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“Like Pedro understands why he’s suffering because of me?” Without expecting a response, I sit in the nearest chair and boldly flip open the file. The documents I find within cool my rebellious rage.
It’s a dossier entirely devoted to Leo Corleon, but far more comprehensive than a broad-strokes outline I could glean on my own, containing information about his family, his known aliases and safe houses, and even his businesses. Hints to his true occupation as a gambling magnate with ties to money laundering pepper the detailed records. All in all, they provide an in-depth view of the man in nearly every aspect.
Almost as if…
Jaguar had it prepared for me.
My fingers shake as I reach for another file and find a similar info dump on Hugo Garcia. Then Kique Gomez. The Cortez brothers.
By the time I finish, I count twelve files—one for each of the eleven men Jaguar had at his little house party the other night. And, of course, one extra to account for Braulio Rivera.
With reluctant interest, I work my way through the Cortez brothers first. I’m halfway through the one on Boaz when Horatio shifts, noisily rummaging through his pockets. All this time, he’s been watching me from the doorway without saying a word.
I look over to find him frowning—a rare display of emotion—as he brings a cell phone to his ear. “Sí? You weren’t expected back for two days,señor,” he says, his voice both gruff and deferential. “I understand, but the precautions…Sí, I’ll arrange it. Yes,señor.” He hangs up.
The fact that he let me overhear that conversation at all betrays some deliberateness on his part. I’m sure of that much, even before he meets my stare head-on and says, “Mr. Jaguar will return tonight.”
I swallow, not knowing how to interpret that statement. As a threat?
Pushing the thought from my mind, I return to my current task and study each and every last one of Jaguar’s men. With every new file devoured, I have a better grasp of the internal dynamics that make Jaguar’s empire seem less like a well-oiled machine, and more like a well-crafted house of cards—only the cards have razor blades embedded in their edges.
One wrong move, and the entire thing topples.
Jaguar, at the center of them all, seems to have carefully arranged his lieutenants in a hierarchy that displays a twisted, intimate knowledge of the human psyche. He knows their every weakness. What makes them tick. Their susceptibilities to blackmail. Their desires. I’m sure he felt he could control these men implicitly, no matter the outside threat.
Until now. The Cortez brothers chose to betray him, and a new, unknown variable has come into play. I have a grim suspicion as to what that might be—or who… These men are beholden to a new monster they fear more than Jaguar himself.
Even Jaguar, with all his cunning and intelligence, didn’t see that coming.
The second I set aside the last file, Horatio withdraws his phone again. “Sí.Claro,” he says into the receiver before returning his attention to me. “Mr. Jaguar is arriving now.”
I marvel at the time that must have passed. A few hours, at least. Almost as if during our phone call, he was either on his way to the airport, or left right after.
No doubt to greet his master, Horatio retreats with a sigh, but I don’t move. Instead, I dump the files haphazardly on the desk and wait. After only a few seconds, I can sense the quiet commotion caused by Jaguar’s arrival.
Several sets of footsteps echo throughout the upstairs, betraying the presence of more than one person. This time, perhaps he brought an entourage? No. These footsteps are too heavy and stern, resonating like the uniformed soldiers who march along the border. Brusque, efficient, and focused on their task.
A shudder runs down my spine. Perhaps he brought reinforcements to torture more answers out of me? I don’t seriously consider the possibility until those efficient footsteps head into the basement.
Right in my direction.
With wide eyes on the doorway, I see Jaguar first. Standing tall, he storms past the office, and I catch a glimpse of the men he brought with him. I was right—they aren’t the giggling bimbos and snickeringpendejoshe usually surrounds himself with. Four men in black drag a large metal case between them.
My brain brims with suspicions as to what might be inside it. Did Jaguar decide to bring his precious Gatita here?
Well, I don’t plan on sticking around to find out. Rising to my feet, I start to head upstairs, as far from him as the house will allow.
I hear his voice the moment I enter the hall. “Lupe.”
My feet twitch against the floor as I consider running. In the end, pride roots me in place as I pivot to look over my shoulder.Dios mío. Despite everything this man has put me through, my belly clenches at the sight of him. He stands at the other end of the hallway, beside a set of closed doors I have yet to venture through. Like his new friends, he’s dressed in a black button-down shirt and a pair of slacks. The ensemble reflects the narco kingpin he truly is. Sometimes he’s so good at playing the role of mindless brute, I almost forget the calculating figure lurking behind the mask.
The way he looks at me now is how I assume he eyes all of his potential conquests—eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. Without warning, he surges forward, and I instinctively back into the room I just left.
Jaguar is undeterred, looming in the doorway. “You want your answers?” he asks, his tone level. “Then come.” He turns and heads back the way he came while I watch him from the doorway. His arrival serves as a painful reminder of everything that’s happened. Franco leaving. Pedro. The Cortez brothers…
I can still feel their filthy hands on me, and I wrap my arms around my front to dispel the feeling.Dios mío, I hate being so weak. So pathetic.
“You aren’t the jumpy type, Lupe,” Jaguar remarks. I didn’t realize he’d spun to face me again. His advancing footsteps resonate down to my bones, and I give in to the childish urge to run, skirting the desk in his office to brace myself against one of the bookshelves at the far wall.
