Page 4 of Cartel Viper (The Cartel Brotherhood #2)

Chapter Three

Javier

I’ve been sitting outside the hotel for the last six hours staring at a whole lot of nothing.

Once I figured out the woman was Madeline Doyle, I knew I couldn’t ignore what I saw.

It tempted me all over again to call Maks to find out whether he knew his sister-in-law was back in town.

The bruises on her wrist bothered me before I remembered her, but they alarm me now.

But I keep my suspicions to myself because she obviously doesn’t want her family to know she’s here.

If she did, she would be with them, not in a hotel in Brooklyn.

I keep telling myself that to assuage my guilt for not saying anything to anyone.

I went up to her room when I arrived and knocked, but she didn’t answer.

I considered using the key card to just walk in without invitation.

But I’ve already done that once, and I doubt I’d get as warm a reception as I did the first time.

Instead, I’m sitting in the parking lot like the stalker I am.

At least I’m multi-tasking. I look down at my laptop and study the brief I’m drafting.

I have a RICO case—Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act—to litigate.

One of our men got picked up for extortion.

He was running a hush money scheme with his employer that he screwed the pooch on.

He fucked it up every which way from Sunday.

“Joaquin, I need the phone records. Without those, I can’t prove his boss was in on it.”

Therein lies the rub. The fucker got his boss involved, thinking it would lessen the share he owes us.

They stole from the company together rather than our guy putting his employer to the screws.

I’d let them both rot in white-collar prison, but to do that, I’d have to lose the case. That shit ain’t happening.

I don’t need the lawyers in the other families thinking I’m slipping.

Reputation is everything in this world, and I can’t afford to have mine tarnished.

At least, not my courtroom one. Thanks to shit that’s gone down over the past few years, my family’s entire reputation got flushed down the shitter by my cousin Juan.

Thank God that cabrón is dead. He was about to be our undoing.

I feel bad for my aunt, uncle, and cousin Pablo. But not that bad.

“I told you I’m working on it. What’s up with you? You’ve been in la la land since the meeting yesterday. Now you’re snapping at me.”

“Sorry. I’m still annoyed the receptionist gave us the wrong room number. I want to know if that was intentional. Did Luigi set us up?”

“I don’t think it’s Luigi or the employee. I think it was the woman.”

I brace for my brother saying Madeline’s name and pointing out that we know her. When he says nothing more, I wonder if he’s waiting for me to admit recognizing her.

“That was messy. You know I don’t like messes.”

I’m not a neat freak, but I am—particular.

“Are you worried she’ll figure out who we are and go to the police?”

No. I’m worried she’ll go to Maks .

If Joaquin’s asking that, then maybe he doesn’t realize we’ve known that woman since we were kids.

She’s a lot thinner—too thin—than she was when we were in school, and the bruises were distracting.

We didn’t spend a lot of time around her since she and Laura went to school near their house in New Jersey.

My brothers and I went to school with the other syndicate guys.

But we know her from going over to Pablo and Juan’s house.

She and I ran into each other a few times outside of school.

That’s one way of putting it.

In a fucked-up twist of fate, all the parents in the Four Families—except Tío Luis and Tía Margherita—have homes in the same two neighborhoods.

The kids in the Four Families didn’t grow up going to elementary and middle school together, but we wound up in the same classes in high school.

They grew up playing peewee and little league sports together, though.

Their moms always brought the good juice boxes.

My brothers and I, along with our mom, were still in Bogotá.

We stayed, even after rivals killed my dad.

“She might call them.” That’s the least of my concerns. “Or she might go to the news. She might tell a friend who calls the police. I don’t know. I just don’t like that an outsider got involved.”

“She didn’t look like she wanted to be found. I doubt anyone in her life knows where she is. I know you saw the bruises on her wrist.”

“I did.” And that’s part of why I’m waiting for her.

“She’s too old for it to have been a parent. Probably a significant other.”

“That’s my guess.” And I’ll kill the man when I find out who he is.

I’m unprepared for the wave of protectiveness that washes over me.

I don’t like the idea of any woman being mistreated.

I’d defend anyone who deserves my protection, and that’s usually anyone unaffiliated who’s weaker or smaller than me.

But knowing someone hurt Madeline bothers me more than I understand.

“Hopefully, she’s safe where she’s at, and she’s out of whatever situation she was in. I’ll have the records to you by tomorrow morning. I still have a few more strings to pull to get all of them.”

I nearly forgot what we were originally talking about until Joaquin mentioned the phone records.

“Thanks. Just let me know when you’re sending them over.”

“Okay. Te amo .”

“ Te amo .”

We will never get too big or too old to say I love you to each other or to hug our mom. It’s a family law we say I love you to each other at least once a day, and we end most calls that way regardless of who’s around us. You never know when you won’t get another chance to say it.

I return my attention to my computer and reread what I wrote before I spoke to Joaquin. I do my best to concentrate and continue to outline the relevant case law, but I can’t focus. I’m glancing at the hotel as much as I’m looking at my screen.

Maybe she has plenty of food and doesn’t need to go out to eat.

She has the kitchen, after all. I should leave it alone and go home, so I can get this work done.

I should call Maks and let him know. She should be his problem.

But I can’t. I can’t bring myself to turn my car back on.

I can’t get myself to leave the parking lot. Just a couple more hours.

It’s been two days. I couldn’t stay here the entire time.

I had to go home, but I’m in the parking lot again.

I wound up putting a camera on both ends of the building, so I could record the entire parking lot.

I waited until it was dark and stuck them on the walls.

They’re up higher than most people can reach since I’m nearly six-three and stretched.

The height makes them inconspicuous and gave me a wider view.

I could’ve had Joaquin hack the hotel security, but I don’t want to explain myself yet.

I’ve barely slept in case I missed her leaving.

I napped here and there the last two nights and reviewed the footage.

Madeline hasn’t come out once. I’m really suspicious now.

It’s odd. This isn’t the type of hotel where you’d want to spend all day.

There’s no spa or pool. There’s nothing interesting within walking distance.

It’s going to be dark soon, so I don’t want another night to pass before I approach Madeline.

I slip out of my car and head to the front entrance.

I scan my surroundings for anyone watching me.

I often have bodyguards with me, but not always.

Today, I’m working solo. I prefer it that way.

Joaquin is the shyest of all of us. He doesn’t mind being around people, but he hates being the center of attention.

He’d rather blend in. I’m the most introverted.

I don’t enjoy being around most people unless they’re family.

I walk into the lobby with an air of confidence I cultivated on the streets of Bogotá when I was a tween.

It was a means of survival. Without a dad, my brothers and I were an easy target for the street gangs.

They would’ve loved nothing more than to beat the ever-loving shit out of the jefe de jefes’ nephews.

Everyone knows Tío Enrique even if he lives in New Jersey.

He’s the most powerful man in the Western Hemisphere, despite what Salvatore Mancinelli, Maksim Kutsenko, and Dillan O’Rourke might say.

He’s undoubtedly the most powerful man in Latin America.

That made Jorge, Joaquin, and me high value for a ransom too.

My confidence wasn’t always real, but the swagger looked it.

Now I use that as I pull a counterfeit FBI badge from my pocket.

Among all my crimes, pretending to be a federal agent is pretty benign.

It’s how Joaquin and I got the key card the last time we were here.

We said we had a person of interest here.

It’s a different man at the reception desk today, which is perfect. I don’t want to explain why I’m back and asking about a different guest.

“Good evening. How can I help you?”

“Hello. I’m Agent Mendez, and I’m looking for one of your guests. They were in room five-twenty-five. Have they checked out?”

I show the man the badge before he can object.

I don’t give Madeline’s name, instead wanting to see if he offers it.

I watch him tap his keyboard before he looks up at me.

I notice his name tag says he’s a manager, so I won’t have to wait for him to play any games, saying he needs to ask a supervisor before giving me the information.

He doesn’t ask for a warrant, so that’s one less lie to spin.

I shift my right arm, and he sees a hint of my handgun. That wasn’t accidental.

“Ms. Henderson is still checked in.”