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Chapter 14
Maria had no sooner changed into her sweats and t-shirt when her cell rang. The screen read “Tommy,” and her pulse kicked up.
“Be at the corner of SW 9th Ave and Calle Ocho in one hour,” he said, all business.
“Got it,” she answered.
“Maria,” he said, before she could disconnect the call. “Don’t do this. Don’t put yourself on their radar.”
“I’ve got this, Tom.”
He gave a frustrated sigh. “You always were too stubborn for your own good. Just be careful, chica.”
Maria took a deep breath and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She wasn’t stupid. She knew this was a dangerous idea on a whole host of levels, but she had to go. She had to do something other than sit by and wait for a cold-blooded killer to put a bullet in Teag’s head.
She stripped out of her sweats and pulled on jeans and sneakers. Although she’d likely be searched, she shoved her personal weapon into her waistband and yanked the t-shirt down over it. She shot off a text to Cam letting him know the del Fuegos had made contact and she was on her way to meet them. Then, before she could change her mind, she hurried out the door.
The Uber dropped her off fifteen minutes early. It was after midnight, but lights were on in the run-down multi-family homes, music pulsed from the windows of passing cars, and groups of teenagers smoked on the street corners. If she looked closely, she knew some of them were prostitutes, others were dealers, and some were simply there to score. So she didn’t look closely.
Tommy’s words echoed in her ear. You left, Maria. You don’t get to judge. It was true. She had left, without a backward glance. So had her brothers, and it had probably saved their lives.
The sound of car doors slamming pulled her from her musings. Two men, both in cargo pants and dark t-shirts, approached her.
“Maria Ruiz?” one asked.
Maria could barely make out his face in the dark, but he had that ex-military look, complete with the muscle and swagger. A familiar sight. Maria almost laughed out loud, but instead, she nodded.
The two crowded her against the black SUV, patting her down efficiently and professionally. GI Joe number one pocketed both her gun and her phone, then nudged her into the back seat. Bracketed on either side by a large man, Maria buckled her seatbelt and leaned against the cool leather interior.
Her heart rate hadn’t returned to normal, and a thin film of sweat coated her forehead and neck, but she was still alive, and that meant something. The speed at which the del Fuegos made contact meant something as well. If Maria were to place a bet, it would be that they really didn’t know who had killed their women.
Pleased she didn’t have a hood over her head, Maria nonetheless kept her gaze forward, trying not to draw any unnecessary attention to herself. When they left Little Havana behind for the posh section of South Beach, she knew they were taking her to Esteban’s palatial home, and when they pulled into the gated driveway, Maria’s curiosity got the better of her. She leaned slightly forward to get a better look.
The place was surprisingly elegant and tasteful, with oak trees and hedges giving it an almost secluded feel. The driveway was lined with cars, which seemed odd. The SUV pulled around to a side portico, and her escorts led her inside. One of the hired guns got out of the car with her. Grunting, he nodded for her to follow.
They entered through the foyer off the kitchen. The smells of cooking food made Maria’s stomach growl, much to her embarrassment, but GI Joe didn’t seem to notice. Platters of food, from meat and cheese dishes, to empanadas, to cookies and cakes littered every surface in the kitchen and dining room. The hum of voices grew louder as Maria followed the guard down a long corridor.
She caught a glimpse of an older woman seated on the sofa, shrouded in black clothing, and gripping a rosary. The tears streaking down her cheeks, and the look of utter despair on her face, gave Maria pause.
“Was today the funeral?” she asked softly, turning to her escort.
He gave a quick nod, and Maria wished briefly she had known. Her deeply ingrained sense of tradition dictated she bring something, food, a candle, anything in acknowledgment of the terrible loss.
Until this moment, she hadn’t thought much about the two dead women, other than the fact that they, or their families, were the reason Teag had been shot. She hadn’t really processed the fact that their lives had been violently cut short, or that they’d left behind people who loved them. The grief in the house was palpable.
“In here,” her escort said, pointing toward the open door of a library.
Maria entered the room, eyes drawn to shelves upon shelves of books. A rolltop desk sat in the corner, and a leather sofa completed the elegant yet comfortable space.
“Sit. Señor del Fuego will be here soon,” the guard ordered, pointing to the sofa.
Maria sat, folding her hands in her lap. Her heart rate had returned to normal, and her spine no longer tingled. If Esteban del Fuego planned on killing Maria, she didn’t think it would happen here in his family home, surrounded by mourners.
To her surprise, the guard left her alone, sliding the heavy pocket doors closed behind him. Probably cameras in the room, she thought as she scanned the corners.
Despite the circumstances, namely sitting on a sofa in cartel boss’s library, Maria struggled to keep her eyes open. The adrenaline that had spiked through her when she received the call from Tom had dissipated, and she was crashing. The stress of the last several days had picked a fine time to catch up with her. She vigorously rubbed her knuckles into her eyes.
Before she could embarrass herself and nod off, the door opened again, and Esteban del Fuego walked in. Two other men, who looked very much like Esteban only younger, followed. All wore somber expressions and were dressed in expensive dark suits.
