Page 19 of Bad Blood

Well, surprise, fucker.That piece of shit’s name has been on my payroll for two years.

“And he has no idea what’s about to happen?” I ask, steepling my fingers.

Monroe’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Senator Sanders? No, none. And as far as Sanders’s son and Edier Grayson are concerned, this is a New York power play.” Mimicking my gesture, he steeples his fingers under his chin. “Once the bill passes, they’re free and clear to turn their bars and clubs into high-end casinos so they can—”

“Get a piece of Legado’s action,” I finish for him.

Of course. Why wouldn’t they? With the current ban against any legalized gambling that doesn’t involve a scratch off, New Jersey is siphoning money straight out of Santiago’s deep pockets. Pissed off New Yorkers have no problem crossing state lines to blow their paychecks at the toss of the dice.

And Legado is more than happy to oblige.

Folding my hands, I tap the pad of my thumb against my bottom lip. “So we’re firmly on the offense?”

“Acquisition of BarNone is a solid lock,” he answers confidently. “I have a contact at the health department who owes me a favor. After Sanders was served a laundry list of code violations…” He smirks, flashing teeth straight out of an orthodontist’s wet dream. “Well, let’s just say, the ‘good’ senator isn’t one to bother with renovations and upgrades.”

Or with details.

“So he’s set an asking price?”

He nods. “And he’s highly motivated to sell. We should be able to add his club to our assets by the month’s end. Your first behind enemy lines.”

The first of many.

“Ourassets?” I flash him a heated stare.

A nervous laugh escapes his crooked smile. “My apologies, Santi. It was a slip of the tongue. I meantyourassets, of course.”

“See that it doesn’t happen again, Spader,” I warn darkly. “Or the next ‘slip’ may be onto the floor.”

Wincing, he pushes his falling glasses back up his nose. “There could be one slight hiccup.”

“Howslight?”

Pulling a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his cheap blue suit, he dabs his forehead. “Another buyer has thrown his hat in the ring—and he’s offering twice what we are.”

I don’t like the hesitation in his voice. “Who?”

He winces again. “His son.”

I slam my palm onto the desk. “¡Hijo de su puta madre!”

Sam Sanders is like the gift that keeps on giving. A goddamn poison repeatedly infecting my family. Two years ago, Valentin Carrera sent his only daughter to the United States, and I allowed her to fall intohishands.

One blink and the Santiago Cartel left their stain on one of my own.

My little sister.

A kid who mistook affection for annihilation.

Lola was my responsibility, and I failed her.

And here thispinche cabrónis again, sticking his dick where it doesn’t belong.

This war between the Carreras and the Santiagos may have started a generation ago, but its legacy has been fed by the river of bad blood dividing New Jersey and New York. Between Carrera-ruled territory and Santiago-owned grounds. Between a new generation hell-bent on stoking the fires of a twenty-year feud. Between the son of Valentin Carrera and the spawn of Dante Santiago’s inner circle.

The original debt has yet to be paid.

The sin against my sister has yet to be atoned.