Page 29 of No Greater Oblivion

“Sylvie.”

“Why?”

“She’s on Sandro’s payroll.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other line. My sister’s voice hardens, resolute and furious. “I’ll get it done.”

I hang up and hand the phone back to Dimitrio. Before I can step into the car, my brother stops me and grabs hold of the door.

“Reign it in,” he tells me, each word measured and concise. “If Dahlia sees you like this, it’s going to terrify her.”

I’ve yet to fully come back into my body. It’s like moving on autopilot without consciousness. I couldn’t snap out of it if I tried.

Still, I find myself able to nod, even though everything out of my brother’s mouth sounds like it’s coming from underwater. I move to get into the driver’s seat but he grabs my arm, stopping me.

“And another thing…”

I wait for him to speak.

“Don’t tell her.”

This catches my attention. “About Beltrán and Suarez? I wasn’t going to.”

“About the fire not being an accident. Because if she ever finds out…” His words hang heavy between us but he doesn’t have to finish the rest. I already know.

If Dahlia were to discover her near brush with death was not only intentional but a result of Sandro targeting her and I couldn’t keep her safe…

I don’t think she’d ever forgive me.

8

A DROUGHT IN THE DESERT

Alejandro

The Past

Two Weeks Later

Of Barcelona’s Twelve Apostles, only six truly hold the city in the palm of their hand.

Don Enrique Villamizar, retired though he may be, still holds half the region’s politicians in his back pockets. Don Rubin Caceres fuels the city with his rare and expensive white powder, keeping the wheels turning in Europe’s cocaine capital. Then there’s the Torres family, among the city’s oldest, whose leader Don Alfonso is the closest the twelve families will ever get to old money. The youngest among us and the closest in age to me is the elusive Don Javier Sevilla, who rarely shows his face at meetings and when he does, hardly utters a word. The Sevillas’ real estate portfolio is impressive if not daunting, most of it a money laundering scheme to clean the income they receive selling precious art on the black market. And then there’s Don Mauricio Falcón who has half the SVA in his pocket and specializes in illegal gambling and prostitution.

In calling this meeting, I realize it could backfire and cause a massive schism between us and the other families. Instead of ending one war, contained to just myself and Sandro, I’ll be involving ten other organizations. Alliances will be forged and dismantled and the city will get the reckoning that’s been brewing since my father’s blood was spilled on the cold, stone ground.

“Thank you for meeting us here.” I take my seat and motion to Sergio standing on the other end of the room. He takes my cue and seals the proverbial vault, locking us inside the room. “And thank you to Don Rubin for hosting us.”

He takes a pull of his cigar and waves a dismissive hand. “My pleasure. I was sorry to hear about your father’s lounge…you did very well with it after his passing.”

A murmur of agreement passes through the room as the other men take their seats. Don Alfonso has been in poor health lately so his son, Luis Alberto, helps ease him into a seat. Don Javier casts his eyes across the room, feigning indifference, but there’s no mistaking the glint of curiosity that emerges when we lock gazes. He picks up his drink and pretends to be concerned with the ice in his tumbler.

“Seeing as it was serious enough for you to summon me here all the way from Madrid,” Don Enrique lifts his hands before folding them over his stomach and leaning back in his seat, “I’m all ears.”

“I’ll be brief and to the point then. There are six of us in this room today. I understand that many of you will be in a precarious position because of it. Your loyalties are varied, complicated, and sometimes personal,” I explain. “But this is about more than just disputes between individual families. It’s about the preservation of our organization as a whole.”

Don Javier surprises me by speaking. “You mean your feud with Sandro?”

“My feud with Sandro won’t remain self-contained for long.”