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I’d never seen such hurt in my father’s eyes as I had on that day.

I stood feeling like a shrimp in a lobster farm, my skin itching from nervousness, but I allowed my booming voice to roar.

“You know who I am, at least by reputation. I am Genevieve Morales, the firstborn of Lord Julio. As you are well aware, my father was murdered in cold blood. Because of that, you are now under my command.”

As expected, a few of the man dared to either snort, hiss, or whisper curses.

“Enough! You might not like the hand that was dealt, but guess what? Neither do I. However, I have a business to run and I intend on doing so with or without your help. It’s your choice. If you don’t like it or my methods, there’s the fucking door.” I stopped long enough to point toward the entrance. “However, if you choose to leave and I learn you’ve gone to work for any other motherfucker who challenged my father or would do so with me as the new drug lord, I will hunt you down. Is that understood?”

At least a few of the men had the decency to look uncomfortable.

“I asked. Is that understood?”

Most nodded in agreement. That was all I was going to get at this point. “Now, as you’ve also likely heard, we’re under indirect attack already. Some would like to think our organization is weak. That includes the Torres Empire. I will not tolerate being challenged by anyone, including a pompous prick. Therefore, a message needs to be sent. We are going to torch the Torres warehouse located onCarrer de Petritxol. Unfortunately, the area is well known for tourists and locals alike. This isn’t an effort to burn down the world, but a targeted hit. Therefore, not a single person will be harmed and the fire will be contained.”

Something else I’d learned, partly on my own, was about explosives. With the correct mechanism, damage would be done without destroying anything further away than twenty to fifty feet.

The building I’d selected was small, which meant the product loss would be as well, but it would provide a tremendous warning.

“Que perra tan estúpida.”

Such a stupid bitch.

The statement was made just loudly enough for others to hear. Both Emiliano and Antonio bristled, each taking a long stride forward, but I stopped them in their tracks.

“No. I’ll handle this.” My voice echoed even though the rafters were over two stories tall. I’d almost had a panic attack inside my bathroom in thinking about being forced into committing acts of violence.

Yes, I’d been trained by my father to survive attempted kidnappings and what to do if I was taken hostage. I’d been taught to use weapons of all types and had learned how to fight using both traditional forms and martial arts. I’d taken up boxing as a sport in New York to keep myself fit, but that meant nothing when standing in front of rough men with tattoos and scars.

Everything was a test right now. Every decision made and piece of clothing selected. Even every drink I consumed would be scrutinized. I couldn’t back down even though I was certain I’d be forced to retch the two cups of coffee I’d consumed.

I didn’t need to push my way through the group to get to the man who’d made the nasty comment. Fortunately for me, he stood only about five foot eight, slightly shorter than my height and with my boots, the difference worked to my benefit.

At least in my mind.

“You have something to say to me?” I asked, keeping my anger from showing.

He snorted and looked away.

Now I was furious. I gripped his jaw, yanking his head back so he was forced to look into my eyes. “Se dice que los hombres estúpidos son los que no tienen oídos.”

It is said stupid men are those without ears.

I’d heard my father say those very words to more than one soldier.

I ripped out the same knife I’d used on Jago, almost shivering from remembering the closeness of our heated bodies and the shock of electricity we’d shared. “If that is the truth, then since you’re an imbecile, you won’t need your ears any longer.” I shifted my grip to his right ear, holding the blade against his earlobe.

“No!” he screamed and that was his admittance he’d been wrong. The only one I’d get.

I cocked my head, cognizant at least a few of the men were impressed I hadn’t flinched, others perhaps slightly fearful of me.

I counted to ten before letting him go. “One chance. You get one. No others.” After returning the knife to the holder, I started toturn away and was shocked he had the nerve to issue a sucker punch. He caught me in the side. The pain was blinding and I almost doubled over but gritted my teeth instead.

He backed away and so did every other man close to him.

After sucking in my breath, I chose not to flinch or show any pain as I spun around, the move gathering momentum. When I came back to center, I’d extended my leg, catching him directly in the face.

He was pummeled backward and I didn’t stop there, dropping down and issuing several brutal punches to his face. After a few powerful hits, the fucker’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, his single grunt exactly what I’d wanted to hear.