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He jerked at Mathieu’s bark and thought briefly about not answering, but what was the point? “W-Win. Winston Shäfer.”
Mathieu’s gaze sank into his, the weight of it keeping Win kneeling. His knees joined the other parts of him that ached, but he ignored the pain.
“What did you see here tonight, Win Shäfer?”
Win lifted his chin and licked his dry lips, tasting the salt of the tears he’d shed. “N-nothing. Nothing.”
“You can live to see another day or you can die here,” Mathieu said coolly. “What’s your preference?”
“I want to live.”
Mathieu’s expression didn’t change. “And the corner where that one picked you up?” He nodded to the dead john. “Do you want to return to that as well?”
Whoring was all Win knew. The only way to make the quick money he needed. “No, sir.” He didn’t think Mathieu was much older than his own twenty-two years, but the “sir” just slipped out.
Mathieu studied him for so long, Win found himself holding his breath. “You have two choices. You can leave this room in a body bag or you can leave this room a new man.”
Win held back a frown. “What do you mean, a new man?”
Mathieu pushed away from the wall and strode over, closing the distance between them as he asked, “Do you know who I am?”
Win gazed up at him, ignoring the cramps in his neck. “No.”
A smile curved Mathieu’s full lips. “I am Mathieu Pascal.”
“Pas—” The Haitian mafia. Oh, fuck!
Mathieu grinned, but it held no mirth. “Yes.”
Win didn’t know much about the Haitian mafia except that they ruled Miami and the man in charge was named… “Moïse Pascal.”
“My father.”
“I—”
“I’m either putting a bullet between your eyes or giving you a new identity. Either way, Winston Shäfer dies tonight.”
Win cringed at the sound of his full name on the other man’s lips, heart threatening to leap out of his chest at the implications of what Mathieu just said. “But…why would you allow the other guy to spare me just to turn around and kill me yourself?”
Mathieu didn’t acknowledge his question. “You have two minutes to decide.”
“I don’t need two minutes.” He swallowed. “I choose the new identity.” He’d think about the ramifications of the choice he’d made later. Right now he wanted to live.
Mathieu dipped his head. “You made the right choice.”
It was the only choice.
2
TEN YEARS LATER
Win Beltran squinteddown at the phone in his hand as he exited the doctor’s office. He’d sent the text more than an hour ago and still no response. Jairo never made him wait so long for a response before, but this was different, wasn’t it?
The discussion they’d had the night before had been different. Which was why he hadn’t shared that he’d be seeing Doctor Walker today for his long overdue yearly checkup. Why he’d left the house while Jairo was still in bed and drove around until it was time for his appointment.
Fuck.
He swiped a hand over his face as he descended the stairs then turned left, entering the narrow alley he used as a shortcut to the parking lot at the rear entrance to the doctor’s office. Fighting with Jairo was…not pleasant. He hated it. So even though he’d wanted to hold on to the anger, he’d caved while sitting in Doc Walker’s waiting room and sent the text.
