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Finishing up the call with Rafael, we are relieved to find that the remainder of our cartel members’ families have been moved to the shelter. While it was already well-guarded to protect it from retaliation against skin traders, we’ve made some calls and have increased security three-fold.
That place is currently like Fort fucking Knox.
“We’ll call in the morning,” Alejandro hangs up the phone. He no more than sets it down, and it’s ringing again.
“It’s security,” he says as he presses the speaker phone button, “Marcano.”
“Sir,” a timid voice comes through the speaker, “I am so sorry to bother you this late, but a messenger just dropped off a package in the lobby. Normally, I would take it to the mailroom, but I know you’re still here, and they said it was urgent.”
“Bring it up. I’ll be in my office,” he hangs up the phone again.
He quickly checks in with Izzy at home with their son as we wait for the security guard to bring the box upstairs.
“All good?” I question.
“Yes,” he responds.
The elevator dings, and a moment later a young guy, struggling to carry the large heavy box, stands awkwardly in the doorway, trying to figure out how to knock.
“Just come the fuck in,” Alejandro growls at him. “Put it on the table.”
“What the fuck did you order?” I question as the guard leaves us.
“Nothing that I can recall,” he responds.
Stepping up to the box, I read the label:
Urgent Delivery:
Alejandro Marcano & Andres Ramirez
“You mind?” I pull the knife from my pocket and flick it open. He nods his head, and I slide the blade through the tape. Flipping open the lid, I find a small note taped to the underside.
Taking my brother from me was a grave mistake. Consider this your warning that I’m taking everything you care about from you tonight in return.
– Santino Garcia
Pulling back the other flap, I reach my hand into the box. Hair tickles my hand and I slowly lift a thoroughly beaten, severed head from the box. While I don’t know his name, I do know that I’ve seen him at one of our warehouses in Mexico.
Alejandro looks at me, but he doesn’t need to say a word.
“Go!” I urge. “Go home to take care of Isabella and my nephew.”
Dropping the head back into the box, I wipe my hand across my pants and call for Alexys. There is no response, just the faint buzz of electronics and the elevator retreating down the shaft.
“Lex,” I call louder, but still no answer.
I’m hoping to find her passed out on the couch in my office, but she isn’t there. Instead, I find a note resting on my desk:
I’m exhausted and heading home. I might be asleep if you guys took a while but give me a call. Unless you want to argue about me not listening, then let me sleep.
XOXO, Lex.
Mi reina, so fucking defiant.
Grabbing my keys and cell phone, I stand at the elevator and repeatedly push the call button as I try to ring Lex. Her phone goes straight through to voicemail four times by the time I make it down to my car in the garage.
“Come on, mi reina,” I mumble to myself as I pull from the garage. “Answer the fucking phone."
