Page 113 of Tide of Treason
Just—
gone.
I felt someone tug at my sleeve. Rafael, looking more rattled than usual, as though he might toss his cigarette and kneel in the puddle of Sergius’s life just to see if maybe there was still a sliver of breath left. But there was none. The bullet had done its job. The entire left half of his skull wasn’t so much bone as it was a gritty mosaic across the concrete.
I’d willed myself not to look too close, but . . . he died before letting me gamble my own life on that single bullet. Maybe that was something. Maybe it wasn’t. I wondered whether an act like that freed him from the ghosts or carved him a deeper pit in hell.
Something shifted beneath my shoe.
His jacket had slipped halfway off his shoulder in the fall, and something stiff poked out of the inside pocket. I crouched. Reached inside to fish out a folded slip of paper. Not reading it, I slipped it into my own coat and stood back up. Whatever words my father had left for me, they could wait. The man died on his own terms. He didn’t get to dictate mine.
Enzo’s expression was impossible to read. Could’ve been indigestion for all I cared. The man had voted neutrality, so, fuck him. I walked out of that room a free fucking man.
No leash.
No master.
No doubt.
“Fuck, kid,” Rafael muttered. “You good?”
I nodded.
He slapped the back of my neck, then hugged me hard, chest to chest. I didn’t know if he meant to hold me there or hold me up, but either way, I didn’t move. I needed it. Needed something to anchor me to this goddamn planet before my soul floated off and parked itself on a telephone wire with the rest of the ghosts.
Pulling back, I met his eyes. Dark. Heavy. Mexican-black coffee and Brazilian brandy. Strong enough to burn, smooth enough to numb.
I rolled my jaw. “Need you to be my consigliere.”
Rafael dragged a hand over his mouth and then lit a cigarette. “You sure? Because that sounds fucking permanent,amigo.” Ash floated down between us, delicate as snowfall, and he added, “Remember that shack we squatted in outside Mexico City?”
I nodded once. Taste of wet cement and tortilla oil still lived under my tongue.
“You got blood poisoning from the rats. Fever so bad you thought I was your mother.”
“You let me call youmãefor two days,” I said, dry.
“Yeah. And when you finally came down from it, you threw a bucket at my head.”
“Missed.”
“On purpose?”
“Guess you’ll never know.”
He cracked a smile, that slow sideways one that made women lose their minds and enemies rethink retaliation. Until it vanished. Back to business.
“There’s a place just outside Zacatecas. Was a narco property—burnt out, mostly. Locals stay away. Think it’s cursed.”
I tilted my head. “Is it?”
“Probably.” He took another drag. “But it’s tucked deep, no eyes. Can be fixed up. Reinforced. Could work as a southern hub if you’re looking to stretch the line all the way from Jersey to the jungle.”
I pressed my tongue against the back of my teeth. My heart liked the idea more than my head did, and my dick didn’t get a vote, but if it did, it would’ve agreed just for the thrill.
“Good bones?”
“Like an old whore. Scarred, but still stands up when you need her.”
