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Stefan stands in the middle of the chaos, throwing a fit that would make the gods of Olympus proud.
The chair crashes into the door behind me as he moves to one of the small tables. He upends it and sends it slamming against the glass table in the center of the room. The glass shatters, shards cascading through the air.
Tia, cowering in the corner, flinches to try and avoid the shards, but with no such luck. She cries and throws her arms over her head to protect her face.
“Stefan.”
He doesn’t hear me call his name above his roar of fury as my brother charges through the carnage and grabs Tia by her updo. He swings her away from the wall by her hair, a small scream escaping past her painted lips, before he tugs her straight and slaps his open palm across her cheeks. He follows with a yell right in her face as he wrenches her head back by her hair, forcing her to look at him.
“Hey, that’s enough.” I stride forward, inserting myself between them and taking Stefan’s next punch right into my gut.
Fuck. The air goes right out of my lungs, and I bend over, every part of me groaning at the impact. He might have cracked one of her ribs if he’d hit her instead of me.
“Stefan, enough.” The words come out garbled.
I stay put and block him while gesturing for Tia to get the fuck out of the room. It takes her a long moment to scramble toward the door, and she waits there, watching us, as Stefan roars for her to come back.
“Go!” She’s got to leave before things get any worse.
“I don’t want to see you!” Stefan spits in my face. “Get the fuck out of here, Marco!”
I grab him by both shoulders. My brother might be older, but I’m stronger, a few inches taller, and slightly out of breath from his punch. It doesn’t make a difference.
“Stefan, come on. It’s me. Who better to be with you right now?”
Stefan yells, trying to rip out of my hold with little luck. I back him into the corner and keep him there.
“Do you really want to go back down there all red faced? Knowing what kind of impression it will leave on people?” I keep my tone light yet firm, using my charm on him the way I normally do. It’s the only thing that calms him down, and it might be the last line of defense to keep Stefan from murdering someone. “You’re acting like a fucking lunatic. What would Father say if he saw you right now?”
He looks up at me, eyes wild. “Fuck! Don’t say his name to me!”
“You know it’s true, Stefan.”
Breathing hard, he just stares at me. I wait a bit before finally letting him go, and he turns in a circle, giving me his back. He wrenches his hands up, practically ripping his hair out by the ends.
“They got stopped.” The words are forced, each one of them strained and harsh. “Okay?”
“Who?”
“A few of our mules. They got stopped at the airport. I’ve lost kilos. Do you fucking understand, Marco?”
“Why don’t you explain it to me?” I sigh.
“Kilos of drugs.” The whites of his eyes are stark against his golden-brown skin. “Gone, confiscated. People here are waiting for them. The drugs have already been paid for, and people are expecting a product! This is my first transaction with my connection to the cartel—it doesn’t look good on me. And if it doesn't look good on me, then it doesn’t look good on the Zicaris. Get the picture now?”
Everything inside of me plummets lower.
“What have you done?” The words are barely above a whisper.
Stefan clearly hasn’t thought this through. He already has guys moving drugs? Why would he send them through an airport? It’s asking for trouble. No wonder the feds are sniffing at our heels.
He smooths his hair back, but his fury is still evident. “I’ve invited Mr. Herrera over for dinner tomorrow.”
“Herrera?”
“The head of the Black Scorpions.”
I know the name of the largest drug cartel in the country. Everyone in our line of work does. Of course Stefan had to partner with the biggest and baddest to start this transition into drug running.
