Page 52 of Cruel Hero

The airport is chaos—crowds of tourists, announcements blaring in languages I don’t understand, and the faint scent of exhaust and tropical flowers mixing in the air.

I exit the airport, eager to meet up with Daniel and finalize the deal that will get me out of here and back into Tiffany’s arms.

It’s been a while since I’ve been physically involved in a business deal like this, but there’s too much at stake to leave it to anyone else.

The traffic in Mexico City is horrendous. After what feels like hours of driving through chaotic streets, my security detail and I arrive at our meeting spot.

Daniel is waiting for us. His expression is unreadable but his stance is tense. He’s dressed in a simple black shirt and jeans, his hands clasped in front of him.

Our eyes meet, and we share an unspoken agreement—to address the elephant in the room later when we have privacy. Right now, there are more pressing matters at hand.

“Everything is going according to plan,” Daniel reports, scanning the group of men surrounding us. “Silva has agreed to meet with us.”

“Excellent. Let’s make this quick. I have no desire to linger here any longer than necessary.”

The bustling streets of Mexico City overwhelm my senses as Daniel and I navigate through the crowded sidewalks. The air is thick with the scent of street food and exhaust fumes, while vendors loudly advertise their products alongside impatient honking cars.

“We’re getting close,” I say to Daniel, scanning the rundown buildings lining the narrow street we’re on. A sharp pain flares at my side as my hand brushes against the concealed weapon on my hip.

“Are you sure about this, Adrien? Silva isn’t known for playing fair.”

I offer a wry smile. “When has that ever stopped us?”

As we approach our destination—an old building with peeling paint and boarded-up windows—my instincts kick into overdrive. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I can practically taste the danger in the air.

“Someone is watching us,” I mutter to Daniel, my eyes scanning the surrounding buildings.

He nods imperceptibly. “I noticed. At least two snipers on the rooftops. Probably more that we can’t see.”

“As expected. Let’s not keep our host waiting.”

“You lead, I follow. Always have, always will.”

We enter the dilapidated building; the floorboards creaking ominously under our feet. The interior is dimly lit, with peeling wallpaper and a musty smell permeating the air. At the end of a long hallway, a burly man in a suit motions for us to follow him.

He leads us to a room where Rafael Silva lounges in a threadbare armchair like it’s a throne, looking every bit the crime lord he is. His goons flank him, their eyes boring into me with open hostility. I count four of them, each built like a brick wall and probably just as intelligent. They shift uneasily, hands hovering near concealed weapons.

I stride forward, my footsteps echoing in the tense silence. Silva’s face breaks into a predatory smile.

“Ah, Mr. Leroy,” Silva says, his voice gravelly. “I’ve been looking forward to this meeting.”

I force a polite smile. “Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”

Silva waves his hand dismissively. “Please, sit. We have much to discuss.”

I take a seat across from Silva, maintaining eye contact. Daniel remains standing behind me, a silent but reassuring presence.

“I’ll cut to the chase.” I lean forward. “I’m here about the five shipments that were arranged by Dean Carter before his untimely demise.”

“Ah, yes, poor Dean. Such a shame what happened to him.” His tone suggests he knows more than he’s letting on. “And what exactly is your interest in these shipments, Mr. Leroy?”

“I’ve taken over Dean’s business interests. I’m here to ensure our agreement is honored.”

Silva chuckles, a harsh sound that sets my teeth on edge. “How noble of you. But you see, Mr. Leroy, Dean and I had a very specific arrangement. One that I’m not sure you’re prepared to uphold.”

I feel Daniel tense behind me, but I keep my expression neutral. “I assure you, Mr. Silva, I’m prepared to honor any reasonable agreements Dean made.”

“Reasonable?” Silva’s smile turns cold. “In our line of work, Mr. Leroy, reasonable is a matter of perspective. Dean promised me not just the shipments but also a significant stake in Carter Corporation. A way to... legitimize certain aspects of my business, you might say.”

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