CHRIS
The Guzzi Legacy, 3
Copyright © 2019 Bethany-Kris. All rights reserved.
Chapter One
Beautiful distractions hid the worst of crimes.
The table, draped in silk, and filled with food cooked by a renown chef, welcomed their guests, in a dining room with walls covered in expensive art. It proved to Valeria that the other people sitting down at the table for dinner would forget the young lady—who was barely a woman—across from them had been in the papers just a few months ago.
They wouldn’t remember her face had been on the news after her mother’s murder—the wife of a prominent Mexican politician. They didn’t seem to remember how just months later she walked down the aisle, not yet sixteen at that point, forced to marry the son of the man who had invited them to this dinner.
None of it mattered to them.
Money talked.
And it apparently said very nice things.
Like the silk linen, the coveted art, delicious food, and beautiful people dressed in their best with glittering diamonds showcased on their bodies to prove their status and wealth. All of it became a promise to them. Should these people keep quiet about the other issues at the table, like Valeria, then the Lòpezs would make a deal.
They liked that.
Deals.
Better known as bribes, or blackmail. It depended on her husband, and his father’s, preference or their need. When it had been her father on the other side of this table, they had wanted a promise he would help them smuggle their illegal drugs into the United States where he had connections to border control.
Her father said no.
They killed his wife.
Her father then agreed.
And so, they took her, too, and forced her to marry the oldest son of the Lòpez cartel’s leader. A way to drive the point home, she figured. Because that’s all she had been.
And now, she was a trophy.
A beautiful thing.
Something to own.
“Sonreírse,” Jorge said to her left, his Spanish order for her to smile coming out dark, and harsh, even under his breath. He watched her constantly, and when she didn’t behave as he wanted her to, he made her aware. His fingers curved around her thigh under the table, flexing enough to make her draw in a quick breath. “Now, Valeria.”
Her gaze swept the people at the table, a business meeting, they told her. Right, more like a way to manipulate and gain what the Lòpez family needed to do their work without trouble. Tonight, it was cops in high positions of power. Officers that controlled the subordinates under them, which corrupted the system further, but allowed the cartel to breathe a little easier.
This was how it worked.
She smiled when the wife of one officer turned her attention away from Valeria’s sister-in-law, Abril, to the ones at the other side of the table. The whole damn family sat there—from her father-in-law, Martín, to Jorge’s younger brother, Samuel. They pulled out all the stops to draw these people into their traps without using violent means first—the cartel’s usual way.
When someone denied them things turned bad. Valeria’s family was a good example of that.
“Martín,” the woman said to Valeria’s father-in-law, smiling a little too widely, “you must be pleased, sí?”
What was her name again?
Missy?
More American than Mexican. A dual citizen of both countries, if she trusted what her husband told her about their guests earlier, which kept the conversation drifting back and forth between English and Spanish for most of the dinner.
Not that Valeria cared to engage.
“Pleased about what?” Martín asked, tipping his wine glass up for a drink.
Out of all the people at this table, Valeria hated Martín the most. A difficult task for him to accomplish, considering she married his son, a man who beat her to keep her in line. He had suggested the marriage after killing her mother, like they should have expected it.
Still, she blamed him.
For all of this.
Across the table, Missy nodded at Valeria with a subtle tilt of her chin. Her grin reached to her eyes, as though she held a secret, but for now, she was only hinting at it.
Martín seemed to understand.
“Ah, el bebé,” Martín said, chuckling. Setting his glass to the table harder than necessary, proving just how much he had imbibed over the course of the dinner, he smiled and nodded. “Very pleased. We hoped it would be a niño for us. A boy. And yet, it seems it will be a girl, but that’s okay, too.”
Valeria had done her best throughout the dinner to not draw attention to herself. For the last several months, they had not allowed her out of the Lòpez’s compound after her marriage. This was one of the first dinners she attended, and her greatest fears would be that someone would ask about her father, apologize for her mother’s death, or even, like now, want to discuss her current life.
Valeria’s hand lifted from the table to rest upon the swell of her stomach. Under her palm, she felt the baby girl shift from her mother’s touch, but like the good baby she already seemed to be, the child settled, allowing Valeria little discomfort from the movement.
“Congratulations,” the woman said to Valeria. “Babies are gifts.”
“Blessings,” the man next to her added.
Right.
Her husband created this baby through violent means and pain, but she wouldn’t say so. Was raping her a blessing? And besides, she loved her daughter. She loved her enough that she sat at this table, kept her smile on, and shut her fucking mouth so that Jorge wouldn’t beat her later in the evening when everyone left. Then, the baby wouldn’t get hurt, too.
“Thank you,” Valeria whispered.
Her first words at the dinner.
No one seemed to notice.
Next to her, Jorge gave Valeria a tight smile. Another warning, she figured, but without him speaking it out loud. She didn’t need him to do that at all—she was aware what he expected of her, and what the punishment would be if she failed.
It used to scare her.
He terrified her.
Now, she just … worried.
For this child she carried, mostly. Because what would happen to her once she made her presence known in the world. Valeria, all of sixteen years old, but she would be seventeen before this baby was born. Not that it mattered because what control did a girl of her age have against a man like her husband. Six years her senior, a criminal who had only taken her because of the status it would provide him, and far too power hungry for his own good.
What could she do?
How might she protect this baby from him?
From the rest of them?
“Val, would you like another drink of water?”
At the soft question from a familiar, kind voice, Valeria came out of her thoughts to see her sister-in-law standing from the seat on the other side of hers. Abril gave Valeria a small smile, but in her eyes she found the truth.
Concern warred in Abril’s gaze.
Older than her by a few months, Abril was the only person in the Lòpez family that Valeria had made friends with, and sometimes, she even questioned it because she no longer trusted anyone. Abril had done nothing to prove she deserved that hesitation though. She helped.
And she had promised to help more.
“Water?” Abril asked again.
Valeria nodded. “Yes, thank you, that would be nice.”
Abril passed Valeria’s chair, her hand coming to rest on her shoulder as she bent down to whisper, “The plan happens tonight—I received the message.”
As quickly as Abril had told her the words, ones that might promise her freedom, she was leaving the dining room and the rest behind. Valeria looked to the man at her side, finding her husband distracted, and grinning at the young wife of an official across the table from him.
That grin meant he wanted to fuck the woman.
Valeria didn’t care.
The promise of freedom would make a person smile, no matter how dangerous, crazy, and even if there was no guarantee her plan to run away would work.
Still, she had to try.
For this child, she had to.
“Valeria.”
She hoped the guilt didn’t show on her face when she met Jorge’s gaze. He never missed her distractions. Now didn’t seem like a good time to play with fire. The blank expression he wore said she was the last thing on his mind.
Good.
“Yes?”
“I’m sure you won’t mind going home to the compound alone tonight, will you?” he asked.
He posed it like a question.
It wasn’t.
“Of course, not,” she said.
“I’ll be home for breakfast. Take care of my baby. You got me?”
Better than he understood.
***
Valeria did her best to soothe the nerves running wild as she brushed down the colt, Butter, in the stables. Butter, only two months old, had given Valeria a reason to visit the stables on the compound more often over the last couple of months.
The compound itself, set on a good twenty acres of secluded, desolate land protected by armed guards, allowed the Lòpez family privacy. To the east, one would find cliffs leading out to choppy, dangerous ocean water. The guards and an electric fence secured the only road leading out of the compound. Two larger barns, used like warehouses and full of drugs to smuggle, sat further west of the compound, while their homes and stables made up a small village right in the center.
There was no way out.
Or so they thought …
One simply needed enough time, and the means to make it happen. Not that they ever gave her the opportunity to run before. She could rarely do anything without a guard or her husband nearby to watch her do … whatever.
The stables, however, were her free time. Or, that’s how Jorge liked to put it. He didn’t have much interest in the horses, it was more of a pet project for his siblings, and some guards that stayed on the property.
Valeria took a liking to the horses because her husband didn’t care. He wouldn’t follow her into the stables to look after the horses, and he didn’t mind her taking one out for a ride—like she did after arriving back to the compound that night—as long as someone was with her to keep an eye on her.
But when she looked after the horses in the stables?
No one cared.
No one watched her, then.
The sound of boots crunching against dried grass, and the hay that fell around the outside of the stables during the last delivery, made Valeria slow the strokes of her brush against the colt’s hind end. She peered up over the back of the colt in just enough time to see Abril slip into the stables.
Dressed in riding boots, a helmet in hand, jeans molded to her legs, and a shawl that would keep her warm on a ride, Abril looked ready to take a horse out.
“Ready?” she asked.
Valeria swallowed hard. “Did they see you?”
“One or two.”
God.
That just made Valeria nervous. Her heart threatened to jump into her throat. Was this possible? Would this even work?
She didn’t know.
But she had to try.
“Stop worrying,” Abril whispered, coming closer to the colt, and Valeria. “We have it all worked out, right? You went out on a horse and came back with a guard. They saw you do it. And like usual, you’re in here taking care of the horses—nothing strange.”
Right, right.
“But—”
“But nothing. They’ll see me go out on a horse,” Abril said, shrugging, “and they won’t think anything strange when they see you go into the house.”
Valeria nodded.
Except it wouldn’t be Abril taking a horse out, and it wouldn’t be Valeria heading back to the house. The girls were close enough in age, and in some ways, appearance given their olive-toned skin was the same, their stark, straight black hair both reached mid-back, and as long as someone was looking at them from behind while they sat on a horse, no one would tell the difference.
Abril had an inch of height on Valeria. Her eyes were a shade deeper brown than Valeria’s russet gaze. Her sister-in-law took after her family in appearance. Sharp, angular jaws, elongated features. Whereas Valeria had a softer, rounder face, and lower cheekbones that always showed the apples of her cheeks when she smiled.
Looking at them face to face, it was clear the two looked nothing alike. But from behind, and on a horse, at a distance?
No one would be able to tell.
“Someone has to see you come back, though,” Valeria pointed out. “Or they’ll believe you helped me get away.”
Abril shrugged as she dropped the riding helmet to the floor of the stables and kicked off her riding boots. “And they will.”
“How?”
“You know Juan?”
“Samuel’s guard?”
Her brother-in-law had a friend--friend being a loose term because Valeria wasn’t sure any of the people in this family had someone they cared about, except for Abril. Point was, Samuel preferred one guard amongst the many that looked after them at the compound.
“What about him?” Valeria asked.
Abril smirked up at Valeria. “He’ll do me a favor, okay? Tit for tat, I gave him something he wanted, and he’ll make sure someone saw me come back tonight on foot after the horse threw me off. Now, are you going to get dressed and switch clothes with me, or keep wasting time?”
Valeria had so many more questions.
What kind of favor?
What had Abril done?
“All right,” Valeria muttered.
The two of them stepped into a stable corner and made quick work of shedding their clothes. Abril dressed in the clothing from Valeria, and she took her sister-in-law’s stuff to slip on. Before long, they came out of the corner, and Valeria turned to head for the horse she preferred to ride on toward the end of the stables.
“No, take Maple,” Abril said, “he’s my horse, and that’s the one they expect me to ride.”
“But he won’t come back.”
And Abril loved Maple.
“It’s okay,” Abril said, “he will be taken care of once you get to where you’re supposed to go. I know that.”
Valeria hesitated to move for the other horse who was blowing them his special kisses because his favorite human was close, and it meant a ride was coming. Turning to Abril, Valeria let the first tear fall, and she didn’t bother to brush it away.
“Thank you for doing this.”
She understood well just how much Abril was risking.
What it could mean if someone caught them …
“Take care of my niece,” Abril replied, “and stay away so he can’t hurt you anymore, Val.”
“I will.”
Or she would try.
It was all going to fall on a hope, a wish, and a damn prayer, though. She didn’t doubt for a second that once Jorge knew she had run away, he would come after her. He would never stop tracking her down.
She was his trophy.
His thing.
He won her.
She belonged to him, and only he decided when to toss her away like trash on the sidewalk. But that was okay because Valeria would keep running. As long as it meant her baby was safe, and Jorge couldn’t hurt their child, then she would keep going.
To the ends of the fucking earth.
Abril checked the watch on her wrist, and said, “You only have three hours, now. Do you remember the spot where you’re supposed to meet Cruz? He has the fake papers you’ll need with him, and he can get you across the border, but only for a small window of time, Val.”
“Can I even trust him?”
“Papá killed his father—he’d do anything that went against my father or brothers. It’s only because he was my … it doesn’t matter,” Abril whispered, shaking her head. In a flash, the emotion she had showed speaking about her lost love, something she guarded even from Valeria unless she slipped up like now, to cold in a blink. “He will be at the meeting place, but he will not wait past the time we agreed. You need to go, so go.”
“Right,” Valeria said. “Now or never.”
“Good luck.”
Those words--good luck—echoed in Valeria’s mind long after she had taken Maple from the stables and headed out toward the cliffs to the east of the compound. Two hours later, when her back ached, her legs felt like pins and needles had settled into her bloodstream, and her stomach cramped, she still thought about those words.
Maple never slowed.
The darkness turned black.
Valeria thought about those words.
Good luck.
Luck hadn’t found her yet.
And while she could taste the promise of freedom with every gallop of Maple’s hooves against the ground, it still felt temporary.
How long could she run?
How long would it be before Jorge found her?
Chapter Two
Seven years later …
For a man like Christopher Guzzi, comfort came easy. Usually. He was most comfortable when surrounded by people he trusted—or better, those he loved. His family, for starters. When it was just them, his brothers and father or mother, and him, then Chris didn’t put on his mask.
The one all Guzzi sons wore.
The Don’s child.
A made man.
A proper Guzzi.
It never failed to amaze him that from the outside looking in, people had a perspective of his family that they shaped and perfected over the years. Untouchable. Vastly wealthy. Dangerous. They needed to be that way to everyone else, a formidable wall of a mafia Don and his army of sons lined up to protect their organization and legacy.
Because otherwise, they all realized what would happen. If someone couldn’t have what they had, then they needed to be what they were. Famiglias like theirs didn’t stay on top being weak, and God knew the Guzzis were anything but that.
Unless they were all alone, the doors closed, and it was just a father and his sons in private, the rules shifted. The masks left, and the walls dropped. Chris, at only twenty-three years old, enjoyed his position as a young made man in his father’s Cosa Nostra, no doubt about it.
He also liked this.
Easy conversation with his father about anything but business. His oldest brother, Marcus, laughing where he sat on the corner of their father’s oak desk—because fuck, it was rare for Marcus to let loose anymore, not when he was too busy being their father’s understudy.
Sometimes it seemed like the Mafia took over every aspect of their lives, controlling how they needed to behave even with each other, and blurring the lines between business, and blood. And then there were moments like these when they were all brought back down to earth, reminded of why they were all here.
They were family.
And this was when they were at their best.
God save the soul who thought to ruin it.
Gian’s—his father—laughter faded at the joke Marcus told before his gaze turned on Chris at the other side of the desk. “Have you talked to your brother?”
Chris had four brothers, and yet, when someone asked him a question like that, it meant they were asking about his identical twin, Corrado. Out of all his brothers, his twin had been the only one who decided not to join the family business. Not that Corrado headed straight in his life when it came to the law—he still very much worked on the illegal side of their life, but it wasn’t within their mafia rankings.
“I did, he was just catching his flight to New York,” Chris said. “He didn’t say too much, distracted, possibly.”
Marcus chuckled. “I bet.”
Chris shot his brother a look.
Marcus only shrugged.
“Now, now,” Gian murmured.
“I’m still trying to figure out how that works, is all.”
“As long as it works for them, then that’s what matters,” Chris returned to Marcus.
“I don’t share well,” Marcus noted. “Not sure that would work for me.”
Chris thought about that one.
“Yeah, me either,” he muttered.
Somehow, his twin found himself in love and in a relationship with two people. Alessio, and Ginevra. Knowing how his brother’s sexual preferences followed Corrado through most of his life, haunting him because he never seemed like he fit in with the rest of his family or their life, Chris was happy he found the people with whom he belonged. What else needed to be said?
Did he understand how that three-person relationship worked?
No.
Did he want to?
Again, no.
It wasn’t his life, his home, or his bed.
Simple as that.
And he didn’t want other people discussing it where Corrado, Alessio, or Ginevra weren’t around to be a part of the discussion. Good manners, and all.
Right?
“Besides, if there’s something you want to ask Corrado,” Chris told Marcus, “then you could, oh, ask him. Or Les—he’s pretty open to talk.”
Marcus blinked. “Probably not.”
“Then, don’t speculate.”
“That’s fair,” Gian said, jumping into the discussion as the phone on his desk rang. He gave his two sons a look, pointing a finger at both, a silent quiet, before he picked up the call, and put the phone to his ear. “Bonjour, ciao, Gian here.”
It took Gian just long enough to hear who was on the other line before he reached over, hit the speaker button on the phone, and set it back down to the cradle. The voice that filled the office was one Chris hadn’t heard in a while, and he still wasn’t sure how he felt when he heard it.
A mixture of things, he supposed.
Only a couple of them any good.
“Do you have a minute to chat, Gian?” Dare asked.
“A few—two of the boys are here.”
“Which ones?”
“Marcus, and Chris. What can we do for you?”
Chris never asked for details about how his father came in to contact or all the finer details of Gian’s business with Dare—no one seemed to be aware of his last name—but somehow, he had. Gian ended up as one investor who fronted a lot of cash to finance a business venture Dare and his partner now controlled.
They called it The League.
An organization which trained assassins, like his brother, Corrado, and then sold them at an auction to the highest bidder. Sure, The League also had their own teams of assassins that worked only for The League, and independent contractors, again, like Chris’s twin, and one of Corrado’s lovers, Alessio.
But mostly, they made real money in the auctions. Selling skilled individuals who could kill someone in a hundred different ways on demand.
Chris had been one of those people once—he trained with Corrado because fuck, he couldn’t imagine leaving his twin to something like The League without someone there to watch his back. He’d always looked after his twin.
The League wasn’t for him, and he realized that rather quickly, but he stuck out his contract. He did the one-year training, stayed for another year to work on a team with his brother and the others they had placed him with, and then he came back home at nineteen.
He wasn’t like them.
Chris wanted to be a made man.
And so, he did.
“I have an issue,” Dare said, “and I thought getting your opinion on what I should do about it might help to clear up my thoughts, Gian.”
“Do tell.”
“A job came in. The client isn’t new, or rather, the family isn’t.”
“Who?”
“New York—Marcellos.”
Gian dragged in a heavy breath and rested back in his chair to steeple his fingers together. He didn’t look at either of his sons, but Chris didn’t need to see his father’s eyes to understand what he was thinking when that name came into play. Oh, sure, their family was on friendly terms with the Marcello Cosa Nostra in New York. The largest mafia organization in North America, it was always better to be on their good side.
His father’s reaction, no doubt, was because he wondered what the issue was. With the Marcellos, it couldn’t be something small. They went all in, or nothing at all. There was no in between for them, and it was one reason Chris respected them as much as he did in the grand scheme.
“And?” Gian asked.
“They need a retrieval done,” Dare said, “which seems simple on the surface—it’s my team’s specialty, right?”
“It seems to be their focus, yes.”
“Except there are details that make it problematic for this job. And beyond those issues, I have another problem.”
“Which is what?” Gian demanded. “Because my suggestion, Dare, would be to give the Marcello family whatever they want, and get them off your ass. They are not the types to be fucked around, and they won’t stand for you to jerk on their chains, if you understand what I’m saying here. Take it into account when dealing with them.”
“I am,” Dare muttered, “that’s not the issue.”
“Well, what is?”
“The auctions, Gian.”
“Ah,” his father said in a sigh, massaging at his temples with his fingers. “Right, those are next month.”
“And the main team—the one I’d use for this job—are being sent out to Russia next month for a prison assignment. We need someone to scope the target out first, and gain as much information as we can get before we gather who and what we need. Then, we can grab the target, but not before. Maybe two months, or a little less. I don’t have someone who would be appropriate for this job except Corrado and Alessio.”
“I can do it,” Chris said.
He didn’t regret saying the words, sure. All eyes in the room turned on him as soon as he said it. And even the man on the phone quieted at the declaration.
“What?” he asked.
“You haven’t done a job for The League since you were nineteen,” his father said.
“It’s like riding a bike,” Chris returned, “you fall off, and get back on.”
Right.
Like riding a bike.
Mostly, Chris spoke up because he didn’t want his twin to be bothered and that fucking ingrained need inside his being to take care of Corrado, and look out for him—even when his twin didn’t have a clue he did it—was bred deep.
He blamed genetics.
And his father.
“That’s … going to be my suggestion, actually,” Dare said, his voice filtering through the speaker again. “Because with your influence and name, Gian, it would make it a hell of a lot easier to infiltrate the organization where we believe the target is located.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” Gian asked.
“When can you two get to Vegas for a proper briefing?”
Gian gave Chris a glance.
He shrugged.
“Christmas is soon,” Gian said.
“Right after New Years?”
Chris nodded to his father. “After the new year is fine.”
“Good. I will arrange it with the Marcellos.”
The phone call ended before anyone said goodbye, not that Chris or his father seemed to mind. Marcus continued sipping on a glass of whiskey, not bothering to step in at all.
“Are you sure you want to take that assignment?” Gian asked Chris. “You have duties here to la famiglia, too, son. I am sure I could make do for a couple of months, but it’s not about that. I want you to be certain this is what you want to do.”
His father, always looking out for his boys.
Chris appreciated it.
“Why not?”
Yeah, why not?
That seemed to be the story of his life.
Might as well add another chapter.
***
The League ran their business out of a cluster of connected buildings deep within the desolate land of Nevada which they dubbed the complex. And frankly, Chris thought the name fit considering it’s massive size. It had to be considering everything and anything The League needed to operate smoothly was inside the complex.
He trained here. Broke here. He lived here—ate, slept, and survived behind these walls. He was sure, despite the time he had stayed and worked for The League, he hadn’t seen every single square inch of the place.
They also added to the place over the years, building on to the complex for whatever suited their purposes. It had been a while since Chris last visited the secluded cluster of connected buildings, so he hadn’t known they added an Olympic-size pool until he stood in the doorway leading to it.
He stared across the calm blue water, unnerved by the black tiling design at the bottom of the pool. It gave the water a bottomless effect, and it sent his anxiety spiking through the roof.
If the water went over his fucking head, it was too deep. An almost drowning as a child left Chris with a paranoia and fear for water. He did his best to hide it from others, but his family knew.
And The League.
They had knowledge of it, too.
One of the many reasons he was conflicted on being back inside this building. Although he appreciated all they did for him here, and what it taught him, Chris still walked away from this place with more scars than he cared to count. Some, more than others, never too far away from his thoughts.
Their motto?
Break the body, break the mind.
They’d done that to him.
Again and again.
“Chris,” Gian murmured.
For the first time, he looked away from the pool, realizing he had come to a complete stop before he passed the room to stare inside. His father, a few steps down the hall, raised a brow and waited for him to get over his … thing.
“Sorry,” Chris blurted, “I’m coming.”
Gian nodded, but said nothing about the water, or the obvious problem Chris had by being near it. His father was good in that way, and Chris respected it. “Dare is waiting with the others. Let’s not keep them.”
Right, right.
Their reason for being here.
Knowing his father made a good point, and the Marcellos had been kind enough to allow them to hold this meeting after the holidays passed, Chris forced his attention away from the goddamn pool. He followed behind his father in silence, walking through newer halls of the complex he wasn’t familiar with as the owners added them over the last year.
Before long, they stood in the doorway of Dare’s office. The group inside, four in total, turned to greet them, although none wore smiles.
That serious, huh?
Chris recognized all the men, but for different reasons. Dare, standing behind his desk, because he had been Chris’s boss for a time, and he was his father’s business partner with this place. Cree, the Native with his hands clasped at his back in front of a row of screens showcasing an aerial view of what looked to be a map, because he was one who trained Chris here.
The other two men, Dante and Andino Marcello, he knew from the business--Cosa Nostra. Rarely were they known to leave New York, but especially not to come to Nevada, so he figured this job was important to them.
“Gian, and Chris, right?” Dante asked, looking his way.
Chris nodded. “That’s me.”
“Not to be confused with his twin, who—”
“Isn’t here,” Chris interjected, giving Andino Marcello a stare that would silence the devil. He understood this man had issues with his twin, and he didn’t care to hear them. Fucking nobody, regardless of what their last name happened to be, would bad mouth his twin, but not to his damn face. “And we have things to do, don’t we?”
“We do,” Dare said from behind his desk, “and we’re waiting on you all before we start.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Gian said, giving Chris a wave to enter the office first, “shall we get started?”
Dare picked up the remote on his desk and pointed it at the screen once Chris and his father entered the office. The picture changed when he pressed a button, showcasing Andino in a tux, a woman in a white wedding dress, and a little girl between them being held by a black-haired, beautiful woman with a wide smile.
And God, yeah, beautiful didn’t do the woman justice. Her joyful smile brightened her delicate features, and her black hair had a glossy sheen under the sunlight. Tall, and curvy, the lavender dress she had picked for the day hugged her body and showed off all kinds of leg.
With only a picture, Chris thought whoever had taken it had captured the woman’s beauty, her confidence, and her womanly appeal all at the same time.
Quite a feat.
“Valeria Lòpez,” Cree said when Dare stayed quiet. “Formerly Gomez, but she changed it after a forced marriage to Jorge Lòpez at fifteen when the cartel killed her mother down in Mexico, it became a means to blackmail her father. Or, those are the details we have.”
“That’s all we had,” Andino muttered.
“Right,” Dare said, nodding at Andino, “and so this is what we’re working on. Somehow, around sixteen from what we understand, Valeria was pregnant, and ran away from her husband, and the cartel. She found her way to the States, and we don’t know how. What we do know is her daughter was born in the States, and at some point, she met Haven Murphy.”
“Marcello, now,” Andino added under his breath.
That name rang a bell.
Chris looked to Andino. “Your new wife?”
Andino nodded. “The two happened to be roommates for quite a while before I came along, Valeria worked for Haven, and one night she came home … seemed like Val up and left and so did—”
Dare pressed a button, and the screen changed to a single picture of the little girl Valeria had been holding in the wedding picture. “Her daughter, Maria. Who is six. We cannot find anything for this little girl anywhere at the moment. No school records in Mexico, nothing for a doctor, and … yeah.”
Chris let out a heavy breath as he took in the black-haired, brown-eyed child. She looked all of maybe five on the screen if that. Cute, with a wide, toothy smile, and her arms high in the air as her yellow summer dress spun around her legs.
“Jorge Lòpez is her father,” Dare said, “but what’s important is … Valeria ran from the cartel, we’re aware she was forced into marriage, and at some point, they took her again. We have every reason to believe she is back with the cartel.”
“Might she want to be there?” Chris asked.
“Possibly,” the man returned, “but you must figure that out when you get inside, won’t you?”
Gian hummed under his breath beside his son. “And that’s why you want me here, isn’t it? Being the boss of the Guzzis, I’m not affiliated to the Marcellos on paper as a business partner, they wouldn’t expect me to go there for her, and I could use my status and territory as a transaction for them, correct?”
“They wouldn’t suspect something’s up, no.”
Chris looked to the two Marcello men as this was their job. They had come here with it, and they wanted to retrieve the woman. “Why is she important? A cartel wife … that’s playing with fire. I’m familiar with details about the Lòpez cartel. Jorge, he’s the oldest son, and has taken over more now that his father took a step back years ago. And you want to … what, take his wife and child from him?”
Andino arched a brow, replying, “I respect the hesitance, but the woman never asked for the life they gave her. From what my wife explained, and I understood, Val stayed on the run and had been for years, which meant she had to be running from something.”
“Or someone,” Chris finished.
“Jorge, likely,” Andino agreed. “Val and Haven … she needs to know if Val is where she wants to be, is safe, and happy. And if she is, fine, we leave it alone. But if she isn’t, and if she needs help, that’s what you’re here to do.”
Chris cleared his throat and nodded once. “All right.”
Dare passed him a glance. “The job’s a go?”
“The job is a go.”
The Guzzi Legacy, 3
Copyright © 2019 Bethany-Kris. All rights reserved.
Chapter One
Beautiful distractions hid the worst of crimes.
The table, draped in silk, and filled with food cooked by a renown chef, welcomed their guests, in a dining room with walls covered in expensive art. It proved to Valeria that the other people sitting down at the table for dinner would forget the young lady—who was barely a woman—across from them had been in the papers just a few months ago.
They wouldn’t remember her face had been on the news after her mother’s murder—the wife of a prominent Mexican politician. They didn’t seem to remember how just months later she walked down the aisle, not yet sixteen at that point, forced to marry the son of the man who had invited them to this dinner.
None of it mattered to them.
Money talked.
And it apparently said very nice things.
Like the silk linen, the coveted art, delicious food, and beautiful people dressed in their best with glittering diamonds showcased on their bodies to prove their status and wealth. All of it became a promise to them. Should these people keep quiet about the other issues at the table, like Valeria, then the Lòpezs would make a deal.
They liked that.
Deals.
Better known as bribes, or blackmail. It depended on her husband, and his father’s, preference or their need. When it had been her father on the other side of this table, they had wanted a promise he would help them smuggle their illegal drugs into the United States where he had connections to border control.
Her father said no.
They killed his wife.
Her father then agreed.
And so, they took her, too, and forced her to marry the oldest son of the Lòpez cartel’s leader. A way to drive the point home, she figured. Because that’s all she had been.
And now, she was a trophy.
A beautiful thing.
Something to own.
“Sonreírse,” Jorge said to her left, his Spanish order for her to smile coming out dark, and harsh, even under his breath. He watched her constantly, and when she didn’t behave as he wanted her to, he made her aware. His fingers curved around her thigh under the table, flexing enough to make her draw in a quick breath. “Now, Valeria.”
Her gaze swept the people at the table, a business meeting, they told her. Right, more like a way to manipulate and gain what the Lòpez family needed to do their work without trouble. Tonight, it was cops in high positions of power. Officers that controlled the subordinates under them, which corrupted the system further, but allowed the cartel to breathe a little easier.
This was how it worked.
She smiled when the wife of one officer turned her attention away from Valeria’s sister-in-law, Abril, to the ones at the other side of the table. The whole damn family sat there—from her father-in-law, Martín, to Jorge’s younger brother, Samuel. They pulled out all the stops to draw these people into their traps without using violent means first—the cartel’s usual way.
When someone denied them things turned bad. Valeria’s family was a good example of that.
“Martín,” the woman said to Valeria’s father-in-law, smiling a little too widely, “you must be pleased, sí?”
What was her name again?
Missy?
More American than Mexican. A dual citizen of both countries, if she trusted what her husband told her about their guests earlier, which kept the conversation drifting back and forth between English and Spanish for most of the dinner.
Not that Valeria cared to engage.
“Pleased about what?” Martín asked, tipping his wine glass up for a drink.
Out of all the people at this table, Valeria hated Martín the most. A difficult task for him to accomplish, considering she married his son, a man who beat her to keep her in line. He had suggested the marriage after killing her mother, like they should have expected it.
Still, she blamed him.
For all of this.
Across the table, Missy nodded at Valeria with a subtle tilt of her chin. Her grin reached to her eyes, as though she held a secret, but for now, she was only hinting at it.
Martín seemed to understand.
“Ah, el bebé,” Martín said, chuckling. Setting his glass to the table harder than necessary, proving just how much he had imbibed over the course of the dinner, he smiled and nodded. “Very pleased. We hoped it would be a niño for us. A boy. And yet, it seems it will be a girl, but that’s okay, too.”
Valeria had done her best throughout the dinner to not draw attention to herself. For the last several months, they had not allowed her out of the Lòpez’s compound after her marriage. This was one of the first dinners she attended, and her greatest fears would be that someone would ask about her father, apologize for her mother’s death, or even, like now, want to discuss her current life.
Valeria’s hand lifted from the table to rest upon the swell of her stomach. Under her palm, she felt the baby girl shift from her mother’s touch, but like the good baby she already seemed to be, the child settled, allowing Valeria little discomfort from the movement.
“Congratulations,” the woman said to Valeria. “Babies are gifts.”
“Blessings,” the man next to her added.
Right.
Her husband created this baby through violent means and pain, but she wouldn’t say so. Was raping her a blessing? And besides, she loved her daughter. She loved her enough that she sat at this table, kept her smile on, and shut her fucking mouth so that Jorge wouldn’t beat her later in the evening when everyone left. Then, the baby wouldn’t get hurt, too.
“Thank you,” Valeria whispered.
Her first words at the dinner.
No one seemed to notice.
Next to her, Jorge gave Valeria a tight smile. Another warning, she figured, but without him speaking it out loud. She didn’t need him to do that at all—she was aware what he expected of her, and what the punishment would be if she failed.
It used to scare her.
He terrified her.
Now, she just … worried.
For this child she carried, mostly. Because what would happen to her once she made her presence known in the world. Valeria, all of sixteen years old, but she would be seventeen before this baby was born. Not that it mattered because what control did a girl of her age have against a man like her husband. Six years her senior, a criminal who had only taken her because of the status it would provide him, and far too power hungry for his own good.
What could she do?
How might she protect this baby from him?
From the rest of them?
“Val, would you like another drink of water?”
At the soft question from a familiar, kind voice, Valeria came out of her thoughts to see her sister-in-law standing from the seat on the other side of hers. Abril gave Valeria a small smile, but in her eyes she found the truth.
Concern warred in Abril’s gaze.
Older than her by a few months, Abril was the only person in the Lòpez family that Valeria had made friends with, and sometimes, she even questioned it because she no longer trusted anyone. Abril had done nothing to prove she deserved that hesitation though. She helped.
And she had promised to help more.
“Water?” Abril asked again.
Valeria nodded. “Yes, thank you, that would be nice.”
Abril passed Valeria’s chair, her hand coming to rest on her shoulder as she bent down to whisper, “The plan happens tonight—I received the message.”
As quickly as Abril had told her the words, ones that might promise her freedom, she was leaving the dining room and the rest behind. Valeria looked to the man at her side, finding her husband distracted, and grinning at the young wife of an official across the table from him.
That grin meant he wanted to fuck the woman.
Valeria didn’t care.
The promise of freedom would make a person smile, no matter how dangerous, crazy, and even if there was no guarantee her plan to run away would work.
Still, she had to try.
For this child, she had to.
“Valeria.”
She hoped the guilt didn’t show on her face when she met Jorge’s gaze. He never missed her distractions. Now didn’t seem like a good time to play with fire. The blank expression he wore said she was the last thing on his mind.
Good.
“Yes?”
“I’m sure you won’t mind going home to the compound alone tonight, will you?” he asked.
He posed it like a question.
It wasn’t.
“Of course, not,” she said.
“I’ll be home for breakfast. Take care of my baby. You got me?”
Better than he understood.
***
Valeria did her best to soothe the nerves running wild as she brushed down the colt, Butter, in the stables. Butter, only two months old, had given Valeria a reason to visit the stables on the compound more often over the last couple of months.
The compound itself, set on a good twenty acres of secluded, desolate land protected by armed guards, allowed the Lòpez family privacy. To the east, one would find cliffs leading out to choppy, dangerous ocean water. The guards and an electric fence secured the only road leading out of the compound. Two larger barns, used like warehouses and full of drugs to smuggle, sat further west of the compound, while their homes and stables made up a small village right in the center.
There was no way out.
Or so they thought …
One simply needed enough time, and the means to make it happen. Not that they ever gave her the opportunity to run before. She could rarely do anything without a guard or her husband nearby to watch her do … whatever.
The stables, however, were her free time. Or, that’s how Jorge liked to put it. He didn’t have much interest in the horses, it was more of a pet project for his siblings, and some guards that stayed on the property.
Valeria took a liking to the horses because her husband didn’t care. He wouldn’t follow her into the stables to look after the horses, and he didn’t mind her taking one out for a ride—like she did after arriving back to the compound that night—as long as someone was with her to keep an eye on her.
But when she looked after the horses in the stables?
No one cared.
No one watched her, then.
The sound of boots crunching against dried grass, and the hay that fell around the outside of the stables during the last delivery, made Valeria slow the strokes of her brush against the colt’s hind end. She peered up over the back of the colt in just enough time to see Abril slip into the stables.
Dressed in riding boots, a helmet in hand, jeans molded to her legs, and a shawl that would keep her warm on a ride, Abril looked ready to take a horse out.
“Ready?” she asked.
Valeria swallowed hard. “Did they see you?”
“One or two.”
God.
That just made Valeria nervous. Her heart threatened to jump into her throat. Was this possible? Would this even work?
She didn’t know.
But she had to try.
“Stop worrying,” Abril whispered, coming closer to the colt, and Valeria. “We have it all worked out, right? You went out on a horse and came back with a guard. They saw you do it. And like usual, you’re in here taking care of the horses—nothing strange.”
Right, right.
“But—”
“But nothing. They’ll see me go out on a horse,” Abril said, shrugging, “and they won’t think anything strange when they see you go into the house.”
Valeria nodded.
Except it wouldn’t be Abril taking a horse out, and it wouldn’t be Valeria heading back to the house. The girls were close enough in age, and in some ways, appearance given their olive-toned skin was the same, their stark, straight black hair both reached mid-back, and as long as someone was looking at them from behind while they sat on a horse, no one would tell the difference.
Abril had an inch of height on Valeria. Her eyes were a shade deeper brown than Valeria’s russet gaze. Her sister-in-law took after her family in appearance. Sharp, angular jaws, elongated features. Whereas Valeria had a softer, rounder face, and lower cheekbones that always showed the apples of her cheeks when she smiled.
Looking at them face to face, it was clear the two looked nothing alike. But from behind, and on a horse, at a distance?
No one would be able to tell.
“Someone has to see you come back, though,” Valeria pointed out. “Or they’ll believe you helped me get away.”
Abril shrugged as she dropped the riding helmet to the floor of the stables and kicked off her riding boots. “And they will.”
“How?”
“You know Juan?”
“Samuel’s guard?”
Her brother-in-law had a friend--friend being a loose term because Valeria wasn’t sure any of the people in this family had someone they cared about, except for Abril. Point was, Samuel preferred one guard amongst the many that looked after them at the compound.
“What about him?” Valeria asked.
Abril smirked up at Valeria. “He’ll do me a favor, okay? Tit for tat, I gave him something he wanted, and he’ll make sure someone saw me come back tonight on foot after the horse threw me off. Now, are you going to get dressed and switch clothes with me, or keep wasting time?”
Valeria had so many more questions.
What kind of favor?
What had Abril done?
“All right,” Valeria muttered.
The two of them stepped into a stable corner and made quick work of shedding their clothes. Abril dressed in the clothing from Valeria, and she took her sister-in-law’s stuff to slip on. Before long, they came out of the corner, and Valeria turned to head for the horse she preferred to ride on toward the end of the stables.
“No, take Maple,” Abril said, “he’s my horse, and that’s the one they expect me to ride.”
“But he won’t come back.”
And Abril loved Maple.
“It’s okay,” Abril said, “he will be taken care of once you get to where you’re supposed to go. I know that.”
Valeria hesitated to move for the other horse who was blowing them his special kisses because his favorite human was close, and it meant a ride was coming. Turning to Abril, Valeria let the first tear fall, and she didn’t bother to brush it away.
“Thank you for doing this.”
She understood well just how much Abril was risking.
What it could mean if someone caught them …
“Take care of my niece,” Abril replied, “and stay away so he can’t hurt you anymore, Val.”
“I will.”
Or she would try.
It was all going to fall on a hope, a wish, and a damn prayer, though. She didn’t doubt for a second that once Jorge knew she had run away, he would come after her. He would never stop tracking her down.
She was his trophy.
His thing.
He won her.
She belonged to him, and only he decided when to toss her away like trash on the sidewalk. But that was okay because Valeria would keep running. As long as it meant her baby was safe, and Jorge couldn’t hurt their child, then she would keep going.
To the ends of the fucking earth.
Abril checked the watch on her wrist, and said, “You only have three hours, now. Do you remember the spot where you’re supposed to meet Cruz? He has the fake papers you’ll need with him, and he can get you across the border, but only for a small window of time, Val.”
“Can I even trust him?”
“Papá killed his father—he’d do anything that went against my father or brothers. It’s only because he was my … it doesn’t matter,” Abril whispered, shaking her head. In a flash, the emotion she had showed speaking about her lost love, something she guarded even from Valeria unless she slipped up like now, to cold in a blink. “He will be at the meeting place, but he will not wait past the time we agreed. You need to go, so go.”
“Right,” Valeria said. “Now or never.”
“Good luck.”
Those words--good luck—echoed in Valeria’s mind long after she had taken Maple from the stables and headed out toward the cliffs to the east of the compound. Two hours later, when her back ached, her legs felt like pins and needles had settled into her bloodstream, and her stomach cramped, she still thought about those words.
Maple never slowed.
The darkness turned black.
Valeria thought about those words.
Good luck.
Luck hadn’t found her yet.
And while she could taste the promise of freedom with every gallop of Maple’s hooves against the ground, it still felt temporary.
How long could she run?
How long would it be before Jorge found her?
Chapter Two
Seven years later …
For a man like Christopher Guzzi, comfort came easy. Usually. He was most comfortable when surrounded by people he trusted—or better, those he loved. His family, for starters. When it was just them, his brothers and father or mother, and him, then Chris didn’t put on his mask.
The one all Guzzi sons wore.
The Don’s child.
A made man.
A proper Guzzi.
It never failed to amaze him that from the outside looking in, people had a perspective of his family that they shaped and perfected over the years. Untouchable. Vastly wealthy. Dangerous. They needed to be that way to everyone else, a formidable wall of a mafia Don and his army of sons lined up to protect their organization and legacy.
Because otherwise, they all realized what would happen. If someone couldn’t have what they had, then they needed to be what they were. Famiglias like theirs didn’t stay on top being weak, and God knew the Guzzis were anything but that.
Unless they were all alone, the doors closed, and it was just a father and his sons in private, the rules shifted. The masks left, and the walls dropped. Chris, at only twenty-three years old, enjoyed his position as a young made man in his father’s Cosa Nostra, no doubt about it.
He also liked this.
Easy conversation with his father about anything but business. His oldest brother, Marcus, laughing where he sat on the corner of their father’s oak desk—because fuck, it was rare for Marcus to let loose anymore, not when he was too busy being their father’s understudy.
Sometimes it seemed like the Mafia took over every aspect of their lives, controlling how they needed to behave even with each other, and blurring the lines between business, and blood. And then there were moments like these when they were all brought back down to earth, reminded of why they were all here.
They were family.
And this was when they were at their best.
God save the soul who thought to ruin it.
Gian’s—his father—laughter faded at the joke Marcus told before his gaze turned on Chris at the other side of the desk. “Have you talked to your brother?”
Chris had four brothers, and yet, when someone asked him a question like that, it meant they were asking about his identical twin, Corrado. Out of all his brothers, his twin had been the only one who decided not to join the family business. Not that Corrado headed straight in his life when it came to the law—he still very much worked on the illegal side of their life, but it wasn’t within their mafia rankings.
“I did, he was just catching his flight to New York,” Chris said. “He didn’t say too much, distracted, possibly.”
Marcus chuckled. “I bet.”
Chris shot his brother a look.
Marcus only shrugged.
“Now, now,” Gian murmured.
“I’m still trying to figure out how that works, is all.”
“As long as it works for them, then that’s what matters,” Chris returned to Marcus.
“I don’t share well,” Marcus noted. “Not sure that would work for me.”
Chris thought about that one.
“Yeah, me either,” he muttered.
Somehow, his twin found himself in love and in a relationship with two people. Alessio, and Ginevra. Knowing how his brother’s sexual preferences followed Corrado through most of his life, haunting him because he never seemed like he fit in with the rest of his family or their life, Chris was happy he found the people with whom he belonged. What else needed to be said?
Did he understand how that three-person relationship worked?
No.
Did he want to?
Again, no.
It wasn’t his life, his home, or his bed.
Simple as that.
And he didn’t want other people discussing it where Corrado, Alessio, or Ginevra weren’t around to be a part of the discussion. Good manners, and all.
Right?
“Besides, if there’s something you want to ask Corrado,” Chris told Marcus, “then you could, oh, ask him. Or Les—he’s pretty open to talk.”
Marcus blinked. “Probably not.”
“Then, don’t speculate.”
“That’s fair,” Gian said, jumping into the discussion as the phone on his desk rang. He gave his two sons a look, pointing a finger at both, a silent quiet, before he picked up the call, and put the phone to his ear. “Bonjour, ciao, Gian here.”
It took Gian just long enough to hear who was on the other line before he reached over, hit the speaker button on the phone, and set it back down to the cradle. The voice that filled the office was one Chris hadn’t heard in a while, and he still wasn’t sure how he felt when he heard it.
A mixture of things, he supposed.
Only a couple of them any good.
“Do you have a minute to chat, Gian?” Dare asked.
“A few—two of the boys are here.”
“Which ones?”
“Marcus, and Chris. What can we do for you?”
Chris never asked for details about how his father came in to contact or all the finer details of Gian’s business with Dare—no one seemed to be aware of his last name—but somehow, he had. Gian ended up as one investor who fronted a lot of cash to finance a business venture Dare and his partner now controlled.
They called it The League.
An organization which trained assassins, like his brother, Corrado, and then sold them at an auction to the highest bidder. Sure, The League also had their own teams of assassins that worked only for The League, and independent contractors, again, like Chris’s twin, and one of Corrado’s lovers, Alessio.
But mostly, they made real money in the auctions. Selling skilled individuals who could kill someone in a hundred different ways on demand.
Chris had been one of those people once—he trained with Corrado because fuck, he couldn’t imagine leaving his twin to something like The League without someone there to watch his back. He’d always looked after his twin.
The League wasn’t for him, and he realized that rather quickly, but he stuck out his contract. He did the one-year training, stayed for another year to work on a team with his brother and the others they had placed him with, and then he came back home at nineteen.
He wasn’t like them.
Chris wanted to be a made man.
And so, he did.
“I have an issue,” Dare said, “and I thought getting your opinion on what I should do about it might help to clear up my thoughts, Gian.”
“Do tell.”
“A job came in. The client isn’t new, or rather, the family isn’t.”
“Who?”
“New York—Marcellos.”
Gian dragged in a heavy breath and rested back in his chair to steeple his fingers together. He didn’t look at either of his sons, but Chris didn’t need to see his father’s eyes to understand what he was thinking when that name came into play. Oh, sure, their family was on friendly terms with the Marcello Cosa Nostra in New York. The largest mafia organization in North America, it was always better to be on their good side.
His father’s reaction, no doubt, was because he wondered what the issue was. With the Marcellos, it couldn’t be something small. They went all in, or nothing at all. There was no in between for them, and it was one reason Chris respected them as much as he did in the grand scheme.
“And?” Gian asked.
“They need a retrieval done,” Dare said, “which seems simple on the surface—it’s my team’s specialty, right?”
“It seems to be their focus, yes.”
“Except there are details that make it problematic for this job. And beyond those issues, I have another problem.”
“Which is what?” Gian demanded. “Because my suggestion, Dare, would be to give the Marcello family whatever they want, and get them off your ass. They are not the types to be fucked around, and they won’t stand for you to jerk on their chains, if you understand what I’m saying here. Take it into account when dealing with them.”
“I am,” Dare muttered, “that’s not the issue.”
“Well, what is?”
“The auctions, Gian.”
“Ah,” his father said in a sigh, massaging at his temples with his fingers. “Right, those are next month.”
“And the main team—the one I’d use for this job—are being sent out to Russia next month for a prison assignment. We need someone to scope the target out first, and gain as much information as we can get before we gather who and what we need. Then, we can grab the target, but not before. Maybe two months, or a little less. I don’t have someone who would be appropriate for this job except Corrado and Alessio.”
“I can do it,” Chris said.
He didn’t regret saying the words, sure. All eyes in the room turned on him as soon as he said it. And even the man on the phone quieted at the declaration.
“What?” he asked.
“You haven’t done a job for The League since you were nineteen,” his father said.
“It’s like riding a bike,” Chris returned, “you fall off, and get back on.”
Right.
Like riding a bike.
Mostly, Chris spoke up because he didn’t want his twin to be bothered and that fucking ingrained need inside his being to take care of Corrado, and look out for him—even when his twin didn’t have a clue he did it—was bred deep.
He blamed genetics.
And his father.
“That’s … going to be my suggestion, actually,” Dare said, his voice filtering through the speaker again. “Because with your influence and name, Gian, it would make it a hell of a lot easier to infiltrate the organization where we believe the target is located.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” Gian asked.
“When can you two get to Vegas for a proper briefing?”
Gian gave Chris a glance.
He shrugged.
“Christmas is soon,” Gian said.
“Right after New Years?”
Chris nodded to his father. “After the new year is fine.”
“Good. I will arrange it with the Marcellos.”
The phone call ended before anyone said goodbye, not that Chris or his father seemed to mind. Marcus continued sipping on a glass of whiskey, not bothering to step in at all.
“Are you sure you want to take that assignment?” Gian asked Chris. “You have duties here to la famiglia, too, son. I am sure I could make do for a couple of months, but it’s not about that. I want you to be certain this is what you want to do.”
His father, always looking out for his boys.
Chris appreciated it.
“Why not?”
Yeah, why not?
That seemed to be the story of his life.
Might as well add another chapter.
***
The League ran their business out of a cluster of connected buildings deep within the desolate land of Nevada which they dubbed the complex. And frankly, Chris thought the name fit considering it’s massive size. It had to be considering everything and anything The League needed to operate smoothly was inside the complex.
He trained here. Broke here. He lived here—ate, slept, and survived behind these walls. He was sure, despite the time he had stayed and worked for The League, he hadn’t seen every single square inch of the place.
They also added to the place over the years, building on to the complex for whatever suited their purposes. It had been a while since Chris last visited the secluded cluster of connected buildings, so he hadn’t known they added an Olympic-size pool until he stood in the doorway leading to it.
He stared across the calm blue water, unnerved by the black tiling design at the bottom of the pool. It gave the water a bottomless effect, and it sent his anxiety spiking through the roof.
If the water went over his fucking head, it was too deep. An almost drowning as a child left Chris with a paranoia and fear for water. He did his best to hide it from others, but his family knew.
And The League.
They had knowledge of it, too.
One of the many reasons he was conflicted on being back inside this building. Although he appreciated all they did for him here, and what it taught him, Chris still walked away from this place with more scars than he cared to count. Some, more than others, never too far away from his thoughts.
Their motto?
Break the body, break the mind.
They’d done that to him.
Again and again.
“Chris,” Gian murmured.
For the first time, he looked away from the pool, realizing he had come to a complete stop before he passed the room to stare inside. His father, a few steps down the hall, raised a brow and waited for him to get over his … thing.
“Sorry,” Chris blurted, “I’m coming.”
Gian nodded, but said nothing about the water, or the obvious problem Chris had by being near it. His father was good in that way, and Chris respected it. “Dare is waiting with the others. Let’s not keep them.”
Right, right.
Their reason for being here.
Knowing his father made a good point, and the Marcellos had been kind enough to allow them to hold this meeting after the holidays passed, Chris forced his attention away from the goddamn pool. He followed behind his father in silence, walking through newer halls of the complex he wasn’t familiar with as the owners added them over the last year.
Before long, they stood in the doorway of Dare’s office. The group inside, four in total, turned to greet them, although none wore smiles.
That serious, huh?
Chris recognized all the men, but for different reasons. Dare, standing behind his desk, because he had been Chris’s boss for a time, and he was his father’s business partner with this place. Cree, the Native with his hands clasped at his back in front of a row of screens showcasing an aerial view of what looked to be a map, because he was one who trained Chris here.
The other two men, Dante and Andino Marcello, he knew from the business--Cosa Nostra. Rarely were they known to leave New York, but especially not to come to Nevada, so he figured this job was important to them.
“Gian, and Chris, right?” Dante asked, looking his way.
Chris nodded. “That’s me.”
“Not to be confused with his twin, who—”
“Isn’t here,” Chris interjected, giving Andino Marcello a stare that would silence the devil. He understood this man had issues with his twin, and he didn’t care to hear them. Fucking nobody, regardless of what their last name happened to be, would bad mouth his twin, but not to his damn face. “And we have things to do, don’t we?”
“We do,” Dare said from behind his desk, “and we’re waiting on you all before we start.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Gian said, giving Chris a wave to enter the office first, “shall we get started?”
Dare picked up the remote on his desk and pointed it at the screen once Chris and his father entered the office. The picture changed when he pressed a button, showcasing Andino in a tux, a woman in a white wedding dress, and a little girl between them being held by a black-haired, beautiful woman with a wide smile.
And God, yeah, beautiful didn’t do the woman justice. Her joyful smile brightened her delicate features, and her black hair had a glossy sheen under the sunlight. Tall, and curvy, the lavender dress she had picked for the day hugged her body and showed off all kinds of leg.
With only a picture, Chris thought whoever had taken it had captured the woman’s beauty, her confidence, and her womanly appeal all at the same time.
Quite a feat.
“Valeria Lòpez,” Cree said when Dare stayed quiet. “Formerly Gomez, but she changed it after a forced marriage to Jorge Lòpez at fifteen when the cartel killed her mother down in Mexico, it became a means to blackmail her father. Or, those are the details we have.”
“That’s all we had,” Andino muttered.
“Right,” Dare said, nodding at Andino, “and so this is what we’re working on. Somehow, around sixteen from what we understand, Valeria was pregnant, and ran away from her husband, and the cartel. She found her way to the States, and we don’t know how. What we do know is her daughter was born in the States, and at some point, she met Haven Murphy.”
“Marcello, now,” Andino added under his breath.
That name rang a bell.
Chris looked to Andino. “Your new wife?”
Andino nodded. “The two happened to be roommates for quite a while before I came along, Valeria worked for Haven, and one night she came home … seemed like Val up and left and so did—”
Dare pressed a button, and the screen changed to a single picture of the little girl Valeria had been holding in the wedding picture. “Her daughter, Maria. Who is six. We cannot find anything for this little girl anywhere at the moment. No school records in Mexico, nothing for a doctor, and … yeah.”
Chris let out a heavy breath as he took in the black-haired, brown-eyed child. She looked all of maybe five on the screen if that. Cute, with a wide, toothy smile, and her arms high in the air as her yellow summer dress spun around her legs.
“Jorge Lòpez is her father,” Dare said, “but what’s important is … Valeria ran from the cartel, we’re aware she was forced into marriage, and at some point, they took her again. We have every reason to believe she is back with the cartel.”
“Might she want to be there?” Chris asked.
“Possibly,” the man returned, “but you must figure that out when you get inside, won’t you?”
Gian hummed under his breath beside his son. “And that’s why you want me here, isn’t it? Being the boss of the Guzzis, I’m not affiliated to the Marcellos on paper as a business partner, they wouldn’t expect me to go there for her, and I could use my status and territory as a transaction for them, correct?”
“They wouldn’t suspect something’s up, no.”
Chris looked to the two Marcello men as this was their job. They had come here with it, and they wanted to retrieve the woman. “Why is she important? A cartel wife … that’s playing with fire. I’m familiar with details about the Lòpez cartel. Jorge, he’s the oldest son, and has taken over more now that his father took a step back years ago. And you want to … what, take his wife and child from him?”
Andino arched a brow, replying, “I respect the hesitance, but the woman never asked for the life they gave her. From what my wife explained, and I understood, Val stayed on the run and had been for years, which meant she had to be running from something.”
“Or someone,” Chris finished.
“Jorge, likely,” Andino agreed. “Val and Haven … she needs to know if Val is where she wants to be, is safe, and happy. And if she is, fine, we leave it alone. But if she isn’t, and if she needs help, that’s what you’re here to do.”
Chris cleared his throat and nodded once. “All right.”
Dare passed him a glance. “The job’s a go?”
“The job is a go.”
