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Why this hurt, she had no idea. The woman meant nothing to her.
“MI6 is all right with this? They don’t want her body?”
“No. As far as MI6 is concerned, Iris Gates is alive and on a deep-cover assignment. They haven’t decided when and how they’ll report her death. Her treasonous activities will likely stay hidden. They did, however, indicate that you can decide what kind of burial you want.”
“When do I need to let them know?”
“You can wait a few days. She’s in the morgue under an alias. No one else knows.”
“I’ll give it some thought and let you know.”
She turned to walk away.
“Olivia?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry about last night…on the plane. I shouldn’t have—”
Determined to keep her dignity intact, Olivia raised her hand to stop his apology. “No. You were right. It was a weak moment for me. I never should have asked. It’s been over for us for a long time. I was just too thickheaded to see it.”
She did walk away then, not caring if he thought her weak again. She just needed to get away from him before she confirmed to him just how weak she really was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Colombia
Juan Gonzalez stood in his office, one of his many in the region. Rows and rows of product owned by the Gonzalez cartel stood before him as far as the eye could see. This was just a small sample of what the cartel owned throughout South America.
There were factories that created the most addictive and dangerous narcotics and massive ships that delivered those products throughout the world on a weekly basis. Additionally, various laboratories were creating new potions, elixirs, deadly poisons, and toxins to aid and/or destroy at a user’s discretion.
Every addictive and dangerous chemical known to man would soon likely be synonymous with the Gonzalez name.
At almost twenty years old, he, Juan Gonzalez, was being set up to be the wealthiest and most influential drug lord in the world. He had been told that his name would be whispered in awe and reverence. Men and women would lower their heads out of respect and fear. When people heard the name Gonzalez, they would be filled with the highest admiration.
He had been promised that and more. As long as he did what they told him to do, he would attain the highest goals.
Years ago, his father had made this arrangement. Before he could see it to fruition, he had been betrayed. Hector’s arrest had looked like the end for Juan and his mamá. He’d been too young to know what to do, and his mamá had never been involved in the business. His papá had tried to communicate from his prison cell what should be done, but neither of them had understood.
When his papá had died in prison, the days had been darker than ever. Then his mamá had received a visit from a man who had made so many promises it had been impossible to keep up with all of them. All their troubles, he’d said, were over. They would not only honor the promise they’d made to his papá, but they would also avenge his death.
It had seemed like a dream come true. From that moment on, life had improved. So much so that it had been overwhelming and frightening. Juan had tried to keep up, tried to understand what was happening. It had soon become apparent that he had little say over anything. Yes, he was the head of the Gonzalez cartel, but he made no decisions, had no input. He reaped the benefits of wealth, power, and prestige without lifting a finger. He should be happy—he had everything any man could want.
But no one had ever asked him what he wanted. He’d been told that this was his legacy, his calling. But shouldn’t he have some kind of choice? Some input on what he wanted to do with his life?
They had just assumed that since he was Hector Gonzalez’s only son, that he would want this legacy. Even Mamá had thought this was what he wanted. He’d once had friends, and though he’d not had a steady girlfriend, he had dated. Now it was as if his life was already over. His friends were attending university, they were making lives for themselves, pursuing their dreams. And he, with his expensive toys, luxurious cars, and multiple houses, envied them.
Talking to anyone about this was out of the question. He had tried to discuss his concerns with his mamá, but she could offer no solution. Juan didn’t blame her. She had married his papá when she was just sixteen and knew nothing of business. She was expecting him to handle things the way his papá would expect.
He had idolized his papá, and when he’d been taken away that day, Juan had sobbed like a child. Never had he felt so lost and abandoned. But now he felt alone in a different, much scarier way. If he didn’t do what these people told him to do, he and Mamá would have no future at all.
His papá had left him this legacy, and as much as he didn’t want to disappoint him, he wished so very desperately that his legacy had been something else. Anything else, anything at all, other than the evil that permeated everything to do with a drug trafficking cartel.
A noise behind him was a reminder that he was being watched at all times. He was Juan Gonzalez, leader of the Gonzalez cartel. It didn’t matter that he was little more than a figurehead and therefore replaceable. There were cousins who would be all too eager to step into his shoes. If they did, Juan knew that he and his mamá would be considered expendable. There would be no reason for them to exist.
He had to play the part, no matter how distasteful or frightening it was. If he did what they told him to do, acted the way they told him to act, he and his mamá would continue to live.
What other choice did he have?