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“Yep. Sure do. Keep going.”
Ivan scratched his jaw, running his fingers through his thick graying beard. “They have an affiliation with a few of the smaller cartels in South America, those attempting to rival Emmanuel Santiago’s regime.”
“As told to me by my own brother.” Dante had been estranged from the family most of his life, told his father was dead given the man had banished one twin and our mother after our brutal father had suspected infidelity. Dante had grown up poor in South America, educated as an attorney much like I’d been. Our lives had mirrored each other only with Dante being on the right side of the law at least initially.
Once we were reunited, he’d become as merciless as I was known to be.
However, we had a dark secret we’d kept from everyone, including our trusted Capos. If word got out about our true heritage, we’d have additional targets on our heads.
“I remember. What you might not know is that there is a legend that these special soldiers are hired by both groups, the insignia you see there a combination of both cultures with the red slash a clear indication they are nothing more than suicide bombers. But that was just the start.”
“Go on.”
“From what I understand, their subculture was attractive to a larger group of monsters, men and women determined to control the world. It’s just a rumor but imagine the possibilities.”
He was clearly agitated but I had no idea what to make of it.
I glanced back at the man’s chest. “So what you’re telling me is that this asshole came here, knowing he’d be caught and killed, to issue me a warning about a Day of the Dead celebration?”
“You’re right in that it’s a riddle but the end game is the same. He was sent to issue you a threat. That much I do know for certain.”
“Mission accomplished. Now, it’s time to find out the person responsible for initiating this dangerous game.”
Ivan shook his head. “I don’t like this, boss. Why go to this extreme? Why now?”
“Because the sons of bitches want us on edge.”
“What about Rico Garcia?”
He’d been the leader of the New Generation, taking the helm from his father, imprisoned given he’d attempted to bring down the Brotherhood, of which I was a member. The alliance between several of the most powerful crime syndicates had grown in numbers over the years. We were all brutal men, vying for power in a crowded sea of sharks, determined to keep the peace and utilize each other’s skills and manpower when necessary to keep out true enemies from destroying our respective regimes.
The New Generation Cartel had come closest to destroying several of us only months before. We’d kept Rico alive out of vindictive sport more than anything. It was highly doubtful anyone knew of his state of being given our code of honor. If anyone had talked, the punishment would be swift and permanent.
However, he was now dead, finally put out of his misery. With months passing since he’d disappeared, I would have thought retaliation would have come sooner. Brutal cartel members weren’t known for their patience.
No, this was about something else entirely. I would bet all I owned on my assumption. “I’ll make an inquiry with the Brotherhood members, but this had nothing to do with that. There’s something else going on here.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
South LA was a mecca for gangs, but most of them were an angry group of kids trying to make their way in the world. While dangerous to the typical man or woman on the street given their acts of violence, they were barely worthy of a mention in my world. Except for a couple of them who’d become determined to slide into the world of politics and music, movie productions and resorts. My family was one of the truly newer and more polished generations of cartels, able to walk the walk and talk the talk of underground business as well as topside with those toeing the line of right versus wrong. We’d set a perfect example, providing them with a roadmap of sorts.
Even some believed themselves to be more powerful, ready to overthrow our stronghold on whatever territory we had. Now it was time for me to be concerned.
It was also time to ensure that the leftover members of the New Generation and anyone claiming their territory understood they would never be allowed an inroad into our space.
If they tried, they would die.
“You mentioned South LA. Do you remember what happened twenty years ago on the ugly streets in that shithole part of town?”
He eyed me as if I was making a joke. “You mean the place where I had two bullets lodged in my chest, the one close to my heart coming within millimeters of killing me?”
I half chuckled given the event remained a sore point for both of us. “The very one.”
“You’re thinking the Mexicans from that skirmish are finally choosing to retaliate after twenty years?”
They were considered an affiliate of the New Generation, but their members were born and raised in the United States, a requirement of being allowed to join. “Memories in our business are long.” While eight of the enemy soldiers had died that night, after the attack where two of our men had lost their lives, Ivan critically injured, we’d gone on the offensive at my father’s orders, raiding the entire area, killing somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred of their soldiers, effectively terminating their organization. That didn’t mean enough members hadn’t been left to regroup.
“In my world as well, but that’s a long shot.” he growled on purpose, still taunting me to this day after the fact I’d walked away from my duties, choosing to save and protect a small girl instead. The reason for my hand aching when there was stormy weather or cold was that every bone in my hand had been broken by my own father after I’d gone home on that fateful night.
