Page 26 of Stricken

He doesn't answer immediately. When he does, his voice is low, almost gentle. "We'll find a way,Padrino. We always do."

I want to believe him. But as the first rays of sunlight creep through my window, all I can see is darkness closing in.

I end the call with Costa, my fingers already tapping across the screen to dial another number. Wilson, my uncle's FBI contact, picks up on the third ring.

"Morelli," he answers gruffly. "I was waiting for you to call."

"Good. Then you're probably aware our new product from Brazil's gone missing." I get right down to business, bypassing all the unnecessary pleasantries. "What do you know?"

There's a rustling on the other end, then the sound of a door closing. "Not much," Wilson admits. "We're still piecing together the details. The shipment crossed the border with no problem."

My free hand clenches into a fist. "I don't have time for 'piecing together,' Wilson. I need answers. Peace depends on this product."

"Look, kid, I'm doing what I can," he hisses. "But this isn't exactly above board, you get me? I'm sticking my neck out here already asking questions I shouldn't be asking."

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to unclench my jaw. "I know. And I appreciate it. But this is urgent. If we don't recover the product or find out who's behind this..."

Wilson sighs. "I understand. But right now, the official version is that we've got nothing concrete."

Cold silence stretches between us, taut as a tripwire. Then, Wilson's voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Off the record? My money's on Toro."

The name catches me off guard. "Toro? The cartel's man? What the fuck would he be doing hijacking our shipment?"

"Word on the street is he's doing some extra-curricular activities outside his La Alianza responsibilities," Wilson explains. "This heist? It's got his signature all over it. Brutal, efficient, no loose ends. But we don't know if the cartel authorized it."

My mind races, connecting dots I hadn't even known existed. "But why? What's his angle?"

"That's the million-dollar question, isn't it?" Wilson replies. "All I know is, if Toro's involved, you're in deeper shit than you realize."

As the call ends, I stare at my reflection in the darkened by the tree window. The man looking back at me isn't the polished Stanford grad anymore. He's a cornered animal, eyes wild with the realization that he's wandered into a game where he doesn't know all the players.

And in this game, ignorance isn't just costly.

It's fatal.

* * *

I never noticed it before—the Morelli family office reeking of blood money. But today, all my senses are heightened and all I can smell is death.

Claudio's frame hunches over the oak desk. A short, stout man with a receding hairline in his fifties, he's nothing special. Except maybe his tailored suit and expensive watch and shoes. Otherwise, he embodies the role of a consigliere—always composed, difficult to read, impeccably dressed. No one would guess if they passed him on the street that he makes important decisions for the oldest crime family in Las Vegas.

I never liked him, but he's been with Uncle for twenty years now. Rose through the ranks from a regular accountant. I hardly remember the time before him.

I'm in the chair across from him, my own suit feeling like a straitjacket.

"The Armenians are getting antsy, Nicola," Claudio says, his gaze shifting to Costa standing by the door. "This seized shipment isn't just a hiccup. It's an earthquake. Your deal with Arman will fall apart if we don't come up with a solution and fast."

I run a hand through my hair, frustration spiraling in my gut. "I'm aware, Claudio. But what do you want me to do? Pull cocaine out of my ass?"

Claudio's eyes narrow. "Watch it, kid. This isn't a joke. Our reputation's on the line here. One screw-up like this, and we might as well paint a target on our backs."

I lean forward, voice low. "You think I don't know that?" To myself, I think I should've stayed in LA. At least there, I wasn't juggling grenades with the pin pulled.

Costa shifts in the corner, a silent shadow. His presence is both comforting and suffocating. We have no secrets from each other but he's not happy about this either. He hates Vegas just as much as I do.

Claudio sighs, rubbing his temples. "Look, did you get anything useful from Wilson? Any leads we can work with?"

I hesitate, weighing my words. "Not much. He thinks... he thinks Toro might be involved."

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