Page 9

Chapter Nine

Ellie

“Ignacio, you’re wasting my time, and you know I’m not as patient as I pretend. You thought your disappearing act would save your ass. All it did was piss me off, having to track you down. At least you have the good sense to have a decent place as your hideout.”

The ten-thousand square foot home would do Pablo Escobar proud. Ignacio has a veritable compound out here, and it’s fucking invisible with the canopy cover. You’d never guess, flying over, that all these buildings are down here. It took a shitload of money for me to convince a helicopter pilot to bring me out here. Then it was a twenty-minute horseback ride to get to the gates. It took me five minutes to convince the guard to even tell Ignacio I was here. That was after wasting four days trying to find his sorry ass.

“Well, you are certainly persistent, senhora Messina.

Emelia Messina is one of many personas I’ve had over the years. It’s the one I use in Brazil. I have a different one for Colombia, and a third for Bolivia and Uruguay. That doesn’t even scratch the surface of all the fake identities I have for Europe and Asia. I have three that I use in South Africa alone. It’s fucking mental jumping jacks on some trips to remember who I am on any given day of the week.

But it’s been like that for twenty-seven years. Tommaso has sent me on these little excursions all over the world. My complexion and features allow me to blend in most places. I mastered various accents as a kid and used to do impersonations. If only I hadn’t found that so much fun and hadn’t shown off too many times to Tommaso and Frank. Now I collect money no one else can find. That’s what I’m doing here.

“Ignacio, I should charge you a fee for every day you’ve wasted my time to track you down.”

“ Senhora Messina, that’s not how it works.”

“Ignacio, you don’t make any rules with me. We do things the way I say, or I make one call to Tommaso, and you can say goodbye to all of this.”

“We took your phone and your tracker, senhora Messina.”

“You don’t think I sent him a message before I came knocking at your door? I suggest you figure out how to make all of my wishes come true, or this will cost you more than what you owe Tommaso and my service fee.”

It’s going to cost him a shit ton more than he realizes. But that’s a secret I’ll keep to myself for now. I put my hand out and flap my fingers, waiting for him to hand over a thumb drive.

Fucking prehistoric system keeping any financial information on a thumb drive, even if it’s a backup from a cloud. I slide his computer in front of me. There’s not a fucking chance in hell I’d ever use my computer, whether it’s really my personal one or the one Tommaso gave me for work.

From his hesitation, I know he’s put something on this thumb drive he doesn’t want downloaded onto his computer. I’ll have to work fast before it clears out the data. I access files that would look like nonsense to most people. But I already know his encryption system.

When one of his men shifts to stand too close to me, I glare at the guy and raise an eyebrow. It’s a harsher version of the look I’d give my boys when they got in trouble. The toned-down version was enough to make them apologize without me guessing what they’d done. It makes this man give me a wide berth.

I type rapidly, pulling up a connection to a cloud where I safely upload all these documents I need. Then I hurry to wipe any traces of what I did. I barely finish before the screen goes blue. I spin the laptop toward Ignacio. Then I pick it up and hurl it against the wall.

“You fucked around, Ignacio. You’re going to find out. I saw enough to know what you did, even if you haven’t provided all that information to Tommaso or Enrique like you should have.”

Yeah, that was a motherfucking shock to discover the customer waiting offshore for Ignacio’s product was Enrique. I may be doing a job for Tommaso, but maybe Enrique’ll look at it as a gift when he inevitably finds out.

That’s laughable. I doubt I’ll be lucky enough to leave here, let alone survive whatever Enrique will have in store for me.

Everyone in the room looks at the shattered computer before turning their gaze to me.

“Be glad it’s only the computer I broke. You really fucked yourself over this time, Ignacio. Pay Tommaso what you owe him, get the product to the customers, and maybe I can convince him not to send somebody down here.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave, senhora Messina.”

“You know I’m walking out of here just fine since I already sent my location off. If anything happens to me, Tommaso will burn your fucking labs to the ground. He’ll do that before his hitman puts a bullet between your eyes. He’ll make sure you see everything he’s taken from you. Don’t kill the messenger, Ignacio.”

The man sits back and crosses his arms. He doesn’t intimidate me. He looks like a petulant child instead of a grown ass cartel kingpin. But I don’t put it past him to slice my throat.

“And if you make any trouble for me between here and Rio, I’ll make sure Pasha Kutsenko knows you went after a woman.”

“You’re fucking fair game, senhora .”

“No, I’m not. I’m an accountant. I handle the books for foreign deals. The only women who’re fair game are mercenaries. You had your guards pat me down thoroughly. I had no weapons on me.”

“Maybe you stashed those wherever you stopped to send Tommaso a little love note.”

“Believe you me, love is not what Tommaso and I share. You need me as much as he needs you.” I lean forward, elbows on the table. “What I report to him will determine what happens next. I’m certain from what little I saw, you’d prefer I not give him the full story. So, that service fee I mentioned before went up. It was a million. I’ll cut you a pretty deal at one-point-five.”

“That’s insane, senhora . There’s no way I’m paying one-point-five million dollars for your silence.”

“All right, then. Take your chances by killing me or having me talk. See what happens. The lesser of all the problems is for you to go along with what I’m saying. So, you decide how hard and how expensive you want to make this for yourself.”

I remain quiet, giving him time to supposedly think. But everyone in this room already knows what the only answer can be.

“Very well, senhora Messina, you’ll get your money. You’re lucky you’re a woman, otherwise I might not take to your negotiation strategies as well as I have been.”

“I seem to have a special touch.”

I push back the chair and rise. Ignacio and the other men sitting here who’ve remained silent throughout the meeting stand when I do, too. At least some manners are so deeply entrenched they almost come across as civilized.

“I expect the money in unmarked bills at the drop point. Make sure you don’t tell your son.”

I lock gazes with Ignacio, and he knows exactly what I mean. The young man is fucking psychotic. He’s a terrific enforcer because he has no boundaries. He loves to torture, but he’s got a big fucking mouth. If Ignacio wasn’t paying off all the law enforcement in Rio and half the politicians in this country, his son would not only be locked up, but Ignacio would be out of business. The guy has no discretion at all.

“If I hear even a whisper of what’s going on from anyone outside this room, I’ll know where it came from. It won’t please my boss if there’re more complications.”

“Please your boss?” Ignacio snorts. “Since when have you ever considered Tommaso your boss?”

“He sent me here to do a job. I did it, and he’s going to pay me for it. Sounds like he’s my boss to me.”

“Come now, senhora Messina. That’s a pile of shit even you can’t shovel.”

“Regardless of whether I’m a free agent, self-contracted, or an employee, I work for Tommaso Vizzini, and he will have his money. Since you’ve made my life more difficult than it needed to be, I will have my money. The drop place tomorrow.”

I walk to the door, not bothering to wait around to find out if any of them would shake my hand. There’s not enough hand sanitizer in the world to stop feeling scuzzy after touching any of them. When I get to the front door, I stare at the armed guard. He opens it, but I look over my shoulder to where I know they’re holding the two men who accompanied me. I tap my toes and cock an eyebrow.

Sometimes you’ve got to play like you’ve got the biggest pair of balls in the room, even if you don’t have any at all.

The guy in front of me gestures to someone I didn’t see, but the second guy goes down the hallway and knocks. The door opens, and they speak Portuguese. The two men step aside, and my escorts come out. They flank me, and we walk past the guard at the door. None of us say a word. We keep walking until we get to the gate. It’s not until we’re on the other side that my escorts get their weapons back.

All three of us check the horses we rode out here on. They didn’t come through the gate with us. Instead, we had a local man hold on to them. One of my escorts pays the villager, who swears no one came near the animals. We still examine underneath their saddles, their bridles, and all their hooves. None of us can afford for a horse to go lame while we’re trying to get out of this part of the jungle. I ride well enough to get by, so I mount on my own, then we head out.

The three of us remain silent since none of us trust there aren’t cameras in the trees. Maybe they’re only infrared, but they could pick up more than just that. It’s not until we get to the landing zone and the helicopter touches down that anyone speaks.

“Are you all right, signora Messina? They didn’t do anything to you?”

My guards are Tommaso’s men, so they use the Italian honorific. But they know not to use my real last name.

“No. Luca, I’m fine. They wouldn’t dare.”

No one believes that as we board the helicopter. I fully expected to die, and I still very well may. I played a dangerous game I couldn’t guarantee I’d win. I’m exhausted by the time I return to the hotel where I’m staying. There’s extra security for me here.

It’s not unheard of, so I don’t stand out too much with guards outside my door and my window. I trust no one to provide me with anything to eat or drink. I brought all my own bottled water and non-perishable foods. While the cuisine in Brazil is excellent, and I wish I could enjoy it, it’s not worth being poisoned. I’m certain plenty would call me paranoid, but I’ve seen enough counterparts die from something as simple as accepting a bottle of water from hotel staff.

I kick off my shoes and slip out of my cargo pants and blouse. Once I have the pillows adjusted, and I’m comfortable leaning against the headboard, I suck in a deep breath and turn on the portable signal jammers I always travel with. I’m using burners, and all of my boys have them, too.

It didn’t go over well when I explained where I was going. It was much easier when they were younger, and I just told them I was going on a work trip. They’d ask where, and I’d lie, since that’s all they wanted to know. My ex-husband would corroborate that story.

When they got older and started asking for more details, my truth-stretching got more creative. I did my best to keep the lies to a minimum, but they were unavoidable. Once my boys were teenagers and started doing odd jobs for Tommaso and Frank, they figured a lot of shit out. By the time they were in college, they knew who and what I really am.

A mercenary.

They still hold a boatload of anger and resentment about that. They’ll always direct some of it toward me because I’m not the mom they thought they had. But most of it is toward their dad for not protecting me and keeping me out. The rest of it is toward Tommaso for sucking me in and digging his claws in.

Steve and Hunt are Mafia-adjacent. They still go on missions when Tommaso insists, but that’s extremely rare. Sometimes they do an odd job here and there for him, but they keep their noses clean.

Will wasn’t as fortunate as the oldest. The don—Tommaso—and consigliere —Frank—lured him in, and Tim did nothing to stop it. Fortunately, Will created a reputation for himself early on as a wrestler, then bare-knuckle boxer. Very few take him on.

He got my ability to look at numbers, sort them out, and just know what they mean. I’m faster at mental math than anyone I know except for Will. He’s a stockbroker on paper, but he handles the Vizzinis’ investments. I’ve worked alongside him to make sure the creative accounting doesn’t draw too much attention from the SEC and the IRS.

Me

Fine

I send one word to the boys. I won’t risk a longer message than that. For now, they know it means the initial meeting went fine. When I’m on the plane, and I’m over international water, I’ll send another one.

I expect no response from them, so when nothing comes in, it’s not unusual. I swallow my disgust as I dial a phone number I always hate remembering. It rings twice.

“Elle.”

“The meeting’s done. I’ll have what I came for tomorrow morning.”

“What about the rest of it?”

“It’ll be done by the time I said it would.”

“How much are you skimming off the top?”

“It’s not skimming off the top when it’s a separate negotiation and deal. You’ll get yours. I’ll get mine.”

“You’ve always been sneaky like that.”

“Is this really the conversation you want to have when I’m about to have all your money and could go anywhere in the world with it? It’s not wise to antagonize me right now. Believe me, I’m in no hurry to stay here any longer than I have to. The moment I’m free to leave, I will.”

“Good work.”

I roll my eyes. Compliments from Tommaso are few and far between, and rarely are they genuine. I’m certainly not foolish enough to think he means those two words. I end the call and toss the burner on the bedside table.

I chose the clothes I packed with a purpose. I glance over at the closet and see the second pair of black cargo pants, the black turtleneck, the black hoodie, and the black boots on the floor beneath my pants. That’s tomorrow night’s ensemble. For now, I’m going to get whatever sleep I can when I refuse to close both eyes.

“Is that Ignacio’s man?”

I jut my chin toward a shady-ass looking guy. I have two different escorts today from the ones I had yesterday. Tommaso lined it all up for me, and these are guys from back home who speak Portuguese. They’ve traveled with other Vizzinis down here. They blend in as well as I do, but I’m never seen with the same two men two days in a row. The same men would make me too memorable.

We’re in one of the roughest favelas in Rio. It’s not somewhere I enjoy hanging out, but it allows me to stay in the car because nobody would think twice about a woman not wanting to walk along the street.

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s not at all suspicious-looking, is he?” My driver grins.

Anywhere else the man we’re watching would stand out, but he doesn’t look any different from the strung-out addicts around here. The guy is twitchy as fuck, but it’s from fear, not from the street drugs Ignacio’s family provides most of the city. We watch as the messenger bumps into a man, and it almost appears natural when they make the handoff.

I know what I’m looking for, but most people wouldn’t since they’re carrying identical bags. I made sure the one my guy passes to Ignacio’s errand boy has everything we need. When my guy returns to the car, I check the bag. I thumb through all the money. No dye packs. I pull out a loop and check. It’s all unmarked, and none is counterfeit. It’s all there.

We follow the messenger at a safe distance. He never looks back to see if anyone’s following him. When he gets to the outskirts of the shantytown, he finally looks around and bolts. The moment I’m certain he’s far enough away from anyone’s home, I reach into my pocket and press the little clicker.

A miniature Fourth of July show goes off right before us. The guy never checked the bag to see what he got in return. That’s on him, and it’s on Ignacio if he thought this guy would live to tell the tale about this deal. This is a little reminder in case Ignacio thinks to pull this shit again. I giveth, and I taketh away.

We head back to the hotel until it’s dark. Now’s the most dangerous part of this mission. It’s when I work with only one guard. Tonight, he’s my scout and will help me locate my targets. Once they’re locked on tomorrow, there’s nothing he can do except get the fuck out before anybody guesses he’s connected to the shitstorm that’ll blow through.

I’m in all black with a ball cap that allows me to tuck my dark hair underneath along with a bulky coat. I can pass for a man. I’m a little on the short side, but not unreasonably.

I know my partner’s moving parallel to me across the street. We don’t acknowledge each other as we wind through a nicer part of Rio. I have a gym bag with me that nobody would guess weighs a fucking ton. I have it pinched close to my side with my other hand in my pocket. My fingers wrap around the butt of my pistol. My head isn’t on a swivel because that would only gain attention I don’t need. However, my gaze sweeps the area, looking for anybody who not only appears out of place, but anyone who appears to fit a little too well. This is a more touristy part of the city, not one locals prefer to frequent.

It takes an hour before I spot what I’m looking for. A peek at my guard confirms it when our gazes meet. I ease around the side of the building, ensuring I remain in the shadows. I watch my guy who’s still across the street inch closer to the five men who’re meeting at a table on a restaurant’s outside patio. One of them is definitely Benicio.

That’s pretty fucking ballsy since it makes all of them easy targets. Tonight’s about gathering information and making sure I know who my targets are. If the opportunity strikes, I’ll take it, but I need to follow the plan I created. Impetuousness rarely pays off when you commit a capital crime, then need to disappear.

I watch the men for thirty minutes before they all rise. There’s one who stands in the shadows. His build is familiar. It reminds me of Enrique. I inch closer, maintaining my cover. I can’t see the man’s face, so I can’t be sure.

Is Rio where Enrique went? Are we both here at the same time? I know in my bones I’d recognize Enrique from anyone else. The man may remind me of him, but he’s not Enrique. I’ll send Andrés a text that hopefully he’ll pass along to Luis who’ll pass it to his brother. Or maybe Andrés can share the message directly with him.

The meeting breaks up, and the men go in separate directions, none coming toward me. My escort and I slip back to the hotel.

“All you have to do is head out on the tarmac and keep your back to the windows. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you. Nobody can see your face. They need to believe you’re me.”

“And if I do this for you, you’ll pay me?”

“Yes.”

I have on a sun hat with a huge brim, Audrey Hepburn sunglasses that cover half my face along with a nondescript gray sundress and black ballet flats. I look wealthy enough to fly in a private jet. This woman works at the airport. It’s a lucky coincidence we’re the same height and build. I hand her a dress to change into in the bathroom.

“I’ll hold on to your uniform, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“All right. And where do I meet you after this?”

“Come back to this bathroom, and I’ll be sure you get your clothes back, and the money I promised you.”

“All right.”

She’s reasonably skeptical about my request. Once she’s dressed, she leaves the restroom, and I’m close on her heels. We go in opposite directions until I double back and change into her uniform. I fold my dress and stick it under my shirt and down my pants. I slip through the security doors I need her badge to open. I’m certain there’s someone waiting for me when I’m supposed to get on the Vizzinis’ jet.

I creep out of the building and tuck myself away in the spot I already selected this morning. I grab my binoculars from the gear bag I hid and scout the area. It takes me a few sweeps before I see what I’m looking for.

Discreet but not invisible. It only takes me a handful of seconds to assemble my rifle. I roll onto my belly and set it up on the tripod. I set my scope on the man who’s got a gun pointing at the woman. I watch him home in on her as she heads toward the private plane I should be boarding.

Everything around me dulls except for what’s through my rifle scope that sharpens like a blade. Everything’s crisp. I adjust my position until I’m comfortable. Then I wait.

Come on, fucknut, get this over with.

The longer we’re both out here, the greater the chance someone will discover either of us. Ignacio’s mercenary is well hidden, but not as well as me. I recognize the guy. He’s got a solid reputation and isn’t cheap.

I suppose it should flatter me Ignacio chose him for the job, clearly expecting me to be a hard target to pin down. The assassin lifts his rifle and wraps his finger around the trigger. The moment that finger moves even a fraction, I pull my trigger.

Blood explodes from his head, twisting his body toward me with the force. It opens his chest as a perfect target. I put two through his heart just to be on the safe side. If the bullet to his brain didn’t kill him, then the two through his heart did. I’m on my feet, disassembling the rifle as people scream.

The assassin’s bullet hit the decoy woman, but I timed it, so my shot knocked him off balance. The bullet only winged her. I couldn’t guarantee such good luck, but I took my chances, and it paid off. People run to her as I slip back into the building. I duck into the restroom where I met the woman earlier. I change back into my clothes and fold up hers. When I leave, I nod to a woman across from me.

She’s one of our informants and has been for years. I hand over the clothes and the money I promised the woman who pretended to be me. My informant will help ensure she gets the medical treatment she needs and can disappear along with any family she wants to take with her. She’ll make sure the rumor spreads that I died out there on the tarmac.

Ignacio will think the hit was a success. He’ll accept the money’s gone even though I’m positive he’s sent somebody to ransack my hotel room. I checked out this morning. It’s a matter of waiting around until it’s dark, so I can finish the very last of this job.

The hours crawl as I hide at another informant’s house. This woman was my guide the first time I came to Rio nearly thirty years ago. That was purely for vacation. At the time, she worked for a resort. We struck up a conversation and hit it off. She warned Tim and me about the cartels and which areas to avoid. There was something in the way she spoke that gave her away.

She knew more than just passing information or the rumors and history most residents know. The second time I came back five years later, I sought her out and tested the waters. She’s been an excellent partner ever since.

“The restaurant’s back door leads into a storage room. My brother’ll make sure it’s unlocked for you, and you can wait there. There’s already a spyhole cut into the wall. It’s one Ignacio had put in.”

“And you’re certain he won’t have anyone there?”

“He definitely won’t because the man he’s meeting with will have already had the entire restaurant swept. He won’t go inside if Ignacio has anyone hidden.”

“Do you know who this man is? Could he be the one I saw last night? The one Benicio’s met with?”

“I haven’t found out his name. No one has. The only people who seem to know him are the ones he met with last night.”

“Ignacio wasn’t there, so I don’t know if he’s back in Rio.”

“I have it on good authority he’s supposed to attend tonight, senhora .”

“I’m counting on that.”

If he isn’t, then it’ll be a long fucking night while I track him down and try to keep anybody from finding me.

Like I did last night, I slip out once it’s dark. I’m wearing the same clothes I did yesterday, keeping me inconspicuous and easily blending into the shadows. My escort strolls across the street from me, blending in like a local. He falls back a block as I approach the restaurant. I recognize the man smoking beside a door.

“Hello, senhor Sousa.”

He greets me as the man I’m pretending to be. My response is a nod as he gestures at the building.

“I’ll be out here if you need me. I’ve got the van waiting. Engine’s already on and idling. The moment you come out, I’ll have the door open and waiting for you.”

Again, I say nothing. I merely nod. He eases open the storage room door, and I look around, but it’s pitch black. I shrug out of the coat I’m wearing over the hoodie and backpack. I slip the strap off one shoulder. I pull out a headlamp and adjust it as I put it on. It sits just above the brim of my baseball cap. It provides enough light while the brim refracts some of it. I sweep my gaze around the storage room, satisfied with what I see.

“It’s right there.” The man points to my left and closes the door once I step away.

I flick off my headlamp before creeping toward the wall. I run my fingers over it until I find what I’m looking for. There’s a piece of tape on the wall at someone’s eye level. I stand on my toes. Of course, this was cut into the wall for a man.

I open my backpack all the way and pull out everything I need. It would shock most people to realize rifles can break down into small enough parts to fit in an oversized hiking backpack. I pull over a crate I noticed earlier and pray it can bear my weight once I’m on it. I step up, peel off the tape, and put my eye to the peephole.

There are two men sitting at a table with their backs to me. There’re still six seats open at the table. I climb down and put my ear to the wall. Since it’s dark in the room, anybody who looks in the peephole’s direction won’t realize it’s there since no light will shine through it. I don’t need anyone spotting my white eyeball against it.

The wall was thin enough to cut the peephole, so it’s thin enough for me to hear some of what’s going on. Chairs scrape across the floor as more men join the two who were already at the table. I count each chair as I believe it moves.

When I’m certain all of them are taken, I step onto the crate and peek to ensure I’m right. Ignacio is at the head of the table, which puts him facing me. I inhale silently, keeping my breathing even. I focus on my heart rate and not letting it spike. Despite how many of these missions I’ve been on or how high my body count is, there’s always a moment of apprehension knowing everything could go sideways, and someone could discover me. I’m not in the mood to die today, so I must remain calm.

I hear the voices as the meeting starts, but I don’t understand what anyone says. I speak no more Portuguese than I do Spanish, though I can follow along in Spanish fairly well. I’m fluent in Italian and Sicilian along with English. The first isn’t a language I grew up with. It’s one I learned out of necessity. I have a fair amount of Russian and Polish as well, and some Chinese and Japanese.

I haven’t learned Spanish because I’m always with Vizzini men who speak the language when I’m anywhere I need it. I don’t trust interpreters for any other language because they’re rarely any of Tommaso’s men. Some of the men who’ve traveled with me are my boys’ ages, and I’ve known them their entire lives. I trust them to get me home to my sons.

I pull out my phone, which is already on dark mode, and shield the screen. I tap on the translation app and hold it toward the peephole. I watch the words appear across the screen.

“Ignacio, you played a foolish game, and you didn’t win. The woman Tommaso sent—it sounds like she put your balls in a vise and squeezed. Did she make them pop?”

“I’m at a meeting here with you. I’d say I still have the balls to do that.”

“Fair enough. They just shrank, but they’re still there. Did you pay the Vizzinis the money you owe them?”

Ignacio doesn’t respond. The man who’s speaking has a hint of a Spanish accent, but his Portuguese sounds fluent to me. I could be wrong, but he sounds more than just proficient. I keep reading my phone screen.

“Yeah, we made the drop this morning. Then I made sure the bitch didn’t leave the country.”

Good. He thinks I’m dead.

“Did you get your money back?”

This is met with more silence. Ignacio hates admitting any of this didn’t go his way. Certainly the part about all the money he couldn’t get back.

“Aren’t you concerned it’ll piss Tommaso off that his accountant isn’t coming home?”

“He should’ve sent a man to do a woman’s job then.”

There’s laughter all around, and it makes me want to punch the fucker in the face. There’s no reason for him to be so obnoxious. I thought I was being extremely reasonable during our meeting. I could have done far worse. I should have put a bullet through him when I had the chance.

They may have frisked me when I arrived, but I put up enough of a stink about one of his guys getting too handsy with me, they missed the small pistol I had on me. It was very dainty and remained hidden in my pocket. What they didn’t know, in this case, didn’t hurt them.

I continue to read my phone screen as they go back and forth. They’re still shooting the shit, and this young man puts up with Ignacio and his men’s bullshit. I read the translation throughout their dinner, hoping something’ll come out of this conversation that’s useful for Tommaso. The guy with the Spanish accent works for somebody out of Colombia, but I don’t know who. His back is to me, so I can’t see if I recognize him. His voice isn’t familiar.

When I hear the dessert plates being carried away, I know there’ll be a dessert wine coming next. I’ve already assembled my rifle, so I pick it up and put the barrel to the peephole as I peer through the sights. Just as the men lift their glasses to toast one another, I squeeze off rounds, putting bullets through all the men’s heads except for the Spanish speaker and Ignacio.

I make sure Ignacio sees everything that happens. All that’s taken away from him in a heartbeat. Once I’m certain the other men are dead, I shift my target to him. At the same time, I pull the trigger to kill Ignacio, the Spanish-speaking man turns in my direction.

Motherfucking son of a bitch. He is a near replica of Enrique. It has to be one of his nephews.

Fucking hell.

I can’t shoot him, but if I don’t get the fuck out of here, he’s going to find a way in here and will shoot me, then ask questions. I barely pull the rifle back in time before he shoots at the wall I’m hidden behind. I jump off the crate, ducking low to the ground as I disassemble the rifle, shoving it into my bag as I head to the door.

It swings open, and I whip out my pistol. I didn’t expect my informant to be there, but he is. He must have heard the shouting that started with the second bullet. I’m through the door and launching myself into the back seat of the van, pulling the sliding door shut as my guy hops in the driver’s seat. I peek out the window as the tires squeal. The sound of bullets hitting metal warns me we barely got away in time.

I lift my head high enough to peek out the back window and watch Enrique’s nephew point a gun toward me. I drop flat on the ground as the back window shatter. There’s a solid metal divider between the back seat and the front seat for things just like this. A bullet won’t pass through to kill the driver.

I hold on to anything I can grab since I can’t sit up and put my seatbelt on, and the roads are rough. We’re going way too fast for how narrow they are, but I trust my driver knows where to go and what to do.

We head directly to the airport where my escorts already wait for me. This time I board the plane with no one trying to kill me. I left Enrique’s nephew a block away from the restaurant. The plane’s engine is already on and idling just like the van had been. We’re wheels up before I catch my breath. I sit in my seat with my eyes closed once again, focusing on my breathing, calming myself.

I look out the window into the night sky. When there are no longer any city lights beneath us and only a dark abyss, I know we’re over the Atlantic. I pull my burner phone from my backpack and pull up the group text for my boys.

Again, it’s only a one-word message.

Off

It means I took off. I’m on my way home.

It’s an hour before I trust the plane won’t explode right after takeoff. There’s no guarantee somebody didn’t tamper with it, but I recognized the pilot and co-pilot. This isn’t a luxury flight, despite how nice the plane is. There’s no flight attendant offering me drinks and moist hot towels. There’s nothing for me to do during this leg of the flight, so I recline my seat and close my eyes. We’ll make a stop in the Cayman Islands, so I can deposit the money in one of Tommaso’s offshore accounts. No one wants me traveling back into the U.S. with this much currency.

I’m exhausted after running off adrenaline and fumes for the last few days. I swear to all that’s holy, if anything goes wrong between now and when Tommaso gets proof his money’s safe—if I survive it—he won’t.