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Prologue
4 and ½Years Ago
Gravel crunches under my loafers as I walk up the unpaved parking lot. I pop the collar of my jacket to thwart the bite in the air. I have better things to do than attend clandestine meetings in the middle of the night, and I’m irritated to be here. But when Enrique Santiago called me, I knew the situation was serious. The Puerto Rican gang leader has never revealed any emotion other than calculated confidence. But on the phone, there was no missing the distress in his tone. So, I left the warmth of my penthouse and dragged my ass to this abandoned warehouse to see what he wants.
As I walk past tinted Cadillacs and Escalades, I take out my phone and update Jane on my location. My cousin and second-in-command is parked two blocks away. Our family’s alliance with Santiago is tenuous, but valuable. Jane has a team of men ready to intervene if this turns out to be a trap, but until the situation warrants intervention, they will stay out of sight. We don’t want Santiago to think we don’t trust him. Even though we don’t. Just like they don’t trust us completely.
I tuck my phone out of sight as I reach the opening of the warehouse. A dim light shines on the gray gravel at my feet. The space is empty. Oil stains the floor, and the windows are clouded with grime.
“Thank you for coming.” Enrique Santiago steps out of the shadows. Two of his men stand at his side. Their hands rest on the pistols tucked in their waistbands as they look me up and down.
My expression remains unconcerned. “You made it sound urgent.”
“It is.”
“So urgent we couldn’t meet somewhere…clean?” I’m not a priss. I’ve gotten my hands dirty more times than I can count. It was all part of my grandfather’s training. But it’s been years since someone has requested a meeting with me in such a dilapidated building.
“I have reason to believe some of my men may not be loyal,” Santiago reveals. “This location is private and secure.”
My eyes flick to the men at his side.
“Pedro and Juan are my grandsons,” he answers my unspoken question. “Their survival is entwined with mine. You can trust them.”
I nod. The Puerto Rican street gang isn’t so unlike my family. Blood means everything.
I tuck my hands into my coat pockets and meet the old man’s gaze. “So, what’s happened?”
“One of my contacts at the shipyard recently told me about mysterious shipments leaving the port.”
“That’s not unusual.” Various criminal families and organizations in this city ship contraband into and out of the country through the city’s ports.
“It is when the men guarding the shipment gavemyname when asked who owned the shipment.”
“And I’m assuming that’s not the case?”
“Correct.”
Interesting.
“What was in the shipment?”
“Not sure.” Santiago scowls. “My contact let the container onto the ship to avoid raising alarm. By the time he told me about it, the ship was already gone with whatever cargo was sent out in my name.”
“Sounds like someone is running a business under your nose,” I observe. Whoever is responsible must have balls. Enrique Santiago isn’t known as an amiable man. Whoever dares cross him is risking more than just a reprimand. They’re risking their life.
“Looks like it,” he agrees in a low growl.
“But I fail to see how this information affects me.” My family does some business with the gang leader, but nothing of great significance.
Which is why I’m shocked when he says, “I’d like your help to catch the traitors in my organization.”
I blink three times—the only sign I’m taken aback by the request. “Why would we get involved?”
“Because if someone is undermining my leadership, then our business is at stake,” Santiago says. “Your family could lose your influence in Harlem.”
What he doesn’t realize is that what little influence the MacKenzies have in Harlem barely makes a dent in our family’s overall business. I’ve been working to separate us from lower-level criminal activity since my grandfather’s health began failing. We’d hardly notice the loss of revenue.
“While it would be unfortunate to no longer work with you,” I begin diplomatically, “my family does notneedthe extra business. We aren’t interested in involving ourselves in your gang’s internal conflict.”
