Page 20 of No Darker Temptation

“Time to go assess the damage.” Diego flicks his chin and we follow his lead up the gangway to the top deck where our cousin Antonio waits for us.

Out of all our cousins, of which there are many, Antonio is the one we’re closest to. He lived with us for four years when we were teenagers and was more like a second brother. Even after he moved back to Colombia with Tio Horacio, and I went off to university, we always remained close.

Our voices draw his attention and he spins on the balls of his feat, wavy strands of rich, golden yellow hair falling over deep-set eyes. His jaw tightens and the muscles in his shoulders tense as he turns to face us, gripping a clipboard so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“We have a problem.”

“I agree. Sixteen hours late is a massive problem.” I greet him with a pat on the shoulder. “I thought you were in Colombia?”

“Abuelo had a meeting with the Canalis in Trieste. He asked if I could help.”

“Help or seduce the granddaughter?” Diego quips.

Antonio and the youngest Canali granddaughter went to college together but I recall him being at least a year or two older.

Our cousin answers with a grunt. “I was on my way back anyway so Abuelo asked if I could see this shipment to Barcelona.”

“And you ran into trouble?” I ask. “We’re missing containers.”

Antonio grits his teeth. “You could say that.”

Before I can say anything else, we’re interrupted by a disembodied voice floating over from the line of containers. “Long time no see.”

I stop in my tracks.

Just the sound of his irritating, grinding, obnoxious voice sets my teeth on edge. It’s like listening to nails scrape across a chalkboard on an endless loop, heightened by the fact that you’re sitting in a large, empty room where everything echoes.

Appearing seemingly from thin air is Sandro Sandoval, all five feet and eight annoying inches of him. “Good to see you, cousin.”

“Distant cousin,” Diego corrects.

Sandro quirks a brow, waving a finger between us. “Aren’t you the bastard child?”

Diego takes a step forward and I catch him by the back of his shirt. He grinds to a halt, expression menacing, while Sandro grins up at us like his favorite people in the world.

There’s very little resemblance between us. At this point in the family tree, we’re third cousins with nothing but a hair color in common. Otherwise, Sandro’s eyes are dark brown and his skin milky white, inherited from his half-English mother. He has a scar on the left side of his chin and a black glove on his right hand. Years ago, during a fight between us, he stabbed me in the ribcage and I broke his hand. Neither quite recovered. I still have the scar to prove it.

“We had a problem in Marseille,” Antonio provides. “Sandro was kind enough to help us out.”

“The French and I have an understanding.”

I cut a look in my cousin’s direction and Antonio tilts his head in response. Not wanting to let Sandro know what I’m thinking I say, “Whatever happened, we appreciate your assistance.”

“I’m not in the habit of providing assistance, Alejandro. Favors on the other hand⁠—”

“I’ll take it as an apology,” I reply. “Considering my unfortunate encounter with Ibanez and Montenegro over the summer.”

The deck falls silent.

For the first time, I’ve finally laid the accusation out in the open and Sandro cannot bring himself to deny it. If we took the matter of his assassination attempt to the rest of the families, it wouldn’t bode over well for either of us. Months have passed and every witness is dead, save Dahlia and me. I’d never make her testify before the families so it’d be my word against Sandro’s. For Sandro’s part, he isn’t particularly well-liked in his own family and an accusation of this caliber would impose upon the Sandoval operation a thorough and in-depth investigation. Meaning someone would eventually flip.

An offense of this magnitude could bring down his entire family. Starting with him.

If I allow Sandro to think he’s done us a favor today, he’ll hold it over my head. The last thing I need is to be indebted to him especially when the state of the city has been so precarious lately.

“Yes, unfortunate…” His eyes narrow. “How convenient that they haven’t been a trouble for you these last months. Hopefully they’ve learned their lesson.”

It’s the closest he’ll ever get to an acknowledgement. But that’s fine—he isn’t telling me anything I don’t already know.