Page 46 of Hearts Of Darkness

16

DANTE

Emilio’s mansion lies on the banks of the Amazon, concealed by the thick canopy of Colombian rainforest. There are no speedboats moored nearby, no racetrack for his Ferraris; no fucking hint that underneath that vegetation there’s a fifty-million-dollar estate just begging for attention.

He and I made a pact when we took over the business. Change was needed, so change was implemented. We embraced audacity and self-control. Gone went the flashy mansions and diamonds—the material trappings that had painted such a large target on our father’s back for the past thirty years. Instead, we sharpened and refocused as we slid deeper and deeper into the shadows. We paid out large sums of money for our anonymity, disbursing monthly retainers to a network of business associates to front our cartel on our behalf. We turned our truth into a myth in order to keepthe Colombian and US governments guessing, and within fifteen years we’d taken our father’s modest turnover and turned it into a twenty-billion-dollar commodity.

But our privacy came at a price. Our business associates got greedy. So, we adapted again, building up armies to help strengthen our grip on the narcotics trade. We were ruthless. We shunned second chances. Men who tried to take advantage of us paid with their lives, and rivers of blood flowed all the way from Colombia to Florida. I turned the Santiago name into something to be feared. We were reigning deities until the Garcia Cartel set off a chain of events last week that has peppered shrapnel into the sides of our organization.

The Garcias are dead. I had the pleasure of slitting their throats myself, but they’ve made us look weak in the interim. We’re no longer lauded as ‘untouchable’ by our competitors, and it’s a slip up in status that’s sitting uneasy with Emilio, far more than it is with me.

I do this work for my own reasons, not for ego and standing like him. Even so, I agreed to fly out to Colombia today to discuss strengthening strategies with our partners, and to confront my brother about his recent lapse in judgment. I’ve come well prepared. Grayson joined me at the airport an hour ago and ten of my best men are by my side, plus there’s a loaded gun underneath my shirt and two knives strapped to each calf.

We may be brothers, but I don’t trust him a fucking inch.

Emilio emergesfrom his front door to greet us as soon as our vehicles pull up. He slaps me on the back after the briefest,coldest of embraces.

“Welcome home, brother. It’s been too long.”

Home?For me, Colombia is a tale of broken dreams and sorrow, of a childhood distorted by ugliness and the memories of a little girl I try hard to forget. I hate this place. It’s turned me into the type of man I swore I’d never become.

“Emilio.” I disentangle myself quickly. “I trust you’re well?”

We like to portray the Santiagos as a united front, but our true bond is forged in mutual antagonism. I’ll never forgive him for the part I suspect he played in obliterating my former life. He’ll never forgive me for blowing the back of our father’s head off. We’ve been dancing on the edge of this darkness for as long as I can remember, but now, after my former housemaid’s revelations, any lingering light left between us is gone.

We’re both tall and olive-skinned, but that’s where the similarities end. He’s shit-hot with the business acumen, with a neat haircut, sharp features, a massive coke habit, and a psychopathic disposition. In truth, he looks like a fucking accountant, whereas I train for hours and hours a day to fortify our empire with a deadly and violent precision.

“Have the partners arrived yet?” I say, following him inside.

He nods. “They’re already waiting. Come… Let’s find you some bourbon first.” Emilio is a faultless host, even when his knife is sticking halfway out of your back. I watch him glance over at Joseph. “Compliments for last week, Grayson. I’m told there wasn’t much left of Señor Garcia to identify.” He laughs in grim pleasure at the undignified ending we gave our enemy. He always did get off on the macabre.

“Mr. Santiago.” Joseph bows his head in deference. I know it’s all bullshit. His dislike of my brother cuts just as deep as mine.

With drinks now in hand, Emilio leads us out onto a golden terrace. Beyond the seating area, there’s a large swimming pool lined with Sicilian marble, around which most of this house is set. To my right, two men are sitting at a table beneath the shade of a dozen palm trees and twice as many bodyguards.

“Dante, you old devil! Lured back to Colombia at last!”

The elder, patriarchal figure of the two rises to his feet with difficulty, but his embrace is much stronger and warmer than my brother’s.

“Señor Gomez,” I drawl, accepting his affability. “I see the chefs of Cartagena are treating you well.”

The old man chuckles and pats his expanding waistline with affection. “I’ve no complaints so far.”

“The women might not share your enthusiasm,” quips a voice as the younger man—a sharp-suited, fair-skinned, dark-haired American—stands to shake my hand. “Dante. It’s been too long.”

“Rick. It’s not often we see you this far out of Miami.”

Rick Sanders is the face of our US operation, and one hell of a smooth operator. He’s the man with the connections. The broker who can turn a dying deal into a multi-million-dollar return. I like him. I trust him. The only other man I can say that about is the tall American hovering behind me.

“A little bird tells me you’ve been fraternizing with our women,” he murmurs, as we take our seats together.

“A temporary distraction,” I say, inwardly cursing as Emilio clicks his fingers at his waiting staff. I was right. Myformer housemaid’s intel is the hot topic on the street. Without my protection, Eve will never be safe again.

“Don’t be too charmed, my friend,” he says with an easy grin. “Look around you… Colombian women have the curves to bring a man to his knees,andthey’re less inclined to make waves for them. I’d find your pleasure elsewhere if I may be so bold as to say so.”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

Rick’s grin disappears. “I’m serious, Dante. Emilio’s getting antsy. Don’t start a war over some broad. If I remember rightly, it didn’t turn out so great for the Greeks…” He trails off when he sees the look on my face.

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