Page 48 of Last Hand

Santos considers this, and I can almost see him weighing the variables, the potential gains and losses. He’s a businessman first, cartel leader second. Family man third. All three aspects need to be satisfied with any decision.

“Why would you put your men at risk for my shipment?” he asks finally.

“Because Reyes has been pushing at my eastern territory for months,” I reply smoothly. “Fallon is pregnant. Mikhail has her, and this was what he requested to get her back. This also gives you a chance to eliminate Reyes. And because I value our arrangement, Santos. Long-term stability outweighs short-term opportunities.”

The sound of ice clinking again, then a slow exhale. “My men will handle Reyes. I don’t need your help for that.”

“Of course not,” I agree, careful not to wound his pride. “But having my men there makes it look like I kept my end of the deal just to make sure your men don’t shoot mine.”

“Very well,” he says after another pause. “We’ll do it your way. A dummy shipment, a welcoming committee for Reyes and his fools. My men will coordinate with your people on the details.”

“Thank you for your trust,” I say, meaning it. Trust between men like us is rare and valuable.

“Don’t mistake pragmatism for trust, Leone,” Santos replies. “We’ll speak tomorrow after it’s done.”

The line goes dead. I place the phone down carefully on my desk.

“He’s in,” I tell Milo, who nods once.

Milo leaves to make the arrangements, and I turn to the window, gazing out at the city lights. By this time tomorrow, Reyes will be eliminated, Santos will be appeased, and Mikhail will believe his pressure tactics are working.

The phone rings. Not my private line this time; it’s the secure comms link to my inner circle. Milo, who has re-entered the study with the quiet efficiency of a ghost, glances at the console. “Vince,” he says, his voice flat. I nod, taking the receiver.

“Vincent.”

“Boss,” Vince’s voice crackles slightly. “We’re at the cabin. Or what matches Nathan’s description of it. Blue door, remote as hell. Looks like Grandma Walton’s fucking holiday home.”

“Any sign of them? Fallon? Rebecca?” I keep my voice even, betraying none of the unease coiling in my gut.

“Negative. Perimeter sweep shows nothing obvious. There’s a barn, but no one is here. Doesn’t look like anyone has been here in years.”

“Right, check out the surroundings, put up some wild game cams and head back for now. I will need your help with this shipment; you both need to be back by tomorrow.” I hang up.

I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight. It could be Rebecca playing games, leading us on a wild goose chase. Or it could be the real deal.

“You think it’s a trap?” Milo asks.

“Everything is a trap until proven otherwise,” I say, swirling the amber liquid in my glass.

ELEVEN

Leone

The road ahead glistens with recent rain, reflecting the city lights like scattered jewels on black velvet. Beautiful, if you’re into that poetic shit. I’m not. Not tonight. Tonight is about business, the kind that leaves bodies behind when things go wrong.

My phone buzzes against the dash, I glance at the screen, and my jaw tightens. Mikhail. Milo turns down the road leading to the docks as I pick it up.

“What?” I answer, not bothering with pleasantries.

“Leone.” His voice slithers through the speaker, that measured Russian accent making each word sound like he is mocking me.

I can almost see him, sitting in his plush office, hair perfectly combed, those dead blue eyes staring at nothing while he contemplates my fate. The traffic light ahead turns red, and Milo brakes, glancing at me.

“Your brother will be picking up the shipment tonight,” Mikhail continues.

My blood turns to ice. “Dante?”

“Thought you’d like a family reunion.” He laughs. “You will meet him at arranged location by the docks. My men will accompany him.”

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