Page 114 of Tide of Treason
I huffed out a laugh and started walking. “You’re hired. But I need help with balance.”
Rafael raised a brow.
“Not emotional balance, you fuck. FBI and Cartel. I’m playing both sides and running out of hours in the day.”
“So you’re asking for scheduling help.”
“I’m asking,” I said slowly, “who the fuck I can trust to run ops without me breathing down their necks. Because right now I’m the head of one empire and the ghost in another, and if I so much as sneeze wrong, either one’ll burn.”
Rafael scratched the corner of his jaw, thoughtful. “Loyalty or competence?”
“Both.”
“Then the list’s short.”
“Give it to me.”
“Vargas stays in Long Island. No one runs port logistics better, and he doesn’t ask dumb questions. You give him the routes, he makes the product vanish.”
I nodded. “Agreed.”
“Elio can handle political edges in the city. He’s good with subtlety. Knows how to say no with a smile.”
“Doesn’t work for me directly.”
“He will if you offer him his own bar.”
I paused. “What, like a tavern?”
“Men will do anything for a hardwood counter and a glass that never runs dry.”
I made a noise in my throat. “Fine. Who else?”
“Maya’s already managing your Staten Island house like it’s her own little kingdom. Let her run intel on our people. Who’s loyal, who’s not. No one sees shit without her knowing.”
“Amara?”
“She’s impulsive. Put her on muscle detail. Give her three men to babysit. Let her break bones when she gets twitchy.”
“And Dominguez?”
Rafael gave me a look like I’d asked if fire was hot.
“You let Dom run whatever territory you want turned inside out.”
I flexed my jaw. “Jersey?”
“Too obvious.” He smiled, wicked. “Give him Delaware.”
“Delaware?”
“No one expects Delaware.”
I let that thought simmer while Rafael spat smoke out the corner of his mouth, leaned in, and slapped my shoulder one last time before peeling off toward his car. Once the taillights disappeared, I climbed into my own. The envelope in my coat pocket scraped against my ribs, reminding me there was one last ghost to bury before I went back to myprincipessa.
I pulled it out.
Thick stock. Folded twice. His handwriting was tight and methodical, all slanted angles and cruel precision. The kind of script written by a man who never hesitated to put pen to a contract or bullet to skull.
