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Chapter One

Enrique

She’s going to fall off that fucking ladder.

I slow my pace to a jog as I approach a house with a woman far too high on her ladder, leaning far too much to the right as she tries to fish something out of her gutters. She’s got to be about five-five to my six-three.

I could reach whatever she’s fishing around for. She’s more likely to fall off and break something. I should mind my own business and keep going with my run, but there’s no way I’m doing that. I wouldn’t if it were a woman of any age, and I wouldn’t if it were an elderly person, either.

If it were a guy my age, maybe I’d let him deal with it, but for her—there’s something in how she’s reaching. Some frustration I can feel even from here. I approach slowly as I walk up the driveway. I’m only halfway to her when a humongous dog comes bounding toward me.

No wonder there’s a baby gate across the entrance to her open garage. The massive beast doesn’t bark, but he growls. It’s a Mastiff, much like the one Laura Kutsenko has, except this one is a different color and easily weighs about fifty pounds more than her giant companion. I wonder if this one is as much of a love bug as Laura’s. At least, that’s what she’s always claimed.

The woman on the ladder speaks to her dog, giving him a command.

“Hush, Constantine. Lie down.”

The dog immediately obeys, but he inches closer to the baby gate, still growling at me. It’s only then that the woman notices me. She grips the ladder as she jerks away. I hurry over and grab the ladder, tempted to demand she come down from there.

“Who are you?”

If anybody’s going to do the demanding, apparently it’s her. Not that I can blame the woman, since I’m a complete stranger.

“I’m Enrique. I saw you as I was running. You looked a little wobbly up there.”

“Well, I was okay until I was startled—but thank you.”

Dismissive is the only way to describe her now. I don’t blame her for that either. She’s a woman in a precarious position with a strange man looking up at her. Now that I’m certain the ladder won’t fall over, I step away. I don’t need to look like a perv staring up her shorts.

“Would you like some help? I can easily reach whatever you’re going for.”

She glances at the gutter before she looks at me, clearly debating whether she should trust me. Never has there been a more misguided decision than when she backs down the ladder. I’m probably the least trustworthy person she could ever meet. At least to anybody who’s outside my family. Within my family, I’m absolutely trustworthy. I’m more loyal than anybody you could ever meet. Family is everything in my line of work.

She steps aside once she’s back down on the ground. She walks closer to the open garage door, and her dog stands. She pats him between the ears, and his tail waggles so much that his entire body shimmies. I don’t wait around.

I don’t ask her name, even though I’m dying to find out. Instead, I scale the ladder and quickly see the problem.

There’s a branch packed in leaves lodged in the gutter. It’s a miracle the weight of the leaves and this practical log hasn’t pulled the gutter from the roof. I know this house has been on the market for some time, so she’s a recent buyer.

I’m able to reach, just like I said, so I scoop out all the leaves, then wiggle the branch free.

“Here, I’ll take that.”

She reaches up, and it gives me a fine view of the loveliest tits I’ve ever seen. She’s wearing a sports bra and tank top with workout shorts. The tank top’s cut just as low as the sports bra. I tried not to stare at her ass as I walked up the driveway and failed miserably, but at least her back was to me.

If I keep looking at her, she’ll realize what I’m staring at are not the most piercing blue eyes I’ve seen in a long time. She’s going to know I’m looking at what must easily be double, if not triple D tits, and there’s no way they aren’t real.

She’s waiting for me, but I’m tongue-tied like I’m fourteen years old, seeing my first pair of boobies. I shake my head as I lift the branch out and fling it away from her. As I climb down, she frowns and looks over to where the branch landed.

I know she’s thinking she’ll just have to pick that up later, along with all the leaves I pulled out. I’ll take care of it. When I’m on the ground, she steps forward, but instead of backing away, I move the ladder down a few more feet and climb back up.

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“It’s fine. This’ll go faster if I do it. I can reach more than you can. It’ll only take me a moment.”

Well, I take more than a few moments. It’s closer to ten minutes to do the entire front of her house. It wouldn’t surprise me if the other three sides have just as much clogging them as this one does. I want to suggest there are services that do this, but I don’t know her well enough. And if she’s just bought a house, perhaps she can’t hire people to do things for her.

“You really can stop now. I’ve already done the rest of the house. It was just up here that got a little more difficult. The company I hired flaked on me, and with the weather that’s supposed to be coming soon, I wanted to make sure I had the gutters clear.”

“April showers bring May flowers.”

What the hell? That is the most asinine thing I’ve said in ages, but it’s true.

I noticed when I approached she was wearing gloves to do this work, but I’m not. Since those leaves had been up there all fall and through the winter, they were a mushy pile of mold. I don’t even want to think whatever else there is besides just the leaves. My hands are disgusting, but it doesn’t stop me from grabbing the open composting bag I see and going over to scoop up what I dropped on the ground. When I finish that, I break up the stick I fished out and put it in the bag as well.

I left her little choice but to accept my help. She watches me as I move around like this is my front yard rather than as a trespasser. I watch from the corner of my eye as she steps over the baby gate and grabs something from the garage. Her dog could’ve easily cleared the gate in one leap. He’s that well-trained he just growled instead of ignoring the obvious barricade.

Just as I put the last of the leaves into a bag, she comes out with a bottle of water, a bottle of hand sanitizer, and some paper towels. She uncaps the water but doesn’t hand it to me. It takes me a moment, but I realize she grabbed it so she could rinse my hands for me.

I stick them out, and she pours the water until everything is off of my hands. I accept the paper towels and dry them off before taking a pump of the hand sanitizer.

“You said your name is Enrique, but I was remiss in telling you mine. It’s Elodie.”

Neither of us offers a last name, and I don’t blame her. I didn’t offer mine because a quick google to make sure I’m not a psychopath is enough to prove I am. My name will come up as the jefe of the Colombian Cartel here in New York. No police or federal agency has caught and prosecuted me to prove it. It’s just known. I’m certain she didn’t give her last name because she doesn’t need some strange man looking up her life history, even though I now have her address.

Constantine’s staring up at me while Elodie and I chat. I feel as though the dog is taking stock and deciding whether I pass muster. His head tilts to the side. If he were an old man, he would sit with his thumb and index finger cupping his chin with his finger tapping his jaw.

I don’t know why that came to me. It’s one of the most ridiculous thoughts I’ve had in a long time. It’s like that old-fashioned picture with the dogs playing poker. But he once again wags his tail and wiggles. Maybe he’s not judging me, or I’ve passed.

I’m tentative, but I offer the back of my hand to the animal, and he sniffs. His tongue sticks out for a moment as though he’ll lick me, but then he looks up at Elodie as though she would give him permission. She does nothing, so the dog sits and offers his paw to me instead.

“You have a very well-behaved dog.”

“I do. It took some training, but he’s a sweet animal to begin with.”

“How old is he?”

“He’s two. My sons got him for me.”

“Your sons?”

With gloves on, I couldn’t see a wedding ring. I glance toward the house, and she smiles.

“They won’t come out and grill you over who’s talking to their mom.”

I don’t want to tell her that’s not even what I was thinking about, but that’s good to know. Since she didn’t mention a husband coming out either, I assume there’s no angry man who’ll want to know who’s been picking leaves out of his gutters. Even better to know.

We stare at each other, and for once I’m at a loss for words, so I smile instead. I’ve been told I can be charming when I smile, but it seems not to affect her as much as the way she affects me.

“Well, I’m glad I could help you. I’ve got to finish my run.”

She looks toward the street and then at me and nods. “I really appreciate it. I have to admit my heart was beating a little hard as I stretched up there. I knew I should’ve moved the ladder down, but it still wouldn’t have mattered that much. I’m not exactly tall.”

“Just being a friendly neighbor.”

Her gaze passes over me before she looks at the house next door. This is a great neighborhood with homes that cost more than most people can afford. However, I’m certain she can tell I have more money than the average family here. It’s not that I have a ton of jewelry on or have ridiculous high-end clothing to work out in. I’ve just been told I reek of money.

“It was nice meeting you.”

She pulls her right glove off and sticks out her hand. Her skin is smooth, but I can feel calluses at the bottom of her fingers pressed against the palm of my hand. I noticed the workout equipment in her garage.

It’s a three-car, and the main two-car part has a bunch of fitness gear. She parked her car in the single. I walk to the end of the driveway. I’m nowhere near done, so I turn away from the direction I came and continue my run. I’d only put in two miles before I stopped her, so I have another three to go before I turn around.

When I come back past her house, I glimpse the top of her head moving back and forth. I realize she’s on an erg. I wonder if she just likes the rowing machines for fitness or if she’s like me and rows. I’ve been a rower since I was in high school.

I don’t have time anymore to be out on the water as much as I’d like, but I go out in my single as often as I can. Being on the water is peaceful to me, and rowing by myself is one of the few times when I’m alone and no one asks anything of me or reports any shit that’s going wrong. I keep going, but the woman is on my mind the rest of the day.

I can’t explain what it is about her that intrigues me. She’s definitely attractive, and I wouldn’t have minded more time to ogle her. But there was intelligence in her gaze and kindness in her smile. It’s not that I’m lacking intelligent company. It’s just I see kindness so rarely outside my family. My sisters didn’t move to America until after I’d been here for nearly two decades. My sister-in-law, Margherita, has been battling cancer for a few years now. It’s in remission, and she’s doing better than she was. For most of my adult life, she was one of the few sources of kindness. It’s not that she’s unkind now, but she doesn’t have the same optimistic air she did for years.

The treatments exhausted her, so she spent a lot of time at home. During that time, my brother didn’t travel nearly as much for work as he has in the past, which meant I often did. It gave me less time to be around them, and I regret that.

“ Tío , are you listening?”

“I’m thinking.”

I don’t need to tell Alejandro I’m not thinking about whatever he’s talking about. I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about. I’m still puzzling over Elodie.

“The O’Rourkes are expanding into Eastern Europe and usurping the Kutsenkos’ territory. It means they need more product, and they aren’t buying from us.”

“Do they have more labs?”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” Alejandro turns his computer toward me and has a map pulled up.

It’s one I commissioned of the Amazon, a place with most of the cocaine labs spread out over hundreds of miles. Already marked on there are our production sites and ones we know for certain are where the Mancinellis, the Kutsenkos, and the O’Rourkes have most of their labs. We leave them alone because it’s not worth wasting money and men trying to shut down their operations. If we do, it’ll antagonize them too much. They’d partner with rivals I already have down there.

Only the other major New York syndicates get a pass. Anyone else who tries to grow or make anything in Colombia or the surrounding countries goes through me.

Alejandro points to a couple of locations. “We suspect this is where they are.”

“That’s creeping awfully close to our principal source of cocoa.”

“We know. We believe they’re trying to buy black market resources already promised to us.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. I want to know for certain before we act. It’s one thing for the O’Rourkes to fuck over the bratva. It’s another for them to bite the hand that feeds them.”

They’re there because I allow it.

“ Tío Luis is supposed to call me in an hour.”

My brother is two years younger than me. We’ve lived apart for large chunks of our lives, but it was never by our choice. He’s my best friend, closest confidant, and my conscience—which is saying something since he’s back in Colombia right now to deal with a man who’s been far too talkative.

Alejandro is one of our four shared nephews. We have two younger sisters, and Alejandro is our first sister’s only child. Our second sister has three sons, and Luis had two. My heart’s still torn when I think about that. Among my siblings, there are five young men in their early thirties. I have no children and need none since Luis’s older son, Pablo, is my heir.

“Make it a three-way call. I want to hear what maninto knows.” Hermanito —little brother. Manito for short.

“If he’s on his way back, do you want me to go down there?”

“Let’s wait a little longer.”

We exchange a look, and we both know it has nothing to do with needing more time to investigate. Margherita goes in for more tests next week to ensure the cancer’s still in remission. I’ll move heaven and earth—truly because I will blow shit up—to be sure Luis is back here in time for those appointments, so I pray he’s already on his way. I don’t want any of my family away when we find out the results.

We’ve been discussing the situation in my home office, so Alejandro and I work at our computers on projects we each have until his phone rings. He holds up the screen, and I can see it’s Luis. Alejandro answers it and puts it on speaker.

“ Manito, ?qué pasa? ” Little brother, what’s going on?

“ Demasiado que decir por teléfono .” Too much to say over the phone.

Considering I have jammers at my house, and Luis has them at his home in Bogotá, something went so sideways he won’t risk anyone circumventing our protections.

We continue in Spanish since Luis won’t say anything he fears somebody in Colombia shouldn’t hear.

“Are you on your way back?”

“Yeah. I’m leaving for the airport in ten minutes. I wanted to let you know I’m on my way. How’s Margherita? She won’t tell me the truth. She always says she’s fine.”

Margherita could lie to God, and he wouldn’t know the truth. But she only does it to protect family. Otherwise, the woman’s a devout Catholic who obeys the ninth commandment. She just maneuvers around the truth when she has to. Protecting family means protecting the Cartel, so she has no problems lying about what any and all of us do.

She normally never lies to Luis, but any time he travels, she says nothing worse than “fine.” She admits it doesn’t make Luis stop worrying about her and the family, but at least he doesn’t know details to obsess over.

“She’s still tired, but she’s not as pale. Tres J’s and Alejandro stay with her at night when Pablo can’t. She’s well taken care of. Our sisters are there so much during the day, I think your wife wants you home just for some quiet.”

Tres J’s —Joaquin, Jorge, and Javier—and Alejandro spend the night when our work keeps her son away. She insists she doesn’t need a man in the house to sleep well at night. With the shit that’s gone down among the top syndicates the last few years—especially after the shit my family’s played a part in—no one wants any of the women alone at night, especially not my sister-in-law when she’s not at full strength.

“They are exhausting.”

Alejandro snorts and rolls his eyes, but it’s good natured. He knows neither Luis nor I would allow him to utter a disparaging word about his mother or aunts.

“Do you need to see me as soon as you get back? Or can you take a few days with Margherita?”

“Come by in the morning, and I’ll brief you on what’s most important. I’ll fill Pablo in on the rest when he’s here. You can sort it out with him.”

“Does Alejandro need to pack?”

“Not yet. Maybe next week.”

I look at my nephew. If we didn’t have a private jet, the poor guy would be in the multi-million-miler club with any airline. He claims he doesn’t mind traveling so much, but I know he’s growing tired of the constant travel . If going down there more often were safe for Tres J’s , they’d split up the duties. But growing up there means they have a history that makes it better for those they left behind not to see them. Pablo has too many duties here in NYC for him to risk flying down there more than a couple times a year. So, the burden lands on Alejandro. It’s a good thing he has the broadest shoulders in the family.

I’m about to wrap up the call when Luis continues. I clench my jaw since the first word tells me everything. Hermano mayor is big brother. Mano is just easier. He’s been saying it since he learned to talk, and I know what each tone means.

“ Mano , you won’t like what you hear.”