Page 105 of Their Princess

Our resident Marine grunted and leaned over the new computer Ward had brought over for him with a grimace across his mouth. I wanted to laugh. He didn’t look like any more of a computer guy than me, but he’d been slapped into the Secretary role. Maybe I could find some mundane secretary-style tasks for him to take on.

Wilde gave one nod, but his old lady didn’t look happy. They were out in the middle of fucking nowhere still winding down the weed production operations. Most of the people in Park Ridge had just turned into farmers after the legalization. Coke was big time.

“We need to bring in someone who can let us know how much we can make from what’s left.” I’d tasted it and knew it was good shit, but I didn’t know how to process it. “What we found was the most potent shit in the shipment.”

“We know that?” Rafe slapped the laptop lid shut.

“That’s what Cazador Rojas said.”

Rafe continued, “I wouldn’t trust?—”

“I don’t fucking trust him,” I interrupted. “That’s why we need our own boys.”

“What about Ace?” asked Graff. “He’s a doctor, so he should know what to do with drugs.”

I looked to Wilde.

“Don’t know the man,” said Prez. “Can he be trusted?”

Giving a short nod, I said, “He fixed up my leg when we were ambushed at the docks by Gambino’s men.” Then I lowered my voice. “And he helped with Mav.”

Graff beat a fist to his chest. “Ride in peace, brother.”

“Ride free!” Several other voices rose in unison for Duchess’s son and our fallen prospect.

Wilde scanned the patched members sitting around the table. “Teller.”

“Yeah, Prez.”

“Go bring Ace’s ass back here.”

Teller quickly left, but we didn’t start talking again until the door slammed shut.

“Continue,” said Wilde, narrowing his gaze on me.

“Ward,” I called out, and he lifted his head from the computer screen. “Wha’cha got?”

The Warden tapped the trackpad on his laptop a few times. “The Medellín Cartel has workers pissed about unpaid wages and dangerous working conditions.”

“What are they, union?” I asked.

Wilde shot me a look. Excuse me for not wanting to get in the middle of something domestic.

Ward scrolled through something on the laptop with two fingers. “The Barranquilla Cartel is currently under significant financial strain due to a recent government crackdown on their operations. They’re using another company to handle their distribution.”

“Ballsy,” I muttered. If the cartel was willing to take that chance, what else would they be willing to fucking do?

“I’ve intercepted some communication from the Barranquilla Cartel,” said the Warden like he hadn’t heard me at all. “There’s a major shipment planned.”

“How much cargo?” asked Wilde.

“Small, volume-wise. The better question”—Ward flashed his gaze over to Wilde—“is ‘How valuable is the cargo?’”

“More valuable than drugs?” asked Rafe, drawing his eyebrows together like he didn’t understand.

Figured. He seemed like an afterthought to Massimo, so he probably didn’t get his hands dirty with shit like this in the Mafia. Now, he was in the room where decisions were made.

“Far more valuable, assuming you have the right buyers,” answered Ward.

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