Page 37 of To Catch A Rook

I had never been close with any of my brothers; we were all bastard children of different mothers our father had handpicked to be the successors of his empire. When the twins relocated to Sequoia County to take over one side of the operations, we’d formed an alliance, if not a bond.

The twins were half-Israeli, half-Columbian, their matching dark hair, dark eyes, and bronze skin still mirror images of each other despite being in their forties. I was the product of a Swedish mother and Antonio’s Colombian blood. We looked nothing alike, blessed with our mothers’ genes instead of our brutal father, but our shared upbringing had honed us into unforgiving weapons of brutality.

Two of my brothers were dead. Another was safely tucked away—Antonio wasn’t aware of his existence, and I planned to keep it that way. The three of us were all that remained of the next generation of cartel criminals. A double agent and two ruthless assholes.

The men sitting in front of me didn’t possess a conscience. They didn’t carry the same narcissism our father did; they didn’t care about anything at all. Everyone in their path was a means to an end. Antonio ordered, and they delivered. Mindless, murdering sycophants.

I wasn’t stupid enough to turn my back to them.

I checked my watch. Antonio was meticulously on time and would arrive in five minutes. I needed to speak with my brothers quickly.

I knocked on the rich lacquered wood of the table’s trim. Mical looked up with familiar irritation, but he put his phone down.

“The tides are changing in Sequoia.” I nodded to Mical’s scar and leveled my stare at the two of them. “The Carlos Cartel is being challenged.”

Jonah shrugged one rounded shoulder, the muscles bulging beneath his tight dark shirt. “We are always being challenged. Today is no different.”

“Perhaps,” I agreed, thinking of the many stooges armed with handguns and shit-for-brains who had tried to take on the family in the past. The dead man who’d carved into Mical’s face was the exception. “But I keep hearing whispers of Alejandro Alvarez in our territory. Have you heard this?”

Jonah’s careful mask of indifference slid over his harsh features, but he said nothing. He was notoriously calculating and gave nothing away without a trade—but by his body language alone, I knew he’d at least heard the rumors.

Mical was far less controlled. His dark eyes glittered with malice and a vicious grin took over his face. “What will you trade in return, brother? I could use a favor from the next heir.”

I grunted in response, in no mood to discuss the inevitable shift of our posts in the coming months. Killing my brother had come at a very heavy price. I was now his replacement to take over the family throne. In the many years of toeing the line, I had never wanted to be king.

I glanced at my watch again. One minute.

“We’ll discuss this later.” I glared at them pointedly. Alvarez was a threat that needed to be eliminated, and it would be far cleaner to rid him on our side of things before the FBI or DEA got involved.

We were the devil the authorities knew. I couldn’t risk our usefulness—it was the only reason I had walked the line for so long. Trish only had so much power.

The twins immediately stood stiffly to attention, and I knew Antonio and his men must have entered the room behind me.

I stood and turned to greet the man who had crafted us in his image, dipping my head in a respectful nod. The dignified seventy-year-old with tanned skin and silver hair strode to greet us. Three of his heavily armed, most trusted men marched in, taking positions by his side.

It was pretty telling that Antonio Carlos, leader of the largest cartel on this side of the continent, brought his guards to a meeting with his sons. Family was as likely to turn on you as your enemies in our world. If I thought it was possible, I would have killed him long ago.

“Hijo,” Antonio rasped with a commanding timbre as he reached out to wrap me in a perfunctory hug. “It has been too long.”

Before I could respond, he moved on to my brothers. I took the moment to assess the men he’d chosen to bring to our meeting today.

Manuel and Soloman, the two had stuck by Antonio’s side since I was a teenager. The third man was unfamiliar to me. A bald man with gold hoops in his ears and blank green eyes—the same kind of face of a serial killer on America’s Most Wanted.

I shifted my focus back to my father, making a mental note to scan the new man’s profile later.

Antonio Carlos beckoned with the spindly fingers of a man used to holding all the power in a room.

“Sit.”

I did as he asked, shifting my weight to fit into the small leather loveseat to my right, while Jonah and Mical sat in the armchairs on either side of the small seating area. A heavy silence settled over us as we waited expectantly for Antonio to start the family meeting.

“It has been too long,” he repeated. The shrewd man’s dark expression narrowed in on me as he scanned every facet of my face. He always did this when we met in person—as if he could determine my allegiance by a simple review of the tightness of my skin.

I had betrayed him once, and he’d spared my life, but only because the betrayal had handed him a line of security—a double agent he could manipulate instead of a son he would protect.

The moment I failed to be useful was the moment I would die.

I stared back into his piercing gaze, refusing to cower in his presence. Despite the thousands of men he’d killed in cold blood over decades of commanding an underground army, the man didn’t scare me. His involvement in my life was a necessary evil, as were my brothers.

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