Page 31 of Cartel Devil

I draw Misha’s attention from Pablo as I continue our taunting. I slouch in my chair, my right arm on the table holding my cards. I lazily tap each side as I turn them over.

“That textile shipment you have coming in from Japan won’t make it through customs, Misha. It’s going to be a nightmare when the shipping container leaks, and suddenly the drug dogs notice there’s liquid cocaine all over the material. Orange is your color, and you’ll be so adorable in a onesie.”

I mock him, but he knows I’m telling the truth. We export the same product they import, so we know exactly how they disguise it. It’s possible to make cocaine into a liquid that’s dried onto fabric or another porous material. When it gets to its destination, it’s basically rehydrated and converted to powder. We could steal the shipment while it’s off the coast, but we don’t need it despite the loss we took tonight. Getting the bratva tied up with customs and DEA is a long-game win.

Misha glares at me, using anger to disguise his surprise that we know about that. The fucking arrogance in that family. His older brother Sergei and his counterpart, Anton, both went to UPenn and studied computer science. They’re the bratva’s chief intel gatherers and hackers. They act as though they’re the only ones who went to an Ivy League.

Fuckers, I did too.

And a way better one at that.

I’m not the only syndicate member who went to Harvard, but I’m definitely the smartest. Everyone assumes I’m the laziest member of my family—hell, the laziest man in the NYC syndicates—yet—somehow—I always had the best grades. That’s because I always finished my schoolwork so quickly it looked like all I did was waste time. I was done first, so I had plenty of time for video games and Legos with Javier.

Go figure, cabróns.

“It’s too late. I don’t have it anymore.”

“Bullshit, Misha. Turn the fucking boat or plane around.”

Pablo’s getting hangry. We skipped dinner to deal with this.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then it’s a good thing your wife’s a nurse.”

My knife goes sailing through the air and embeds itself in his right thigh. I made sure not to hit his femoral artery. I don’t want him dead, just in pain.

“Krutee peedalee paka nye dale.”

Laura speaks fluent Russian. My brothers and I heard her use that phrase in a bar during college when some guy got too handsy. He was some Belarussian twat, so he understood what it meant. We didn’t, so she explained it means pedal away while still not beaten up. Basically, fuck off. Once we understood how vulgar the phrase is—Laura can swear like a sailor, but she doesn’t usually—we knew the guy touched more than we thought. He lost all his fingers that night after we took Laura and her friends home.

Misha stands, his hand pressing near the wound. He knows he can’t pull the knife out, or the wound will gush. I didn’t throw it hard enough to sink too deeply, but it’ll definitely need stitches. I’m confident I’ll get the knife back at the next fight.

“Give us our product back, Misha.”

“No.”

He raises his gun and aims for me, but Alejandro dives at him. The gun skids across the floor as my cousin straddles Misha’s waist. Alejandro sits back, his ass pressing against the knife. I can’t help but laugh since I’m always telling him his ass is in the way. It’s in the right spot now. He rains down four punches that knock Misha out. If it weren’t for the knife wound, he would’ve put up an even fight against Alejandro. But he’s out like a light. When Misha’s men rush forward, we put a bullet through each of their foreheads.

“Should we call Sergei or fish out his phone and call Katerina?” I look around the group.

“I’ll call his dipshit brother.”

Alejandro stands and pulls out his phone. The call only takes a minute as we walk out to the SUV. I was generous and used my tie as a tourniquet while the phone rang. Pretty sure this puts us ahead on the unofficial leaderboard we all have to keep score against each other.

“Quino.”

“Yeah?”

We’re back at Javier’s, and I’ve just stepped out of the shower. I poke my head out of the bathroom and spot Alejandro rubbing a towel over his wet hair as he stares at his phone with a frown. Javier’s in the shower in his room, and my brothers and Pablo are each in their rooms getting cleaned up. After any mission, we shower and dispose of any clothes that got contaminated. Tonight, only Alejandro put his clothes in a bag that one of Javier’s men will dispose of in a burn bin.

“Looks like Tricia and Sera still went out tonight. Vita’s worried because she hasn’t heard from either of them. Carmine’s out of town, so Marco went with them. She’s unconvinced they took enough men with them.”

By the time we finished up and got back here, it was after ten.

“Where are they?”

“Some bar not too far from Sera’s Harlem bakery.”