He throws me a cocky grin. “I’m simply showing a platonic appreciation of her fine female form. I’d expect nothing less from the wife of my best friend.”
“And your boss…” I growl. “Eyeing her up is not permitted. She’s off-limits.”
“Wow.” He smirks. “Possessive much?”
We’ve never fallen out. Not once. Especially not over a woman. So, this wired reaction to his friendly teasing is completely out of character for me.
“She’s gotten to you.” Letterman slides me a knowing smile, almost bordering on sympathetic. “I’m guessing there’s more to this than the no sex thing?”
“Of course, there is,” Reno chimes in. “Didn’t the yacht give it away?”
“That’s a coincidence,” I say flatly.
Letterman’s forehead scrunches. “Fuck… yeah. Christ. Now it makes sense—you’re more than into her.”
It’s weird to hear him say it when I’ve hated the woman for years. Fleeing the Hennessy estate without saying goodbye or leaving a forwarding address was the ultimate betrayal. By the time our private jet had touched down in Colombia months later, the chances of bumping into her again became impossible. I forgot all about her—more or less.
“We had a watertight bond a couple of decades ago. It was stupid kid stuff. Nothing that means anything now. This is simply the Souzas getting cozy with the Sicilians. It’s tactics.”
“Right—tactics.” Letterman widens his eyes sarcastically.
“Once I'm done with her, she’ll end up in a billionaire's bunker on a nearby gated island with a team of guards watching over her day and night. That way, she’ll be safe, and we can continue doing what we do best.”
Letterman nods. “Sounds plausible. How do you think she’ll react to that?”
I half laugh. “I’m sure she’ll kick and scream for a while until she realizes it won’t make a difference. It’s the best plan. Just like my parents’ dysfunctional agreement.”
“Have you told your family yet?”
My gaze settles on the city beyond us. “I’ll call them tomorrow. It’s bad timing with Tommy’s situation. And to be honest, I’ve put off listening to the disappointment in Mama’s voice. She was cheated out of a wedding day for her favorite son.”
When Reno joins us at the window, I pass him the reefer next. He looks worn out. Then again, we all do. It’s been an intense few weeks and Tomás is still off-grid, the inconsiderate fucker. His second-in-command, our cousin Shane, assured Mama that he’s recovering from the gunshot wound that almost killed him a few weeks ago. However, I’m still pissed he’s gone dark and won’t return my calls.
First and foremost, I need to know he’s okay and happily balls deep in Carina. Then we have important business to discuss, like who assassinated our father. Initially, we had suspected Carlos Blanco, Papá’s old friend turned enemy, but something doesn't add up. Whispers from North Colombia tell us it wasn’t him. So, if not him, then who the fuck was it? At this point, I don't trust anyone anymore.
The lesser cartels’ goal is to eliminate the principal organization in Colombia—my family. In this world, the best way to deal with competition is to eliminate it. Guess we’re on their hit list for that reason alone. And now, everyone is a suspect.
I exhale a long sigh, enjoying the wisp of relaxation the marijuana brings to my tense muscles. “Have we got any new intel?”
“Feels like we’re running in circles.” Reno props his ass on the edge of the desk. “Nothing solid yet. A few of our guys were talking to rival coke handlers. They're low enough to the ground to pick up rumors. We’ll see what they have to say.”
The three of us fall silent. I seize the bottle back into my possession and take a much-needed glug. “I need to get fucked up.”
Letterman hooks his hand around my nape and butts our foreheads together. “There he is. I thought I’d lost you, parce. We’ll hit downtown Miami.” He grins.
Reno propels off the desk. “You don’t need to ask me twice.”
These guys know what makes me tick. An all-nighter will sort my head right out. I need to lose myself tonight and if that means fucking a hot señorita, then so be it.
“Give me half an hour. I’ll shower first,” I say over my shoulder, nearly out of the door, the bottle still in my hand.
It’s late afternoon. The sky is a deep salmon pink as the sun begins to set, its blushed rays streaming into my living room as I stroll through it. Climbing the steps two at a time, I stop halfway up the staircase and swallow another mouthful of whiskey, followed by a few more in quick succession.
For some reason, the liquor doesn't soothe the turbulence in my chest. Uneasiness rests on my shoulders, heavy and tense. From experience, this edginess brings danger.
Rather than head to the shower straight away, I go to the west-facing guest bedroom, expecting to find Sinéad in the walk-in closet where the maid had unpacked and organized all of her new outfits. My own closet is packed full, so affording her space elsewhere saves a compromise.
I secretly hope to find her stripped and bent over, except when I enter, all the clothes are neatly hung on racks and she’s nowhere to be seen. The hairs on my nape prickle. There’s no way she could have escaped. Not with all the guards patrolling the condo. And if she has, I’ll likely lose my fucking shit with her until she gets the message.
