“I don’t like this, reginella.”
Catherine set Cece’s plate of French toast sticks down in front of her on the tray. Cece’s tiny hands reached for the napkin, and flicked it open. Carefully, like her mother and father taught her to do, she tucked the napkin into the collar of her purple dress, and smoothed it down her front.
All by herself.
Sweet as could be.
Catherine bent down and kissed her daughter on the cheek. Cece preened like an angel.
“Good job, Cece.”
“Like big girls, Ma.”
“That’s right. Just like big girls do.”
“Did you hear what I said?” Miguel asked.
“I’ve heard it the last twenty times you’ve said it,” Catherine replied.
She never turned away from Cece as she addressed her right hand man, and friend. She showed Cece how to dip her sticks into the maple syrup.
“And if we bite it really quick, we won’t get sticky,” she said.
Cece made a face. “Okays.”
Her girl didn’t sound so sure.
Cece wasn’t big on messes.
“Catherine.”
“In a second, Miguel.”
Once Catherine was satisfied Cece was going to eat the French toast sticks despite the stickiness of the syrup, she turned to face her friend. Catherine nodded to the doorway, and Miguel headed in that direction without as much as a word.
Cece stayed behind, watching her cartoons from her spot on the bed, and eating breakfast. Catherine didn’t miss how her daughter’s eyes still followed her, though.
In the main room, Catherine opted to stand instead of sitting on the old couch. It needed an upgrade, frankly.
Much like the carpets.
And the drapes.
The three-star Mexican hotel they had registered into was nothing to scoff at, but it was still a little downgraded for Catherine’s tastes. She wasn’t a snob; she simply was accustomed to working out of nicer venues.
She wasn’t about to complain.
This would do just fine for the short time they were actually going to be in Mexico. Then, she would be at her Four Seasons hotel in California for a while. After all, she still had those other issues to deal with.
“Get it out,” Catherine said as she closed the bedroom door behind her.
Miguel scrubbed a hand down his jaw. “I just think it’s a bad idea for you to go to this meeting alone, reginella.”
Catherine nodded. “Thank you for your concern, but you know I don’t have a choice at the moment, Miguel.”
“I know you could ask for the meeting to be a little more to your benefit.”
“How, by asking the contact to get it scheduled later? I already don’t have time as it is. I need to get this done, and get cocaine moving into New York as soon as I can. Should I demand they allow me to bring an army of guards with me? All that will do is tell them I don’t trust them.”
“You shouldn’t trust them. They’re cartel, and we don’t even know them.”
“Giuseppe Bianchi is cartel, too. Just because he wears nice suits, lives in a big house, and owns his own jet doesn’t make what he does any better, Miguel.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Miguel, they do business with a lot of families. Chicago included. They supply to more organizations in America and Canada than Giuseppe does. What does that tell you?”
He scowled, and glanced away.
Catherine opted to answer for him. “It tells us that they do good business. They have good product. They make good exchanges. So they have rules they want us to follow for this meeting, and some of them are a little sketchy, who fucking cares? Jesus Christ, Cosa Nostra has sketchy rules, but nobody is refusing to work with them on the low.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“I’m not.” She came closer to Miguel, and patted his cheek with her palm. “I know you’re worried about me going alone.”
“Very worried. I’m your handler.”
“Not anymore,” Catherine reminded him. “Now, you’re my second in command.”
“It’s still my job to have your back, reginella. How can I do that when you won’t allow me to?”
Catherine tipped her head in the direction of the closed bedroom door. “You are looking after something far more important to me, Miguel. You have her back. That’s what I need. The rest is business—I can handle business.”
“You’re too much like your mother for your own good.”
“Everyone tells me that. I don’t see it.”
“Seriously?”
Catherine laughed. “No, I’m aware of just how similar I am to my mom. We’re like peas in a very small pod.”
Miguel nodded. “You can take a phone and weapon, right?”
“That’s what they said.”
“I still don’t trust them. The one that contacted you didn’t even give you his name, or the name of the person you would be meeting.”
Nope.
Just a location, a time, and vehicle to expect. Catherine had also been told that she was not to question the driver or man accompanying him. Once the meeting was done, she would be delivered back to the restaurant she had been told to wait in front of.
Layers, she thought.
These were likely more layers keeping whoever the boss was safe from outsiders. The Gomez cartel seemed damned determined to keep the identity of their leader a secret. Frankly, Catherine didn’t give a shit at this point.
She didn’t even have to meet the boss.
She just needed a supplier.
“Let me handle business. You handle Cece.”
Miguel rolled his eyes upward. “A glorified babysitter.”
“You love that kid. You’re her Miggy.”
“Shut up, reginella. Don’t tell people things like that. They’ll think I’ve gone soft or some nonsense.”
Catherine laughed in response. “You? Never.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
“Please don’t worry about me,” she said after moment. “I already have enough of that coming from my husband, despite how much he tries to hide it.”
“He has a right to be concerned.”
“So he does, but he doesn’t see me verbalizing my concerns over his dangerous business. I don’t cause him anxiety with my constant worries. I let him handle his shit because I trust that he knows what he’s doing.”
Miguel frowned. “Mmm.”
“He offers me the same respect. We’re good that way. He does want me to call him after the meeting to let him know how it went.”
“Understandable.”
Catherine folded her arms over her chest. “Yes, but regardless how this meeting goes, I won’t fill him in on the finer details until I get back home. Then, he and I can talk face to face about it, and not over the phone. Then, if bad shit did happen that he needs to know, he will not need to worry about me getting home after he hears the news.”
“Is that an order for me, too?”
“I know Cross asks you details on my business sometimes.”
“Never with bad intent,” Miguel pointed out.
“I know that, too.”
“Ma, sticky! Oh, Gods, sticky!”
“Just a second, Cece,” Catherine called to her daughter, desperately trying not to laugh.
Cece’s disgusted shriek was then accompanied by a loud, “Oh noes, my dress!”
She could hear the horror in the kid’s voice.
Catherine rolled her eyes upward. “She’s a kid. Why can’t she just be a normal kid sometimes?”
“Because she’s not normal,” Miguel said, already heading for the bedroom. “She’s wonderful.”
Yep.
Miggy to the rescue.
Again.
Catherine eyed the black SUV that pulled alongside the street, and slowed to a stop in front of the restaurant where she stood waiting. The model was what she had been told to expect. All the windows were tinted far too dark to see inside.
Slowly, the back window rolled down. Inside, a man sat waiting in the back seat.
“Catherine Donati?”
His Mexican Spanish accent colored his words.
“Yes,” Catherine replied.
“I’m to take you to the compound.”
Catherine raised a brow at that statement—she hadn’t been told anything about a compound. She had a mind to ask where exactly this compound was, but quickly remembered the rules she had been given.
No asking questions.
Nodding once, Catherine stepped up to the vehicle as the man opened the door. His russet gaze looked her black dress over, but he quickly averted his gaze as she stepped inside the car. The moment the door was closed, the SUV lurched forward.
Catherine eyed the assault rifle resting in the front seat. Behind her and the man who had done the talking, another man sat with a similar rifle firmly in his grasp.
She kept her gaze drifting between the man beside her, and the roads ahead of them. As it was, she was not very familiar with Mexico. It was not a popular vacation spot for her, and little of her business was done here.
After all, the cartel controlled the country.
All business was done through them, on their time, with their permission, and to their commission. That was how a cartel worked.
“You must have questions,” the man beside her said.
He was younger than Catherine expected—probably early twenties, or there about. His black hair was slicked back like he had been running his fingers through it. His white teeth flashed in his smile, and it contrasted against his tawny skin tone. He was quite handsome with his strong features, yet his smile made him seem almost … boyish.
A bit young, she thought, to be delivering someone to his boss.
Unless, of course, this young man was very close to his boss.
Who was to say?
“I do have questions,” Catherine finally replied.
“Yet, you’ve not asked any.”
“I was told not to.”
“Ah, I see. Smart woman.”
Catherine shrugged, and peered back out the window. “I have only one goal in this, and that is finding myself a new supplier. I’m not interested in semantics, problems, or anything that might cause issues.”
“Then you will not mind this?”
She looked back to him.
He held a black hood in his hands.
“Understand, we take great care to ensure the safety of our organization. Everything is carefully protected, but especially the boss and the compound. You have a very good chance of getting what you want from this meeting, Catherine, but you will enter and leave our premises without having ever known where you were. You will never know—no one ever does.”
She appreciated his honesty.
The hood was still a bit daunting.
Catherine sighed. “Well …”
He raised a brow.
“At least let me know your name?” Catherine asked with a dry laugh.
“José.”
Catherine nodded, and reached for the hood. “All right. Give it over, José.”
Catherine blinked at the bright sunlight blinding her vision as the hood was slowly tugged off her head. José stood in front of her, but he wore no smile like he had in the vehicle earlier. Now, his seriousness was back, and he held an assault rifle in his hands.
Behind him, Catherine surveyed the quaint two-level home with a wraparound porch. It would be a nice place, she thought, if not for the guards at each corner dressed in camo gear with guns in their hands. All of them watched her, but otherwise, didn’t move a muscle.
It was quite unnerving.
“Welcome to the compound,” José said.
Catherine looked over her shoulder to see a dusty road, dry land, and a few scattered trees. The heat soaked through her black dress, and she was starting to regret the choice of color as the sun beat down. A mile back, she thought she could see buildings of some sort. Hangars, maybe? One or two, for sure. Further east, she could see warehouses. Fences blocked fields, and in one, horses grazed as their tails flicked away flies.
It was calmer than she expected.
You know, barring the men with guns.
“Don’t ask where you are,” José told her.
Catherine waved a hand. “No worries. I was actually thinking it’s quite beautiful and quiet here. I like that.”
“Associates and buyers usually do.” Then, he pointed to the house. “You will have your meet in the kitchen. The boss will be waiting.”
“I just go in?”
“Go in.”
Okay, then.
Catherine climbed the three stairs leading up to the wraparound porch. One of the guards opened the front door for her, and then closed it once she was inside the home. For the most part, the home was very … homey.
Family pictures. Children’s toys in the corner of the living room. Artwork hung on the walls, and decorations making the place feel warm.
Again, not what she had expected …
But to be honest, she hadn’t known what to expect to begin with. Who was she to say this wasn’t normal? If she had a client come into her home, or one of her girls for that matter, they would find the same thing.
“Catherine Donati, right?”
Catherine turned to face a man standing in the entryway of a large kitchen. Something cooking smelled like spices and meat—heavenly, really.
“That would be me.”
Turning, the tall, older man waved a hand for her to enter. “Come, have a seat.”
Her gaze narrowed momentarily at the man.
He had not offered his hand to shake.
He had been standing, and waiting, for her.
“Could I ask your name?” Catherine asked as she took a seat at the table.
The man smiled, and lines etched around his mouth and eyes. It was an easy smile, she thought. Not the smile of a man she assumed would be running a major cartel controlling most of South America.
“Samuel.”
Samuel had already taken his seat before Catherine had even sat down in hers.
Everything about the scene just felt … off.
She couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was that was putting her on edge, but it was something. Catherine was not one to ignore her instincts.
“So I finally meet the boss,” Catherine said with a false smile.
Samuel offered a raised brow, and said, “Business, yes?”
That’s when she knew.
This man was not the boss.
He was too easy-going, too beta to a boss’s alpha. No boss would be standing and waiting for someone in their own home. No boss would not at least offer their hand to test the waters of respect between an associate or buyer at their first meeting. Bosses had an aura about them—a certain attitude, behavior, and way.
Catherine knew this because she was one.
Because she lived with a boss.
Because two bosses had raised her.
Her entire family was made up of leaders, and this man was not one of them.
“Samuel,” Catherine said quietly, “please don’t take offense to me saying this, but I came here to speak with someone who I assumed would be able to give me, and the Three Families in New York, a supply of cocaine. I was told outside that the boss would be waiting inside for me here. You are not that person.”
The man smiled faintly, and his gaze darted over her shoulder.
Catherine dared not turn around to see what he had looked at.
Apparently, she didn’t need to.
“You’re right, Catherine, he certainly isn’t. Brother, would you mind stepping out?”
The feminine drawl slid to Catherine’s spot with a detached tone, yet still firm with authority.
Catherine almost nodded to herself.
That was the tone of a boss ready to do business.
Samuel stood from his seat as Catherine got up from hers. Turning, she faced a tall, dark-eyed, black-haired Hispanic woman who was exceptionally beautiful. For a second, Catherine simply stared at the woman.
She barely passed Samuel a look as he moved beyond her, and disappeared into the hallway. In fact, the woman didn’t take her eyes off Catherine as she sipped from a cup of what smelled like coffee.
“Abril Gomez,” the woman said, and held out a dainty hand with gold rings on each finger. “Pleasure to meet you, Catherine.”
Catherine took the woman’s hand, shook it, and then let it drop. “And you, Abril.”
“Good catch on the boss thing.”
Was it?
“I’m actually not surprised,” Catherine said.
“Why is that?”
“You’ve put a lot of effort into layering who you are, Abril. A lot of protection goes into hiding who runs the cartel.”
Abril smiled coldly. “It used to be my father. Then, another one of my older brothers. Now, it is me.”
Catherine thought of Haven, and young Maria. She stayed quiet, though.
“Men still have their issues with women in power, especially men who have not seen me cut a man’s balls off for trying to betray or disrespect me.”
“I bet.”
“Mmm. Makes it difficult when buyers intend to meet with a man, but instead, find a beautiful woman standing in front of them. Sometimes, they like to push a little too much. I find it easier to layer my identity through my men. I make more money that way. It’s not good for business to kill your associates, after all.”
Catherine couldn’t help herself.
She laughed.
Abril smiled, too. “Haven said I would like you.”
Catherine stilled. “You talk to her?”
“I didn’t know her before, but we keep in touch for the sake of my niece. I keep a distance. The girl doesn’t even know me, after all. Her mother doesn’t want her to, either. I use the friendship I have with Haven to keep me updated occasionally. My choice.”
“I see.”
Abril tipped her head to the side, and her silky black hair fell over her shoulder. “So, a Queen Pin, hmm? Cosa Nostra boss for a father. The same kind of boss for a husband. Your mother—now that’s where my interest really piqued. Did she teach you?”
“She still is,” Catherine admitted.
“And your daughter; do you plan to do the same for her?”
“Who knows?” Catherine cleared her throat, trying not to show how uncomfortable it made her that Abril knew so much about her life. “Did Haven—”
“Not a thing, actually,” Abril interjected. “I do my own digging. I am sure you can understand why.”
“Sure.”
“You need cocaine.”
“I need a reliable supplier of cocaine for the unforeseeable future.”
“We use safe underground tunnels to transport, but once it’s on the United States side, it is your responsibility to move it the rest of the way.”
Catherine nodded. “I’m sure I could figure something out.”
“You’re acting as a broker for the Three Families as well, yes?”
“Yes.”
Abril waved at the table. “Have a seat, Catherine. Details are my favorite part of the business. This could take a while, and understand that business will always be to my favor before it is ever to yours.”
Catherine’s relief was sweet. Yes, this woman was most definitely a boss.
She had no problem sitting down after the cartel leader took her seat first.
“Are you ready to play?” Catherine asked Cece.
Cece eyed the indoor playground through the large glass windows of the building. She didn’t look particularly excited to get in the place and play. She would be far happier if her mother took her back to downtown Los Angeles to people watch and shop.
She was definitely her mother and father’s child.
“Well,” Cece drawled out. “I guess.”
Miguel dropped down into a crouch, and fixed the red bow in Cece’s hair. “It won’t be for long, principessa. Then we’ll go get some pretty shoes for your new dress.”
“Stop bribing her with … stuff.”
“You don’t want her throwing a fit in there because she wants to leave, right?”
Point taken.
Catherine sighed. “What Miggy said, Cece. We’ll go shopping right after. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
Cece shrugged. “Okays, Ma.”
“Okay.”
Miguel stood back up. “I will be out here ready.”
Catherine nodded.
She wanted a quick getaway after this.
“You can still decide to approach Mr. Cornell elsewhere,” Miguel reminded her.
“I think this is better. Hits home, doesn’t it? Considering …”
Miguel smirked. “You are your mother’s daughter.”
Catherine huffed, and grabbed Cece by the hand. “Stop saying that.”
She didn’t bother to wait for Miguel’s reply. Quickly, she headed into the indoor playground. At the front desk, she paid for Cece’s bracelet to be able to play with the rest of the children in a more private, expensive section.
Basically, the rich littles playground.
L.A. was basically for the rich and famous, honestly. A little extra money got you a seat closer to someone you might have seen on the television. Name dropping got you into exclusive clubs. Notoriety earned your respect. That’s just how the town was run.
“Okay, baby,” Catherine told Cece, “just give Ma ten minutes.”
Cece peered up at her as they walked through glass doors that lead toward the back of the building. “Ma do bid-nez, right?”
Catherine lifted a brow.
Her daughter didn’t miss a click.
Cece had been listening to Catherine and Miguel’s conversations all damn week. Sometimes she talked while they did, babbling on in that way of hers. Other times, she kept quiet and listened. She might have only been three, but Cece knew what was going on. Or, she figured it out fast enough.
“Yeah, baby,” Catherine said with a smile, “Ma has some business to do.”
Cece nodded seriously. “Okays, Ma.”
In fact, Catherine was planning on closing yet another chapter of her issues today. Or she was going to get damn close to it.
Cece kept up with her mother, climbing stairs to the upper level of the indoor playground. Upstairs was where the private section was, and where Catherine knew she would find one of her girls’ former clients.
An A-list, forty-something father of four. A man who had starred in over thirty-five films, many of which had been blockbuster hits. Married three times; children with two women, and divorces that almost always ended with NDAs being signed. The wives walked away with a lot of money to keep them quiet.
Why the nondisclosure agreements?
Brad Cornell’s cocaine habit.
The celebrity movie star made a great effort to keep his habit a secret from the outside world. As far as Catherine knew, the guy snorted upwards of ten lines or more a day. He had been using since his first movie when a producer had given him the drug to up his energy when he wasn’t bringing it to the film.
Brad kept using.
A habit formed.
He was America’s golden boy as far as film stars went. A doting husband in the tabloids when he was married. A wonderful father when magazines came to his home to do spreads. Even his ex-wives spoke highly of him when asked.
His older children were like trained robots, never saying a bad word about their father to the press.
The man’s PR game was on point.
Catherine had to give him that.
It was just about the only thing she was going to give him. And today, he was going to give her something, or she was going to turn his precious PR-controlled, perfectly maintained public life upside down.
It was that simple.
The squeals of children echoed off plastic and rubber. Cece passed a disinterested look at things that normally would have made any kid her age go wild. Still, with a little press of Catherine’s hand to her daughter’s back, Cece darted off to play.
Catherine did a quick, cursory check of the place. She found the man she needed to speak to sitting in the far corner—alone.
Typically, those who sat alone, intended to be left alone.
Sorry, Brad. Not today.
Catherine made her way over with a smile. The A-list celebrity didn’t even take his gaze off the phone in his hands. She sat down on the plush leather bucket chair next to his.
Sniff.
And then another sniff followed a second later.
Catherine looked to the side just in time to see Brad rub at the reddened skin around his nose. Perhaps he had been using a bit too much lately.
“You might want to check that sniffing,” Catherine said quietly, “or someone could start looking into why.”
Brad’s head popped up, and his narrowed gaze fell on Catherine. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, and now your nose is bleeding.”
He touched his nostrils, and sure enough, the left side was trickling dark red, almost black blood. Before he could even react, Catherine pulled a tissue from her clutch, and handed it over.
“Here, clean up,” she told him.
He snatched the tissue with a glare, and dabbed at his nose. “Hit the damn thing this morning on a door—one of my kids closed it and didn’t see me coming.”
Sure.
Catherine knew what repeated, long-term cocaine use did to somebody’s face. Hence, Brad Cornell no longer looked like the handsome man he had in his twenties and thirties. Makeup and Photoshop fixed the sunken eyes, gaunt features, and alabaster-gray skin right up, though.
Hollywood was what it was.
“Or have you been snorting a bit too much lately?” Catherine asked. “I did see something in a rag about you working on your next divorce. Shit, this one didn’t even make it through the pregnancy before she had enough, huh?”
“Who the fuck are you?” Brad hissed.
“I’m not surprised you don’t know me, or recognize me. After all, it’s my girls who deliver to you, Brad. The poison they put in your hand that you snort up your nose? They get it from me.”
Catherine held out her hand to offer a shake.
Brad stared at it, dumbfounded.
“Catherine Donati,” she said, “nice to meet you.”
He made a move to stand, but Catherine’s haughty laugh stopped him. He glanced over at her, a lingering fear in his cocaine-blown pupils. “What do you want from me?”
“Info,” Catherine said, “and nothing more.”
Her cell buzzed in her pocket.
She ignored it.
“Give me the info I need, and I will leave here like this never even happened. You can go back to getting your cocaine delivered once a week, or hell, maybe you’ll check yourself into a rehab somewhere. Frankly, sir, I don’t give a fuck what you do.”
“What info?”
“You dropped off my client list about three months ago. I want to know who is delivering your cocaine now.”
Brad’s gaze darted away.
Catherine couldn’t have that.
She snapped her fingers twice. “Eyes on me, Brad. We’re conversing here.”
“Why would I ruin my connection?”
“Because I will ruin your life,” Catherine said with a smile. “So go on, tell me who she is.”
He chewed on his inner cheek, and bit more dark red trickled down from his nostril. Sad thing, cocaine. It literally rotted a person’s brain from the inside out. By this point, Brad was probably too far gone to reverse the damage he had done to his body.
“She was a girl that used to deliver for me a few girls ago,” Brad said. “She approached me in a club, asked if I would like a new arrangement …”
He trailed off with a cough, and again, looked away.
“Do you mean sex, too?”
He shrugged. “You have to work that high off somehow, right?”
“Which girl?”
“Evira Masters.”
Catherine recognized the name instantly. She had been a girl who came from Nothing, New York. Her issues and connections to a gang had spilled over into one of her cousin’s streets, and a deal was made. Catrina, always the opportunist, offered to take the girl under her wing.
That was a few years ago.
“You say a word to Evira that you saw me, or I approached you,” Catherine warned, “and every detail of our transactions will be leaked to People Magazine for their next issue … with receipts. Do you understand?”
Brad nodded.
Standing, Catherine whistled with two fingers. Instantly, Cece darted out from under a slide. There wasn’t even a wrinkle in her dress. Her daughter didn’t even look like she had played.
“Come on, baby,” Catherine called.
“What about my coke?” Brad asked. “Who the fuck is going to deliver to me?”
“Well, my price just went up where you’re concerned. But hey, you’ve got the number if you want a girl to make a drop, and you know how to work a phone.”
Miguel was already waiting with his hands out to take Cece from Catherine. “We’ve got a problem.”
“Yes, we do.”
Miguel shot her a confused look. Quick as a blink, he had Cece buckled into a car seat.
“We need to move,” Miguel said. “Now.”
Catherine didn’t think the problem she was talking about had anything to do with Miguel’s for some reason. “What happened?”
“Did you get a call in there?”
“Yeah, but I ignored it.”
“Figured.”
Miguel pulled his phone out of his pocket, turned it on, and then showed Catherine the screen. A text from Cross, it seemed. A picture of a picture. Her and Cece in Mexico just a couple of days earlier. At the ice-cream shop her daughter noticed on their first day.
“Someone’s following us,” Miguel said, “and they let your husband know it in a really shitty way.”
“What does that mean?”
“Do you want to hear it from Cross, or—”
Catherine slammed the SUV door shut to close out Cece from hearing her next words. “Just fucking tell me.”
“Someone shot up the house. Cross was in the kitchen, I guess. Happened early this morning his time. Whoever did it left this photo taped to the front door. We need to move, get on a plane, and get you home. Especially if someone is following you.”
Fuck.
“It’s Evira,” Catherine said. “The competition is Evira Masters.”
Miguel let out a harsh breath. “She was on the list, yeah.”
He had gathered all the names of girls who had left over the last few years, and clients that had been connected to them through the business. Unfortunately, the girls often rotated clients unless one was willing to pay extra to keep a particular girl on his list as a repeat deliverer.
“So you mean to tell me I finally know who I have to go after, but I need to go home?” Catherine asked.
“Someone was less than forty feet away from you and Cece.”
“I know that, but—”
“I look out for your safety first, Catherine. Business is a very close second. You’re going home, that’s the end of it.”