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The dig slid beneath Vincente’s ribs like a stiletto. Ramón never missed a chance to remind him he wasn’t his father. That he was too soft. Too polished. Too comfortable in a life of privilege.
Which was a lie.
Just because he preferred Miami to Mexico didn’t mean he wasn’t focused on expanding Espina Negra’s reach.
His gaze shifted to the framed photos on his office wall. There was the one of him with Miami’s mayor, Sonja Ojeda, at her reelection fundraiser. The mayor was an important connection. He’d been quite generous with his support.
Strategic.
His father and uncle were stuck in the old ways. They built their empire with cunning, violence, and blood.
Vincente had a different vision—a twenty-first century one. Networking. Infrastructure. Innovation.
This new fentanyl, manufactured with precursor chemicals from China, was cheaper, more addictive, and easier to move. It was the future.
If they could dominate the US market, they’d crush every rival in Mexico—including the upstart Los Coyotes.
“Your concern is touching,Tío,but you’re starting to sound like an old auntie.” Vincente didn’t bother to mask the sarcasm. “Maybe it’s time you focused on your side of the business.”
Trafficking in people and weapons. Messy. Outdated.
His uncle could play the old schooljefewhile Vincente built a modern enterprise. Expand product. Grow market share. Clean the money. Invest it in legitimate businesses. Repeat.
“Papiwas pleased with the latest figures from my operation,” Vincente added, a sheen of false warmth coating his words. “If I recall, yours weren’t quite as impressive last month. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m a busy man.”
He hung up, the sound of his uncle’s furious sputtering music to his ears.
“You shouldn’t provoke him like that.” Juan stepped closer to the table, resting his hip on the edge. “My father can be as dangerous as yours.”
“He’s a meddling old fool who knows his days are numbered.”
Juan shrugged. “Perhaps he’s right about Gianna.”
A huff of annoyance escaped Vincente. “I have a business to run. I look weak if I drop everything to run after a woman. Gianna will come to me because she has no choice. Not if she wants to keep her friends alive.”
He met his cousin’s stare. “But her defiance won’t go unpunished. And as soon as she’s back, her new companion will be dealt with. A reminder that actions have consequences.”
Caleb Varella.
A slow burn of rage simmered in Vincente’s blood.
Had the man touched what belonged to Vincente? Pleasured himself with Gianna? Had she welcomed it?
Red tinged the edges of his vision. The near constant burn in his chest flared hotter.
“What of the Aztec Kings?” Juan asked.
Vincente blinked. Refocused. “I’ve spoken personally to their leader. He assured me the rumors about Los Coyotes are untrue. Matteo vouched for him—said he wouldn’t double-cross us this way. He understands the consequences.”
Still, tension knotted his shoulders. If he was wrong, the fallout would be costly. Worse, histíowould be right.
That alone would be insufferable.
“Matteo’s been in Phoenix for years now, attending to Espina Negra business. How well does he know the current Aztec leadership?” Juan shrugged and reached into the top left pocket of his white linen guayabera. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “A personal visit would allow you to shake this man’s hand. Look him in the eye. The old way of sealing an agreement.”
He pulled a cigarette out, offering one to Vincente in a wordless gesture.
Vincente shook his head. His vices were many, but the only tobacco he inhaled came from Cuban cigars, not cheap American shit.