Page 41 of No Greater Oblivion

“To talk about Sandro Sandoval.”

Ferrer’s eyes widen just slightly, the near black irises flickering with menace. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Struck a nerve?”

Ferrer leaps from his seat and with a flick of the hand, I fire a bullet right above his head. A glass lamp shatters and he startles.

“This gun, unlike yours, is actually loaded. Now sit down.”

With no other choice, he sits.

“I’ll get straight to the point. I have a proposition for you,” I say. “I need someone on the inside of the Sandoval operation and you’re going to be that someone.”

He practically hisses at me. “Narvaez, you’re lucky I don’t arrest you right now, you piece of shit.”

I perk up in my seat. “Ah, so you do know who I am. Good. That’ll make this a lot easier.”

“If you’re looking for a corrupt agent, try Oviedo instead. I don’t play games with criminals.”

“Consider me the lesser of two evils then. You want to avenge your wife’s death, and I can help you with that.”

His hands clench into fists. Deliberate and patient with his words, he grinds out, “What do you know about Jordana?”

Jordana Carbajal Duan, a Barcelona native born to a Spanish father and second-generation Chinese mother. Went to private school her entire life before moving to the US for college where she graduated magna cum laude from MIT and then pursued a graduate degree at the University of International Studies of Barcelona. It was there that a professor introduced her to Miran Ferrer, an SVA agent whom she had hopes of interviewing because although she was bright and talented, a particular career path had yet to stand out to her.

Three years later they were married, and Jordana was an agent in the SVA. Two years after that, she was promoted to sub-inspector and gave birth to their only child, a son, Teodoro. And two years ago, when investigating the Sandoval operation, she was murdered in a drug bust gone wrong.

Ferrer fell into a deep depression, took up drinking, and in the process, lost custody of his son to his sister-in-law, Lisha. From my understanding, the simmering contempt between them is mutual.

“Everything. I also know you haven’t seen your son in six months,” I reply. “If you want to make the men who killed your wife pay for what they did, than I can help you.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Nothing. I have bigger things in mind for Sandro. This is part of it.”

Ferrer sits back in his seat and his throat works with a swallow. From the intel my cousin Arias was able to get me, Ferrer was on an upward trajectory. One of the best in his section of the SVA, he was sky-rocketing toward a brilliant, trailblazing career in law enforcement. Always the youngest, brightest, and most talented in the room, he and his wife were considered something like a dynamic duo. The two of them had gotten a little too close to the inner workings of the twelve families a few years ago. I remember when millions of euros’ worth of Sandoval merchandise had been seized on its way from Galicia to here. Somehow, Sandro managed to save himself and the last any of the twelve apostles heard of the SVA snooping around, was when Sandro set them up during a drug bust.

Apparently, the same one in which Ferrer’s wife was killed.

Finally, Ferrer releases a steadying breath. “I’m an agent of the law.”

“Fuck the law,” I tell him. “I’m giving you the opportunity to seek out your own justice.”

“I don’t need your help doing that,” he snaps.

“Just the same. Do this for me and I’ll make sure a judge grants you visitation of your son. Don’t, and you’ll never see him again. Those are your options.”

Ferrer seethes in place, torn between accepting such an ethically corrupt offer or strangling me to death. Unfortunately, none of this will get him what he wants and he seems to realize this faster than I thought. He runs a finger through his dark waves and his hand is shaking; whether it be from rage or apprehension, I can’t be sure.

“If you get anywhere near my son⁠—”

“I won’t⁠—”

“I’ll kill you,” he says it which such finality, such certainty. His gaze is level with mine and his stare is determined. Unwavering. “Do you understand? If you or any of your people so much as breathe in the vicinity of my son, there isn’t a corner of this earth far enough or safe enough that you could go where I would not find you. I would kill you very slowly, very painfully, and I will make anyone who has ever loved you, sit there and watch. Are we clear?”

I stare at him a moment. “Crystal.”

He gives a curt nod. “So what’s this plan of yours?”