I release a tired breath as I jump off the off the treadmill, grabbing a towel from a nearby table to wipe the sweat off my face and chest.
‘One hour on the dot at full speed. I’m impressed,’ Carlos whistles as he strides in, his eyes on the digital clock. ‘Your body is recovering well,’ he comments, grabbing a bottle of water and flinging it to me.
‘As well as possible, all things considered.”
The path to recovery had been grim—still is. You don’t get clean overnight, especially not after the drugs I’d been on. I’ve managed to recover my muscle mass but my stamina is still lagging behind.
‘How’s the craving? On a scale from one to ten?’
‘Eleven,’ I state honestly. ‘A thousand?’ I shrug when he gives me an odd look. ‘We both knew it wasn’t going to be a smooth journey.’
If anything, it’s still bumpy. The only improvement has been that I’ve managed to increase the time between my doses. Now I don’t need one daily—just every few days. Almost two years later, and I still haven’t managed to relinquish the hold it has on me.
‘I swear I don’t know what they put in that shit. I’ve never seen drugs like that, and I’ve been surrounded by dope my entire life.’
‘It puts fentanyl to shame,’ I give him a strained smile.
And it does. If anything, it puts most drugs to shame.
Prevalent in restricted circles, it’s mostly used in one particular industry—human slavery.
The drug inhibits free will, making one pliable to taking orders and ensuring that the self takes a back seat in favor of the master’s desires. Not only does it turn one into a human puppet, but it also ensures an insane dependency, creating an everlasting bond between slave and master. You live to obey, or you die a wretched death trying to beat the cravings. Been there, done that and wouldn’t recommend it.
Carlos’ men had tried to identify the compounds of the drug in an effort to help me beat my addiction, but they’d only managed to discover that it’s based on synthesized scopolamine in combination with a few other mysterious compounds.
Since we hadn’t been able to replicate the exact formula of the drug, we’d had to look for alternatives to help me slowly wean myself off it. A cocktail of known and unknown drugs later, and we succeeded in replicating a weaker but more chaotic version of it. And that is the only thing that keeps me afloat.
‘You think you can do it next week?’ he asks grimly, and I nod.
‘I’m ready.’ Or as ready as I’ll ever be.
We’d compiled a schedule with fixed dates when I would considerably lower my dosage. All in an effort to eventually get clean. And next week will probably be the worst so far since we’re limiting my dosage to only once a week. When the withdrawal will strike… I wouldn’t want to be around myself.
‘I told doc to be on standby and everyone is ready to help,” Carlos adds.
‘I’ll be a nightmare, won’t I?’ I attempt a joke, though he doesn’t laugh. But then, he never does. He’s always a surly motherfucker, but he’s the only one I trust. Without Carlos, I don’t think I would have managed to get to where I am. He’d been the first person I’d reached out to, and by some stroke of luck—or rather common enemy—we’d both struck a reluctant partnership that had turned into a full blown friendship.
We’d quickly realized that we had more in common than we’d thought, including bone deep betrayals and family issues that would give any normal person the chills.
‘We have an emergency meeting,’ he relays, his gaze distant.
‘How bad is it?’ I ask, knowing he wouldn’t have personally come to get me if it wasn’t urgent.
‘Worse than we thought,’ he sighs. ‘We need to regroup.’
I purse my lips at his pronouncement, quickly pulling a shirt over my head and following him to the conference room.
‘Gentlemen,’ Carlos greets them as he takes his seat at the head of the table.
I pull a chair next to him, aware how I look dressed in shorts and a sweaty shirt. But the others don’t seem to mind it too much. Not with how motley our entire crew is.
There are five people in the room, Carlos and me included. And it’s the only circle of people that both of us really trust.
To the right, Anita has her elbows on the table, an eyebrow raised as she regards Carlos expectantly. In her late twenties, she has a permanent scowl etched on her features, making her appear grumpy and unapproachable. She’s the most secretive of the bunch, and from what I’d gathered, she is on the run from the Venezuelan government. She’s a dissident through and through, made even more valuable by her expertise in military grade weaponry—and the state secrets she’d smuggled with her.
She’s definitely helped me get comfortable with all types of weapons.
For someone born and raised in the mob, you’d think I would already be a pro at it, but I’d tried to avoid getting involved in the unsavory part of the business as much as I could. Too bad, though. The more you want something, the less you have a chance of getting it. And I’d experienced that too many times.
Too. Damn. Many. Times.
My first wake-up call had been when I’d found myself locked in a cell, with a needle stuck in my arm, miles away from home and about to be put on an auction block.
No matter how much you want to stay neutral, in this life there’s no such thing as standing on the sidelines. You’re either in, or you’re out—in a body bag.
So I’d taken my lessons in stride, and in two short years I’d learned everything I should have learned in twenty—and more.
Anita had been a patient teacher as she’d dealt with my dimmed focus after a drug withdrawal, or my erratic self during a drug session. Yet I’d persevered, and in the short time we’d been acquainted she’d managed to get me in top shape with all types of weaponry.
Next to her, leaning back in his chair and with a straw in his mouth is Pancho—Panchito. Two years younger than me, he’s a computer whizz on the run from a Colombian cartel. His prowess with coding and creating all types of software had ensured his reputation soared across the Americas, and with it, his name has drawn the attention of various bounty hunters. After all, he had hacked into government files and is in possession of the names of a lot of corrupt officials.
On the other side of the table is Thomas—our resident MMA fighter. A thirty something year old wall of muscle, he’d been involved in illegal fighting since he was a lad, first in South London and then across the pond, becoming a celebrated fighter in Boston—where he’d also met Carlos. For all his success, though, he’d angered some pretty important people when he’d refused to lose an important fight to appease a VIP guest. His family had been killed in retaliation, and he’d subsequently become a wanted man.
Everyone at this table is a fugitive—an outlaw—one way or another. What we all have in common is the bounties on our heads—a combined twenty million between the five of us.
But we also have a common goal—revenge. And together, we’d decided to help each other pay back those who’d hurt and betrayed us in spades.
‘Is this meeting necessary? I was trying to fall asleep.’ Panchito sighs, massaging his temples. His eyes are completely bloodshot, and I have no doubt it’s been a few days since he’s last slept.
‘Ay, no te quejas, Panchito. Toma!” She whips a small container, throwing it towards him. ‘Drink this after the meeting and you’ll hit the pillow like a newborn,’ she winks at him.
He turns the container around, looking at it skeptically.
‘It’s just valerian, you dolt.’ She shakes her head at his suspicious gaze. ‘I’m not going to drug you and molest you in your sleep,’ she rolls her eyes dramatically.
‘As if I need to be asleep for you to do that,’ he grumbles, but I note the hint of a smile on his features.
‘Me?’ she cries out in outrage. ‘Me?’
‘I think he refers to your birthday when you got a little too handsy,’ I joke, immediately regretting my words when she turns her gaze towards me.
‘I did no such thing.’
‘You did too,’ Panchito purses his lips in amusement. ‘You pinched my ass and told everyone, and I quote,’ he pauses, coughing to adjust his voice to sound like Anita. ‘They don’t make them like this anymore.‘
‘You little shit,’ Anita jumps out of her seat, intent on tackling Panchito. Seeing the imminent danger, he ducks under the table.
Panchito might be a computer genius, but he’s not a fighter. And Anita could very well end him if she wanted to.
I keep my chuckle to myself, though, not wanting to wake the raging beast any more than it already is. Their bickering is well known, and though they look like they can’t stand each other ninety-nine percent of the time, they would still have each other’s backs in a life and death situation.
But that’s the beauty of this team—of Fenix, as Panchito had baptized it. For all our differences, there are far more things that bring us together than keep us apart. After all, we’ve all risen from the ashes to reclaim our positions.
‘Can we focus on the meeting?’ Thomas intervenes, placing his massive arms on the table with a thud and looking between Panchito and Anita. ‘I thought we agreed that you two would stop squabbling like two teenagers.’
‘Teenagers?’ Both Panchito and Anita scoff at the same time before looking at each other and bursting into laughter.
‘Thomas is right. Cut it out you two,’ Carlos finally intervenes, getting out of his chair and turning the projector on. ‘There’s a reason I called you this early in the morning,’ he continues as he pulls some images on the screen.
‘Panchito managed to get us some pretty damn rare footage,’ Carlos praises.
There are four pictures on the screen, all pixelated and blurry, suggesting they’d been captured from a low quality security camera.
But as I focus on making out the people in the picture, some features immediately jump out at me.
‘That’s…’ I frown.
‘Ortega,’ Carlos points towards the older man in the picture. ‘And a newcomer.’ He turns towards me, trying to gauge my expression.
‘Why? How?’ The questions tumble out of my mouth as I find it hard to believe what I’m seeing.
‘I don’t get it,’ Thomas mentions, squinting at the screen.
‘That,’ I point to the younger man in the picture, “is my brother.’
Everyone frowns in confusion.
‘But why would your brother be in contact with Ortega?’ Anita asks.
‘Why indeed,’ Carlos muses.
Ortega is one of Carlos’ biggest enemies. Once the leader of a small cartel, he’d joined forces with Carlos’ father, Arturo Jimenez, in order to build an impressive network running all along the East Coast.
Jimenez had been a force to be reckoned with within the underground world, and he’d managed to build a far-reaching empire by swallowing smaller cartels and giving them a new purpose—total domination. It had worked wonderfully until he’d dropped dead some years ago. Since then, his empire had crumbled and all the sharks had started feeding on the smaller fish.
Ortega had been one such shark, quickly trying to gain the upper hand and keep as many people on his side as he could, in the process stealing what should have been Carlos’ birthright.
But with everyone assuming Carlos had died, and with him mortally injured in that intermediary period, it had been easy for Ortega to take everything for himself.
Carlos had kept tabs on him for the last couple of years, tracking all his weaknesses in hope to intervene one day and get back what should have been his.
To see Ortega with my brother, though? That’s one hell of a shock.
‘When was this taken?’
‘Two days ago in Philly. At the port.’
‘The port?’ My eyebrows shoot up.
Carlos gives me an understanding nod.
‘What’s with the port?’ The others ask.
‘After he took the Guerra leadership, Michele got the family involved in some shady stuff,’ I explain. ‘Human trafficking and illegal organ harvesting.”
I’d gotten a snapshot of what had gone down courtesy of some of my contacts in New York. There had been a big bust involving a lot of the crime families in the area, which had resulted in the end of the human trafficking ring.
‘So you think he might be expanding this? With Ortega?’
‘It would make sense why they would meet in Philly,’ I grunt. ‘From what I managed to uncover, Michele’s side of the business was based exclusively in New York. He was involved with another Ukrainian guy, Meester. But he died a while back and the entire operation was squashed. It might have been too suspicious to have the meeting in NYC,’ I add thoughtfully.
‘Did we have anything on Ortega and human trafficking?’ Thomas frowns. ‘I thought he took over the drug part of Jimenez’s business.’
‘He did.’ Carlos replies. ‘But I don’t know if it was enough for him,’ he sighs as he pulls a map of the East Coast on the screen. All the routes are marked, and every territory is color coded to show who owns what.
‘There are too many players in New York for Ortega to manage anything. He may have taken over the people who stayed behind after Jimenez died, but he would have still had to fight the other established players for supremacy,’ I say, leaning back in my seat and perusing the colored spots.
‘The Italians have a monopoly over the city, while the Russians control the areas around,’ I start. ‘And with how things have shifted lately, they are all connected to one another. Agosti has claim on human trafficking, and the Russians from Brighton Beach control the drugs that come and go from the city. Lastra and Marchesi are tightly connected with both, so that leaves only two outsiders.’
‘DeVille and Guerra,’ Carlos adds as he pulls info on the two families on the screen.
‘Exactly. And DeVille isn’t known for openness. Although their business is thriving and they own most of the casinos in the area, they aren’t known to interact with anyone. Now, Guerra…’ My hands clench into fists. ‘My brother took power rather suddenly and I’m not sure what people think of it. He’s unstable. Erratic. Everything a leader shouldn’t be. But he’s also the only remaining member of the main family.’
‘Except you.’ Thomas raises an eyebrow.
‘Except me,’ I nod bitterly. ‘And that would also make him the perfect candidate for someone looking to expand into the city.’
‘Raf’s right. The only way for Ortega to become relevant in NYC would be to get a strong ally. Someone who already has an in so to speak.’
‘And Michele is probably looking for outside backing, since no doubt everyone else has turned their backs to him.’
‘Your brother’s a hottie,’ Anita whistles when his picture shows on the screen next to Ortega’s.
With his dark hair, pale skin and eerily light eyes, he’s always been considered quite the catch.
‘He’s also most likely a sociopath,’ I add drily.
‘Of course,’ she shakes her head. ‘Why are the crazy ones always the hottest?’ she sighs, and I catch an odd look on Panchito’s face.
‘Our return to the city might just need to be hastened.’ Carlos interrupts with a stern look. ‘We need to figure out what Michele and Ortega plan, and make sure it doesn’t come to fruition. Because if they do join forces…’
‘It’s going to be that much harder for us to break them apart,’ I continue.
‘Really?’ Panchito drawls, looking between Carlos and me. ‘Have you two forgotten that everyone here has a bounty on their head? How do you think we’re going to get into NYC undetected and stay there? Alive.’
‘I have an idea. Which is why I called you here.’ Carlos’ eyes find mine as he holds my gaze. ‘We might need to find an in of our own.’
‘No,’ I put a hand up, groaning. I can already tell what he’s thinking and a million reasons go through my head as to why it would be a bad idea. ‘DeVille would never agree to partner with me. I’m still a Guerra, remember?’
Theoretically it would be the best course of action, because if there’s someone who hates Michele as much as I do, then it’s DeVille. But there’s also the small detail that DeVille hates every Guerra out there—me included.
Our families’ enmity is legendary, and everyone knows we’ve never, and likely will never mix. For generations, both families have engaged in a war of attrition meant to weaken the other and their last stunt had ended with the ruination of my sister, Gianna.
I still remember that day, and more than twelve years have passed. DeVille had sent one of their men to infiltrate our family, posing as Gianna’s bodyguard with the sole purpose of seducing her and broadcasting her shame to the world. And it had been very public, and very shameful, as he’d posted a video of them fucking for the entire world to see.
Since then, they’d been rather quiet, but still exercising a financial embargo over our family in certain business sectors.
‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ Carlos smirks. ‘I think it’s worth a shot. With DeVille’s protection we might be able to move undetected in the city while we gather more info and plan our next move.’
‘Unless they kill me first,’ I grumble.
‘You can give them what they’ve always wanted,’ Carlos says, moving back to the table and taking a seat. ‘Complete annihilation of the Guerra family.’
I narrow my eyes at him.
‘It’s worth a try,’ I eventually shrug.
The idea of finally paying Michele back for all my suffering sounds madly appealing. And with DeVille by my side I know his downfall would be infinitely sweeter.
A cruel smile pulls at my lips as I think about Michele and his eventual fall from grace.
Just wait for it, brother. You’ll get your due.
And then we’ll see who’s the last one standing.
