Page 16 of Winds of War

“Of course, we have nothing to do, anyway, and a hell of a lot of time to kill. Besides, I love talking about it.” Spyros gave his roommate a friendly smile, then inhaled sharply. “Twenty years ago, my little brother Costas, then nine, was taken from the school's playground in broad daylight. No one saw anything, and, after a few months, the case was closed.”

“I can't even imagine how hard it must have been for your parents to lose their child like that. I would have gone crazy if I were in their situation. And I bet it was hard for you, too, as Costas's older brother.” Van spoke in a low voice filled with sympathy and understanding.

“It was...weird. Mom and Dad carried on with their jobs, the routine was the same. There were always four plates at the table, except Costa's chair was empty, and there were no clothes belonging to him in the laundry basket. As for me...I couldn't find my place in that new reality.” Spyros let out a sigh.

Van rolled on one side, examining the other man with eyes filled with uncertainty. In all the months he’d known him, Van had never seen Spyros so exposed and vulnerable, with so much pain in his eyes, and he didn't know what to believe. His protective instincts kicked in, and he wanted to take the younger man in his arms and tell him everything was over.

Van extended a hand, wanting to reach Spyros and comfort him because, judging by the man's tensed body posture, he was reliving the moments of his brother's kidnapping. However, he changed his mind and slowly retracted his hand, fearing that the story was another prank Spyros was pulling on him to ridicule his feelings.

Because after spending the last eighteen years of his life avoiding getting intimate with someone, Van finally had feelings for someone. It didn't matter that the person in question was a pest, a prick who gave him headaches, and made his life hard in more than one way. Van couldn't stop caring about him.

“It was a sunny Sunday morning, right after breakfast”—Spyros's voice, thick with emotion, broke the uncomfortable silence that overtook the hotel room—“when the doorbell rang. I went to open the door, and there he was, this thin boy with a feral expression, an arm protectively wrapped over my little brother's shoulders. From that day on, my parents had three sons.”

“That explains a lot.” The warmth in Van's voice pleasantly surprised Spyros, who had never heard the other man using that tone when speaking to him. “Your excessive protectiveness and distrust, the obstinate refusal to believe me even though I was telling you the truth... I wish we could have had this talk earlier. It would have saved both of us from a lot of useless headaches.”

“I...I'm sorry I was such a prick. You gave me no reason not to believe you, and yet I kept pushing you and calling you names. If I were you...”

At that point, the door cracked open, and Seamus peeked inside, then let himself in. “Get ready, boys. The snowball started rolling.”

CHAPTER 13

Flanked by Van and Spyros, who stood behind the armchair he was sitting in, Seamus studied the other guest, of whose presence he was informed only about an hour earlier. The surprise guest was a kid who, for the last fifteen minutes, didn't stop pacing up and down the salon of Montemayor's villa in Albuquerque, where they'd been told to wait for the drug cartel leader.

In his obvious state of agitation, he didn't seem older than eighteen, nineteen at the most. My Nico's age, Seamus thought, the sudden pang in his chest making him realize how much he missed his fiancé over the past two days. Afraid that Montemayor could find a way to trace his phone calls in spite of all precautions, Seamus didn't contact anyone, and the lack of news from The Base drove him crazy with worry.

Sweeping his gaze up and down the kid's lean body, the man wondered what someone like him, still a child, could possibly have in common with a scum like Montemayor. Most likely, he was sent there as a tribute and didn't have any idea of the horrible fate reserved for him. War spoil. Seamus felt the anger rising inside him at the thought.

To regain control over his emotions, he started to look around the luxuriously furnished and decorated room, which was meant to be a symbol of the Mexican drug cartel leader's richness and power. In fact, it was an eclectic agglomeration of mismatching antique furniture and art objects, totally lacking taste and any design concept.

Seamus MacAtee, the king of New York City's drug dealers, Cahal thought, examining the man from the corner of his eye. Scratch that, the man is the most powerful drug lord from the whole New York State, and one of the most important in the country, Nigel Warthon's son continued his trail of thoughts.

Cahal couldn't believe his bad luck when he found out Seamus MacAtee was also going to be present at his meeting with Montemayor. The guy laughed in Ian Saint-Clair's face and got out of prison after serving less than two years from his sentence, and that alone was enough proof of his wealth and influence.

With MacAtee in the picture, Cahal could kiss the alliance with Montemayor goodbye, which left him two options: Lester Ames and Ardan MacNamara, both out of discussion. Ames was a scumbag who kidnapped children and sold them for sex, and MacNamara was the one who put Nigel Warthon behind bars. At that point, Cahal let out a loud sigh and ran both hands over his face in a gesture of despair.

“Kid, give that carpet a break and sit down for a minute. What did the poor thing do to you to wear it out like that?” Seamus's flat, slightly sarcastic voice made Cahal imperceptibly flinch.

“Sorry, I didn't realize it bothered you so much. It won't happen again,” the youth said in a whispered voice, instinctively lowering his head.

“I can smell your fear from here, and Montemayor will, too. Act like that in that bastard's presence, and he'll eat you in one go. Take it as friendly advice, kid.” Seamus spoke lazily, dragging the words, a hard to decipher expression on his face.

Just when Cahal was about to reply, the door flew open and Montemayor stepped inside with Lauren Briggs closely following him. “Welcome to my castle. I had to take care of some important things before meeting you,” he started with the arrogance of a king greeting the neighboring country's ambassadors. “This one here is Lauren, my assistant.” The gangster pointed to the woman.

“Well, in my book, nothing is important enough to keep some potential business partners waiting, but then again...” Seamus shrugged, then gestured behind him. “These are Spyros and Van. One of them is my advisor, the other one my personal bodyguard. They hate each other's guts, which is good, because they'll never plot behind my back.”

“I'm Cahal, Nigel Warthon's son, and I've come with a plan to help you take Ardan MacNamara down.” Cahal made colossal efforts to hide the shake in his voice. “As everyone knows, he is a big thorn in your side, and once removed, getting rid of Lester Ames, your other competitor, would be a piece of cake.”

“Hmm...interesting enough,” Montemayor hummed, but turned around and walked next to Seamus's armchair, hand extended. “Let me congratulate you for getting out of jail so soon. It was a very pleasant surprise for everyone. An important victory against that Saint-Clair devil.”

“Well, what can I say?” Seamus gave Montemayor an energetic handshake, then waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “The credit goes to one of my friends in very high places. Which brings us straight to business, as the said friend has a job for me, but I can't do it by myself. Africa, a lot of money, plenty of good stuff. I need help with the distribution, and your men are exactly what I'm looking for.”

“I'm interested, of course, but I can't jump at the offer like that. I’m going to need more.” Montemayor relaxed into the big, comfortable armchair. “The name of your friend or what he does for a living, my share of the profit, and what do I have to do for it. Things like that.”

“His name is not important, and neither is his job,” Seamus replied dryly. “Let's just say that my buddy is powerful enough to start a war in a faraway African country full of all kinds of riches. For the sake of the game, let's imagine he poses as the ally of the legitimate government he wants, in fact, to overthrow. To do that, he needs to hook the country's disciplined army to the nasty shit I sell.”

“So, all I have to do is give you the men you need, and I'll have a lot of money falling into my lap, just like that.” Montemayor's eyes went wide with shock, but a few seconds later, the surprised look on his face was replaced with distrust. “Sounds too good to be true, so where's the catch?”

“You are a goddamn suspicious son of a bitch, which in our line of business, is a very good thing. Not in this particular case, though,” Seamus continued after pausing a little for dramatic effect. “I'm afraid I'll have to find another business partner, and it's a pity, too, because I liked you. Let's go.” he barked to Spyros and Van and stood. “There's nothing for us here.”

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