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Chapter 4
Massimo
“Ithought we were going to be friends, Massimo. I welcomed you into my home, but now you’ve killed two of my men.” Stefano Duarte cocked his head at me, his genial expression belied by the dangerous flash of white-hot anger over his black eyes. “I thought we were going to have a very profitable relationship.”
The back of my neck prickled with awareness of a threat, an ingrained response to mortal danger. Duarte only had two silent, burly guards stationed in his lavish study where he’d arranged this meeting, but we were in the heart of his criminal empire. Dozens of lethally armed killers were stationed throughout the high rise building that the drug lord owned. If we tried to fight our way out, we wouldn’t survive the attempt.
Enzo and Gian tensed at my back, the brothers bracing for a fight. They would defend me with their lives, even though I’d been the one to recklessly put us in this dangerous position.
Everything we’d ever wanted was within our grasp—money, power, security—and I might’ve fucked it all up. We would be lucky to get out of here alive after my slight to Duarte, the most notorious, mercurial drug lord in Mexico.
Gian would be better equipped to talk his way out of this than I was. He could wield his tongue as effectively as I handled my knives. That was how we’d survived this long.
But this was my mess. I wouldn’t allow my friends to die because of my actions. My decision to save the woman—Evelyn Day, George Crawford’s fiancée—had been impulsive, instinctual. I’d learned that she was innocent, and my own demons had overwhelmed my better judgment.
“Enzo and Gian had nothing to do with this,” I asserted, lifting my chin to meet Duarte’s sharp glare with defiance. “I killed your men. It was my call.”
Dark brows arched over the drug lord’s keen eyes, a promise of death lurking in the black pools. “Is there a reason you chose to insult me like this?” he drawled, outwardly cool and composed.
“Your men,” I spat the word with disdain, “were brutalizing an innocent woman. They kidnapped George Crawford’s fiancée. They beat her and were going to do far worse if I hadn’t stopped them.” I squared my shoulders. “That’s not how I do business in Naples.”
Duarte’s lips thinned. “You’re not in Naples,” he said coldly. “This is my territory. You are my guest.”
“She’s innocent,” I growled. “Crawford might be a piece of shit, but she didn’t deserve that. Your men were going to kill her after she served her purpose as bait.”
“And you care so much about an innocent woman being hurt?” he challenged coolly, expression unreadable.
“Yes,” I bit out, bracing for violence. I’d admitted to my crime against him, and I wouldn’t apologize for it.
A grim smile sharpened Duarte’s features, his sudden shift in demeanor knocking me off balance. “Good. That’s not how I do business, either. Besides, Carmen would’ve had my balls if I’d allowed an innocent woman to suffer like that under my watch. You’ve saved my marriage, Massimo.” He tipped his head at me. “You have my gratitude. If those bastards were still alive, they’d be thanking you for ending them far more quickly than I would have.”
I released a long breath, struggling to ease the tension from my muscles. Seconds ago, I’d been prepared to fight for my life. Now, Duarte was beaming at me like I was his closest friend in the world. The cartel boss had earned his mercurial reputation. It was unnerving as hell.
I could respect that. A partnership with such a man would enrich us all.
And he’d just proven that he had his own code of honor that was closely aligned with mine. We would have a profitable alliance. I wouldn’t return home to Naples until we’d sealed our bargain.
“If he’s your enemy, I’ll personally take care of George Crawford,” I vowed.
I wouldn’t apologize for killing Duarte’s men, but I could make amends.
“A very generous offer,” he drawled. “Are you not worried about drawing the attention of the DEA to your organization?”
I could practically feel Enzo and Gian tense behind me. My friends weren’t keen to anger the American feds. Not when we hadn’t even sealed our deal with Duarte to establish a cocaine trafficking route back to Italy. Our position here was tenuous, the alliance new and fragile. We didn’t yet have the infrastructure in Mexico and Colombia to defend our interests.
It was up to me, in this moment, to ensure Duarte’s friendship. He was the key to securing the alliance with his Colombian partners. We needed them all if we were going to pull off our coup.
Gian might give me hell for making this risky call later, in private, but my instincts had kept me alive for this long. I would trust in them now.
“We’re friends, aren’t we?” I asked Duarte. “Friends watch each other’s backs. If George Crawford is causing problems for you, I’ll eliminate him.”
His eyes glinted with satisfaction. “All right, Massimo. I accept your gesture of friendship.” He swirled the whiskey in his cut crystal glass, drawing out a moment of silence before divulging more. With every heartbeat, the tension in the room grew thicker. The man knew how to create an intimidating atmosphere, I’d give him that.
I held my ground, meeting his dark stare head-on.
“We’re glad to hear that,” Gian offered, stepping in to navigate the politics of the situation. “Tell us what we can do to help.”
“You and I have a lot of business to discuss, Gian,” Duarte countered, still smiling. “I’m sure Massimo can deal with this little problem on his own.”
