Page 27 of Stricken

"Toro?" Claudio's eyebrows shoot up. "The cartel's attack dog? Why the hell would he get involved?"

I shake my head, confusion and dread warring inside me. "I don't know. It doesn't make sense. But if Wilson's right, we're in deeper shit than we thought. Toro is unpredictable. If he snatched out a shipment on the order of La Alianza, it means they are ready for war."

The silence that follows is heavy, pregnant with unvoiced fears. I stare at my reflection in the polished wall mirror across the room, seeing not the confident member of the Morelli empire, but a man drowning in waters far deeper than he ever imagined.

"Tony will not be happy about this," Claudio comments.

The tension in the office is palpable, a living being. I glance at Claudio, really seeing him for the first time since I've been back. The years have etched deep lines around his eyes.

"You've come a long way from balancing the books, Claudio," I say because I have nothing else to say and I don't like the silence.

Claudio's lips twitch, almost a smile. "And you've come a long way from that punk who used to sneak cigarettes behind the kitchen."

The memory hits me like a sucker punch. Claudio, catching me red-handed, but instead of ratting me out, he'd simply say, "Your uncle would be disappointed." It had stung worse than any beating.

"Thanks to you I don't smoke."

Claudio nods, a trace of satisfaction coloring his features. "Good."

"Speaking of Uncle Tony," I start, my throat suddenly dry. "How much does he know about this clusterfuck?"

"He knows the basics."

My stomach drops. "How pissed is he?"

"He's..." Claudio pauses, choosing his words carefully. "He's concerned. But he believes in you, Nicola. He thinks you can fix this."

I laugh, a bitter sound. "No pressure, right?"

Claudio leans forward, his eyes locking om mine. "Listen, kid. You've got the brains, the connections. If anyone can salvage this shitshow, it's you."

I want to believe him. God, I want to. But as the meeting winds down, my mind turns into a hurricane of what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. How the fuck am I supposed to fix this? And more importantly, why did I ever think coming back to Vegas was a good idea?

As I stand to leave, Claudio's voice stops me. "Remember, Nicola. Family first. Always."

I nod, the weight of his words, of everything, crushing down on me. Family first. Even if it kills me.

CHAPTER8

VLAD

The burner phone vibrates against my thigh, shattering the silence of my office inside my Vegas house. I answer without speaking, knowing the less you talk when calls to this number come, the better.

We have people in high-places thanks to my father's machinations. One thing I'm grateful to him for. But never hurts to be too careful. Loyalties that are bought and not earned can easily shift.

"Vladimir, this Shtyk man you're looking for," Esteban's voice says on the line. "There's been a sighting. Here in Sinaloa."

My fingers tighten around the phone. After months of chasing shadows, finally a solid lead. Frankly, I almost gave up on the Arellanos. It was the damn time for them to come through. But the flash of hope is quickly doused by a familiar rage, dark and oily, coating my insides and blurring my vision.

"Any details I should know about?" I ask, my voice low and controlled despite the storm brewing within. I can't show the cartel how much I need this. Otherwise, my debt will double. That's how it works in this world. Demand for supply begets more dues.

As Esteban relays a measly piece of information about Shtyk's alleged whereabouts, I'm already moving, muscle memory taking over as I march up the stairs and to my bedroom to pack essentials. The man's face flashes in my mind, the man who took my mother from me and my little brother.

"Is that it?" I clarify when Esteban stops speaking.

"For now."

"Okay. I'm on my way."

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