Page 76 of Lord of Vengeance

However, only the upper-level echelon of men and women in our employ were entrusted with the core of our business, and only the family and one other individual were capable of getting into our bank accounts or accessing our most guarded information on our secure computers. That had been something instilled in me from the beginning.

At least my father had been good for something.

When I finally turned my gaze back to Ivan, he exhaled and the labored sound indicated whatever had been found was either shit or not helpful.

“The crime occurred almost fifteen years ago,” Ivan said. “In a neighborhood that no one cared about. What little I found out was nothing more than the woman had been killed in the apartment she shared with Sabrina. How it was done and if the asshole was caught, I wouldn’t know.”

“Where did you get that from?”

“I tracked down the cop who handled the initial call.” He laughed bitterly, rubbing his scruffy jaw afterwards. “Bespoleznyy mudak.”

“Why a worthless asshole?” I asked, although I already knew the answer. There hadn’t been a cop back then who wanted the beat or cared about what happened on the ugly streets in South LA. That’s why killing the enemy bastards the way we had during that ugly night had been plausible.

“Because he acted as if the woman’s murder meant nothing and that he was put out by being asked to search for the information.” Ivan snarled, cursing in Russian. “I think there were two sentences on that page he had in his hand.”

“Asked?” Dante inquired.

Ivan’s snicker remained. “Demanded.”

“Hmm…” My brother knew what that meant. Ivan didn’t hesitate to use our power and influence on anyone, even if that meant using persuasive threats.

“What the hell was the name of that Mexican Cartel from twenty years ago?” I asked, which was something I’d been thinking about for two nights. We’d had enough enemies during our time in power to remember every one of them clearly. The majority had been in my early days, including my initiation into my father’s brutal empire.

Ivan scratched his head as he thought about my question. “If my memory serves me, it was the Tijuana Cartel, Jesus Lopez the leader at that time.”

“You mean the man I killed in the dark street.”

He grinned. “The very one. You never forget your first kill. You think the Death Squad has some affiliation to Jesus?”

“Maybe,” I snarled, grabbing my empty glass and heading to the bar to refill. At this point, I wasn’t going to stop drinking, even if the liquor fueled my anger.

“What are we talking about here?” Dante asked.

I glanced over my shoulder at Ivan, who handled the answer.

“Your father required Diego to kill the leader as his initiation into becoming a soldier. They were a small but dangerous group, all but disappearing after the murder of their leader.”

“Interesting. They didn’t try and exact revenge?” Dante pressed. He had no intention of correcting my lieutenant on the reality of our father’s true identity.

“We killed every top lieutenant, the most brutal soldiers, which basically decimated them,” I answered.

“And in turn, your brother became a legend, a ghost with a bloody sword.” Ivan laughed, as if any of this was funny.

A legend. They hadn’t known who was behind the murder, or at least my name hadn’t been mentioned on the street, which was why I’d been called the ghost for a couple of years afterwards until another gang took hold, next the Sinaloa Cartel taking over until ultimately the New Generation all but eliminated the competition.

I closed my eyes, allowing my thoughts to drift back to Sabrina, remaining frustrated she’d pushed me away. The intelligent side of me knew why she wanted some space, but I had no understanding of compassion any more than I could claim I had a sense of humanity. I’d wanted nothing more than to spend hours ravaging her body, surrendering to the vicious needs that had clawed at me for hours on end after taking her from the horrific scene.

“So it’s possible this vendetta hanging over our heads is twenty years old,” Dante mentioned more in passing. He studied me carefully, sensing I was a cannon ready to explode.

“I don’t see how. Of the maybe seventy-five to a hundred men that were left after Pops had us clean up the streets, most were either absorbed by other gangs, killed outright for their affiliation or went on to lead other sordid lives.” While my statement made sense, the sentiment plausible, that didn’t mean someone hadn’t survived who’d made some promise to Jesus’ family that the person responsible would be hunted down. With Xavier dead, that left his supposed son available, now a prime target. It would seem the Santos’ power had left lasting fear in the hearts of several bad men.

Maybe not allowing the secret that the bastard wasn’t a blood relation had been a mistake.

“But it’s possible,” my brother pushed.

After taking a deep breath, I said, “I guess it is.”

“Aren’t most of the Mexican gangs controlled by or giving allegiance to one of the South American Cartels?” Bruno asked. “I heard Emmanuel Santiago is a brutal son of a bitch.”

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