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While I absolutely hated Zoom calls, it would seem having a virtual meeting with members of the Brotherhood was necessary given what I’d learned about Desposito. He hadn’t been on anyone’s radar in so long I wondered how many of the men even knew who he was. I was the one to enter into the meeting last, trying to learn as much as I could about the man, including how long he’d been living in Sitka. While he’d owned the house for almost six years, that didn’t mean he hadn’t been here before or that he hadn’t purchased the location as a safehouse.
Then why use his real name?
Arrogance was the only answer.
I’d even driven by the man’s house, the crime scene tape still in place. I’d slipped inside, not surprised at what I’d seen. Whatever the nephew had endured was likely more than what he’d signed on for. I’d also narrowly avoided being seen by Sabrina, which wouldn’t have boded well for the deal I’d tried to make with her.
“Gentlemen,” I said as I popped on to the screen.
“The man of the hour. How is Alaska?” Constantine Thorn asked. As the leader of the Brotherhood, he always seemed to have full control of the situation. I had not always gotten along with the suave man, but in recent years he’d grown on me. His family was blue blood, centered in Kansas City but his reach was far and wide.
“Rainy and cold. Nothing like LA,” I answered.
“Well, we were going to invite ourselves up there until Dante mentioned what you’re going through,” Gabriel said. The Giordano family was in full control of New York, including being able to push out the Bratva years before. He was brutal yet fair, someone I did like and respect.
“Yeah, the overdoses are horrific but the recent murder more so.” My answer intrigued all of them.
The newest member, Sabatino DiMaggio, leaned forward. “Who was murdered?”
“The nephew of Carlos Desposito.” The Russian from Miami caught the name first, huffing almost immediately.
“It was rumored he was slaughtered by Ricardo Garcia, the founding father of the New Generation Cartel out of Mexico years ago,” Maxim Nikitin snorted as he folded his arms, sitting back in his seat.
“Either that or he disappeared, going underground until things cooled off in South America,” I offered.
Maxim nodded. “From what I remember hearing, there were a solid six leaders of prominent cartels and syndicates who’d placed a price on his head.”
“Well, if that’s the case, he hasn’t been bothered by it since he’s been living in Sitka for at least six years, using his real name for at least some of them.” I glanced at every screen, still curious as to their reactions.
“Interesting,” Gabriel huffed. “The man has balls.”
“Or powerful friends,” Constantine suggested.
“So, the man is back,” Dante said in passing as he shook his head. “He’s South American, considered one of the most brutal men in our industry, gentlemen. He makes some of our most atrocious and brutal deeds look like child’s play. He was a direct rival of the Santiago Cartel in Colombia years ago. Their methods of killing off each other’s soldiers were the thing legends were made of. He still has enemies who would pay dearly for acknowledgement of his whereabouts.”
“Which makes it interesting that he was supposedly in South America in recent days.” I still found that difficult to believe.
“The man does have balls,” Brogan Callahan out of Chicago said. “You had dealings with both cartels when you were on the right side of the law, Dante.” His Irish brogue could always make the group laugh. No one was laughing today. We all knew what his return to society could mean. “What do you make of this? How would Santiago react?”
“Emmanuel Santiago wouldn’t tolerate the man’s existence. That much I can tell you.” Dante shook his head. “I even tried to put one of Desposito’s lieutenants behind bars after his disappearance. The man was killed before I was able to take him to trial.”
“Who took over Carlos’ empire?” I asked, uncertain we’d ever talked about that period of my brother’s life.
“His brother, Carmine. They were close.”
I laughed and rubbed my jaw. “Maybe that’s why Carlos risked returning to South America.”
“Don’t count out the fact that through his brother’s help, his army grew in force while he was languishing in Alaska,” Phoenix Diamondis, the Greek powerhouse out of Philadelphia, stated in a rumbling voice.
“As I suspected.” I glanced from one man to the other. “He’s supposedly on his way back to the small town. I’m going to have a chat with him but not necessarily about his recent return to civilization.”
Constantine grinned. “What are you getting at?”
“Have any of you ever heard of a worldwide group of people hired to become kamikaze mercenaries?” My question was met with at least three of the men knowing exactly what I was talking about.
“They’re called the Death Squad,” Maxim snarled his answer. “They bear the mark burned into their bodies, required to go through a horrific ritual to be accepted. The ritual includes performing two murders. I should say slaughters. I’ve heard they have a school and recruit those in trouble.”
Every other member of the alliance seemed surprised the Russian knew so much but I could tell Phoenix was aware of the group as well.
