A smug little laugh is followed by, "Yeah."
Everything in me stills for half a second. Then snaps into place. Now.
"They're there right now," Kale confirms.
A slow, dangerous calm settles over me. "Send me the exact location."
"Already—"
I hang up, not bothering with niceties. This has to be done quickly.Catarina. I stop only for a second. That email—the way her voice broke—something sharp twists in my chest. That's all I allow before calling Mauro.
"Yeah?"
"Get the car ready."
No hesitation.
"No suits," I add. "Just you and me. Now."
No discussion. "On it."
I end the call and step into the hallway. The elevator ride down feels too slow. Too quiet. My reflection stares back at me in the mirrored walls. I look controlled, composed. But underneath? Everything is locked and loaded. Years ago, Massimo and I ended the bastards who took my sister and tortured her. No matter what we did to them, we never found out why. Now, dealing with El Recaudador, I see everything in a different light. If Catarina died because of that asshole… I'll find out, and I'll make him wish he'd never set his greedy eyes on her. I'll make him pay.
The doors slide open, and I stride through the casino floor until I reach the Valet area. Mauro is already there. Escalade running. Driver's door open. Waiting. He slides into the passenger seat, and the door slams shut with a solid thud.
"Where to?" he asks, buckling while I pull out.
I open the map to the address Kale has already sent. He glances at the screen at the highlighted route.
"Want to fill me in?" Mauro asks, eyes still on the map.
I do. "Got an email earlier. You know the guy who has been calling everyone?" Mauro grunts a confirmation, and I continue. "He's known as El Recaudador."
That gets his attention. "Yeah?"
"It had footage of Catarina in it," I confide quietly, merging into traffic without hesitation.
His body tenses as the city blurs past us. "You got a lead on the bastard?" He guesses.
He knew Catarina; everyone did.
"I got a lead on a bastard the asshole called from the same burner." I speed up to get past a van going ten miles under the speed limit. In the left lane, of course.
"That's the guy we're grabbing?" he asks.
"Yep."
We drive the rest of the way in silence. Ten minutes later, the Escalade rolls to a stop just short of the café. I double park and keep the engine running while I get out, and Mauro takes my seat. I'm already dialing the number Kale gave me.
The place is dingy. Run down, with a flickering neon sign and bars on the windows. Only a couple of people linger inside when I open the door. A/C air hits my face. The bell above it chimes. Every head turns. I let the door fall shut behind me and look around. I don't pretend to belong here, to be just another customer. I'm not, and every eye in the place knows it. My gaze sweeps the room once. One skinny, nervous-looking guy catches my attention immediately. Too still. Too aware.
As for the rest, there is a woman with a kid in the corner, sharing a muffin, a barista—or whatever the fuck they call themselves here—behind the counter, looking bored. A guy is ordering. Another woman sits glued to her laptop by the window. And one more man scrolling through his phone, completely checked out. None of them matters. Not right now. Inside my jacket pocket, my thumb presses the call connectbutton. I keep them all in my vision, but my eyes never leave him. Skinny. Three seconds. Four.
He frowns, pulls out his phone, and looks down. Hesitates. Then picks it up. A grin spreads over my face.There you are.
I move, unrushed. No wasted motion. Just a straight line across the room. He doesn't realize until I'm already there, hovering right over him. My hand slides under my jacket, just enough so I can surreptitiously push the barrel of the gun against Skinny's side.
"Don't make a scene," I keep my voice quiet as I lean down next to him. "Follow me."
