Page 27 of No Greater Oblivion

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Take her home,” I order then turn to my brother and Dimitrio. “Take me to the docks.”

Diego frowns. “But⁠—”

“Now.”

Beltrán and Suarez sit back-to-back in an empty shipping container.

Dimitrio enters first and with a subtle flick of his chin, he silently orders Paco and Rodrigo to step back. Paco heaves a heavy breath and drags his arm across his sweaty forehead while Rodrigo gives Suarez a final kick before stepping away.

“Where’s Mauricio?” I ask.

“Back at the house,” Dimitrio answers. “I told him to head over there. I don’t trust Oscar and Pedro alone right now.”

Good call seeing as how Pedro has been particularly useless as of late and Oscar will be too busy licking his husband’s wounds. Mauricio is young and in the early years of his family service which means he’s eager to prove himself. Since we lost Manuel a few weeks ago, I’ve been rethinking the structure of our security team and considered expanding. Since the fire, it’s become my top priority.

Beltrán is a short and stocky man whose nose has been broken beyond repair. It’s harsh and crooked, at odds with his otherwise soft features. He can’t be older than me by much, maybe five or six years, and his accomplice appears to be roughly the same age. They’re both Mediterranean in appearance with their dark hair and light brown eyes, skin a sandy complexion. Suarez has a set of thick, stern brows and a harsh, thin mouth from which he spits blood onto the metal floor.

“Will this be easy?” I ask them. “Or difficult?”

My right hand is still throbbing from the punch I gave Pedro but if provoked, I think I’m capable of a massacre.

Beltrán grinds his teeth and lifts his chin. His left eye is almost swollen shut and his lip is busted but he’s steady on his knees. Whatever Paco and Rodrigo have been doing to force answers out of them clearly hasn’t worked.

“I won’t kill you. I just want to know if Sandro had anything to do with it and then you can leave.”

I have more important things to do than to waste time and energy interrogating two lowly henchman, regardless of whether or not Sandro trusts them to be his eyes and ears. It isn’t worth the trouble to me.

“We’re not telling you shit,” Beltrán growls.

It’s like fucking Ibanez and Montenegro all over again.

Diego and I exchange a look, as if reading my thoughts. He can’t resist the urge to roll his eyes.

I walk over and look down at them, examining each of their faces. Beltrán’s ferocious loyalty clashing against Suarez’s somber yet primal urge to fight for survival. There’s always a weak link in the chain. Ibanez and Montenegro, Walsh and Collins. It’s why I tend to conduct these sessions in twos. One is always more likely to crack when faced with the fate of the other. A bullet through Beltrán’s temple and Suarez will cave like a house of cards.

“Make this painless for me.” I look down at Suarez and watch his throat work as he swallows. “You know what I’ll do to the two of you if I don’t get the answers I need.”

“He’s not saying anything and neither am I,” his partner hisses.

I tilt my head, eyes never leaving Suarez. “You’re the one with the daughter, right? Bianca.”

I enunciate each syllable and watch the color leave his face as I do.

He tries to get up. “You wouldn’t dare⁠—”

I plant my foot against his chest and push him back to his knees. “Russo’s always roaming across my territory, looking for pretty girls to keep his business running. The younger, the better.”

“Alejandro.” My brother’s voice comes from behind me, hollow and laced with shock.

Suarez bares his teeth and makes to get up again but Beltrán knocks into him with his shoulder. “Stop! He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.” He glances up at me, eyes pitch black. “He’s just mad because the redheaded puta he likes to stick his dick in got caught in the crossfire. We don’t have anything to say to you.”

The room falls deeply, darkly silent. The air grows so still it becomes impossible to inhale.

Dimitrio is standing off to a corner, the light from outside clashing against the shadows of the dimly lit shipping container. His eyes narrow as he cocks his head, eyeing me with both suspicion and anxious anticipation. Diego circles the men until he’s standing directly across from me on the other side of the cold, empty space. He looks ready to pounce but it’s difficult to guess who his target is—me or the men at my feet. I look around and spot a duffel bag abandoned at Paco’s feet.

I’m not sure what comes over me then but my whole world shifts on its axis. Where there was once fury and desperation bubbling under the surface of my crumbling self-restraint, now all I feel is numb. One by one, every emotion inside me fizzles out until I can’t feel anything, not even the burning in my injured hands.