! I'll give you a bonus!"
James was champing at the bit. "I'll be in the office first thing."
"No way!" I saw he was going to push. "Smith will be round tomorrow. If he sees you, he'll ask questions."
"Falling down the stairs isn't a crime," he countered.
"Funny," Persia observed. "It looked like a bullet wound to me."
James rolled his eyes. "What did I tell you about making sure you have grounds for plausible deniability?"
"There's only us," Persia shrugged. "Miranda is showing the doc out." She pushed home. "Jorge's right. If you're sensible now, you'll recover faster and better. Just like taking legal advice at the beginning of a case, not in the middle."
Her appeal worked. "Okay," James sighed. "I guess I can work from here for a day or two."
"Ay-yay-yay," I moaned. "I get backchat but the second Persia speaks, you roll over."
"Sorry, boss. But she's prettier than you."
"You're definitely mending."
After making sure the girl would follow the doc's orders, I walked Persia home so she could change into her clubbing gear. She let me watch her dress, so I was happily occupied as I watched her put on a flaming red blouse and sexy little black skirt.
It was a new experience for me, watching a woman dress. Watching her brush her hair, put on eyeliner and lipstick, was surprisingly intimate. I felt as if she was letting me see her secret self.
She stood in front of me, hipshot. "Like what you see?"
"Si, guapíssima!"
Her smile lit up the room. "Let's go cosy up to the press."
Walking into Bubbles, through the front door this time, escorted by Rovero and three of his best men, I knew Persia was right. There was a small crowd, and the atmosphere was tense. But the second we sat down and Persia gripped my hand over the table, looking beautifully sad, there was a palpable shift.
After we danced and Persia dived into the ladies for her impromptu press conference, the crowd's cheerful smiles made it clear she had me back on track. The next day, I wasn't surprised that the newspapers printed the exact articles Persia had predicted.
It burned me to see the disrespectful shit they talked about her but she kept me straight. "Soon I'll be misunderstood and they'll call each other out for hounding me."
"Picking their teeth out of the tarmac would do them good."
Persia just shrugged. "Focus on your own business, Jorge and let me run mine."
Which I couldn't argue with, especially as Kowalczyk was pushing back.
It started with him receiving an encrypted call. I ran it through the usual programmes and got nowhere. As our hackers were tied up with Texas, getting it decoded would take time.
"It's most likely his Polish drug lab," I told Paco and Lencho. "They may have some ex-military help."
"Think they'll send soldiers?" Lencho frowned.
"Unlikely. If he had those resources, he would have produced them by now."
"Product, then?" Paco suggested.
"That's my guess. Dragon will stop shipments from leaving Warsaw but if Kowalczyk contracts another supplier, he won't hinder them. He's a demon for sticking to the deal - and not one step further."
"He should have sourced product from another place days ago," Lencho pointed out.
"Yeah, but that's the king of London all over," I shrugged. "He thinks more about parties than business."
Talk about blinding pride! Later, we'd discover we'd missed the truth but at the time, we all sat and smiled, feeling superior.
"What's the plan, boss?" Lencho asked.
"We dig in, foster loyalty and wait."
"Loyalty among our new people," Paco nodded. "Yes, that's important."
Kowalczyk moved into a mansion in Mayfair a few hours later and immediately received a shipment sourced from China. By the next morning, his dealers went t
o work.
"They're offering two for one deals," Lencho moaned. "Our customers are deserting us."
"He can't keep it up for long," I predicted. "Let him burn through his money. We sit tight."
But it concerned me because Kowalczyk's cut price product was killing my trade. I reminded myself it wouldn't last, but it was unnerving to see our revenue stream shrink drastically. It also freaked our people: when dealers are hurting, everyone suffers, especially support staff.
"Pay the halcones and sicarios a bonus," I said to Paco and Lencho. "When Kowalczyk goes bust, prices will normalise and we'll make up for it."
I checked the books and was reassured. We were taking a hit but our regular businesses were bringing in a handsome profit. It was ironic really as I'd set them up to launder, not keep us afloat. We were okay for funds but I'd have to postpone taking over another slice, not because I was short of people but because I would have to pay even more bonuses to keep it.
It was nerve wrecking and only watching the accounts had me sticking to the plan. Sitting at my desk, checking my flowcharts of what might happen and what response would take care of it, made my gut roil. I'd not seen this coming.
My first instinct was to talk to James, but I hesitated. It wasn't just that my temper had shut him out. It also worried me that stress might affect his recovery. I didn't want him trying to run around and get that wound opened up again.
"Worried, love?" Persia appeared in the doorway, a sight for sore eyes in a steel blue dress that clung to every heavenly curve.
"No."
"Liar," she said cheerfully as she shut the door behind her. "Come on, Jorge. You've been twitchy for days."
She had my number, all right. I wanted to talk, and she'd been amazing about managing the press but I couldn't involve her. "It's nothing, fresa."
Persia's eye fell on my chart. "I see," she nodded. "Your takeover is delayed. Kowalczyk is undercutting you and taking over the market."
To use Persia's expression, that had me gawping. "How the hell did you know that?"
"Miranda gossips," she said cheerfully. "And the girls in Bubbles all chat in the loo."
I should have known.
"As for the takeover, it's common practice in fashion," Persia continued. "New labels are constantly shoving out established ones. Remember how Primark and Topshop undercut their high-street rivals?"
"I didn't see it coming." The confession was out.
"So you're not clairvoyant." Persia sat down with a business-like air. "Shit happens, Jorge. Let go of ego and emo and fix it."
Her casual acceptance was balm. "You're right, fresa."
"What can you do to fight back?" Persia mused. "In fashion, we drop our prices and compete or we raise them and establish brand differences, like paying extra for hand-stitching."
I was touched. "Corazón, you can't talk business with me."
"We're just talking principles," Persia pointed out. "James says you're the best and that you have a business degree from a fancy-schmancy university." She smiled angelically. "I need to learn how to deal when some tarty designer undercuts me and tries to starve me out. So, advise me, oh guru. What's the first move?"
She was irresistible. "You work out what resources you have and how long you can coast if the worst happens."
"Awesome." Persia took out a notebook. "Resources are more than money in the bank, right? It's also people. And stock, I guess. What else?"
It felt funny at first, but apart from enforcement which is brutal, selling product is just like any other business, so we worked through it, talking about branding, customer service, and all the things that make business tick over.
Before long, I was deep into it because Persia's questions opened my eyes to seeing new angles and her experiences at selling fashion were amazingly apt. I guess that when you come down to it, both product and fashion are leisure merchandise.
When she finally put her pen down, I had a clear picture of where I stood and what my options were. "I think we've covered it," she said happily. "It's not so bad, right? You can get to him by leveraging quality and speed of delivery."
"Yeah, it's the basics that work best. I guess I forgot," I confessed.
"That's my talent," Persia giggled. "I'm a basic bitch."
Looking at her, my feelings overwhelmed me. She was the perfect girl. Heart and brains married to beauty. Her loving care and determination to be on my side gave me hope. Maybe, just maybe, I had a chance.
"Persia," I started. "I was wondering -"
What might have been I'll never know because the office door burst open, revealing a white-faced Lencho.
My stomach was in my shoes before he even spoke. "Who's hurt?" I waited for the blow, praying it was an injury and not death.
Lencho gasped out his news, his voice rough with worry, "Jorge, it's Rovero. He's been knifed."
Chapter Twenty
Persia
"Persia, I have to go." Jorge tucked a gun in his waistband. "No matter what you hear, stay here. Promise, fresa." The need in him was irresistible. "I can't work if I'm worrying about you."
"Of course." I gave him a quick hug. "Be safe, love."
"Always." And he was gone.
The office was emptying, the staff chatting about their evening plans and making dates for after-hours drinks. I listened with half an ear, marvelling at the way Jorge kept his various activities separate. Bubbles was totally legit, as were the dozens of small businesses they owned. The staff knew the Zetas had a reputation, but they ignored it as they weren't involved. In fact, some were convinced it was just wild gossip.
I had no illusions but although I'd been at the sharp end, I wasn't running from it. Looking out over the Thames way below, I was in two minds. Jorge had a dark side, it was undeniable, but since he'd realised he'd been mistaken about me, I'd only seen his caring self.
As the river turned silver in the setting sun, I reflected on the changes the weeks had brought to my life. The tearing hole in my heart left by my brother's betrayal and family's rejection was there but his loving care dimmed the hurt.
By day, he surrounded me with guards who kept me safe. At night, he wrapped his body around me, his strong arms cradling me in fierce protection. Furthermore, he was determined to provide for my future too. Restoring the money Colin had stolen from me had given me financial security and freedom. Putting me in with James for a crash course in business law would protect me for life.
That was typical Jorge. He went all out, always. An implacable enemy and a rock to the people he loved.
Love. My breath caught and a flush of warmth consumed me. I leaned against the cool glass, taking in the rippling waves far below. I was in love with him. Dangerous, dark, loving, caring, twisted and sweet Jorge Santos, half devil, half angel.
"Rovero's okay." Jorge blasted into the office, jet eyes sparkling with relief. "The blade bounced off a rib so there was lots of gore but it's mostly surface damage."
"Thank God!" I hugged the lean, powerful body. "Was it Kowalczyk?"
"No. Two moped muggers," Jorge replied. "They were after his phone."
"Bastards. Knifing someone over a phone! What were they thinking?"
"They won't be doing it for a while," his hands were running up and down my back thoughtfully. "Rovero pulled one off his bike."
It didn't surprise me. The man was all wiry muscle, and he was whip fast. "Good, I hope he gave him a kicking."
"Hmm." Jorge was making sure I had plausible deniability.
It didn't take an Einstein to know the Zetas would beat the hell out of their captive. He'd have no option but to spill the beans on his mate. And with vengeful Jorge giving the orders, the driver would get his comeuppance soon.
As far as I was concerned, that was a happy ending. When Isa had her bag snatched in front of Debenhams a year earlier, the bloke had pulled her off her feet and dragged her along the street. She was bruised from head to toe for weeks. If the strap hadn't snapped, she might have died. The
police hadn't even bothered talking to her and so swift street justice sounded good.
I gave Jorge a big hug. "Give the buggers what-for, love."
He didn't answer, but the grin spoke volumes. "It's been a long day, let's go dancing and then have supper at the Savoy."
"Ooh, yes, please! Let me go put on my prettiest face and dress."
"Ay fresa, you're always beautiful."
Is it any wonder I fell for him? I'd never been treated with so much love in my life. Being with Jorge was like being wrapped in a rug in front of a roaring fire, with buttered toast and a foot rub thrown in.
That night was magical. We danced, ate the most heavenly stuffed mushrooms paired with an exquisite white wine and then danced some more. Afterwards, I floated home and drowned in his love.
Reality set back in next morning with the news that Colin had given Laura flipping Griffin from the Rampage an interview. In between boasting about his restaurant, he managed to hint I was a drug addict and not responsible for my actions.
Right after, my college sent me notice that I had passed my exams but that I'd have to create and present a collection to complete the course.
I went straight to Jorge. "I don't mind Colin mouthing off but the school is a problem."
He read the piece, his face darkening with fury. "Coño!"
"Yes, he says that those deepfakes ruined his restaurant as I was his public face."
"Hijo de puta!"
"Yeah, cheeky sod."
"You should let me shoot him," Jorge grumbled.
It was a comfort to see Jorge was steaming because I was flaming mad. "I thought I'd be nasty: I'll let him come for me, then hit him with evidence that he's dealing. It won't be hard to find customers who'll drop him in it."
"He'll have cut-outs," Jorge warned. "He'll blame the staff."
"It doesn't matter. He'll back off when he knows I'll ruin his pristine reputation."
Jorge grinned. "You're a quick learner, corazón."
"Hmm. I'd better get some dirt on him, though. Just in case." A part of me was horrified at myself. But then I decided I was better off kicking arse than crying. "Can you recommend a private detective, Jorge?"