Hearts Of Darkness (The Santiago Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  “Get back to warehouse four,” he barks at Manuel. “Inspection’s at 16:00 hours.”

  “Yes, señor.”

  “You’re American,” I blurt out, causing both men to turn in my direction. Mid-west I reckon... how did I not notice this before?

  “Genius deduction,” he drawls, making my cheeks redden further. “Tell me, was it the accent that gave me away?”

  His light grey eyes are appraising me, giving nothing away. The poker face is so achingly familiar. It’s Dante whenever he’s crazy mad about something.

  “Dante’s been delayed,” he snaps when I don’t answer. “He’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Oh right.”

  The man runs his hand across his jaw in agitation. I get the feeling he wants to say something else.

  “Is he ok?” I venture cautiously.

  “He won’t be if you keep flirting with his recruits. Neither will they for that matter.”

  The guard flinches. “Please, Señor Grayson…” The poor guy looks terrified suddenly.

  “I’d keep your mouth shut about this if I were you. Get out of here, Manuel. Go!”

  He doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s gone without so much as a backward glance at me.

  “I’d hardly call that flirting,” I say angrily, irritated by his censorious behavior. “We were just talking about a horse.”

  I’m not usually this rude but this man’s being an asshole.

  “I’m just offering you a piece of advice, Miss Miller.”

  “Well you know what you can do with it!”

  To my intense irritation a ghost of a smile starts to favor his lips.

  “And what the hell is so funny?”

  He sighs and runs his hand across his powerful jawline again. “For a moment there I could kinda see what all the fuss is about.”

  16

  Dante

  Emilio’s mansion lies on the banks of the Amazon, concealed by the thick, lush canopy of the Colombian rainforest. There are no speedboats moored nearby, no racetrack for his Ferraris, no fucking hint that underneath that vegetation there’s a $50 million estate just begging for attention.

  He and I made a pact when we took over the business. Change was needed so change was implemented. We embraced audacity and self-control. Gone went the flashy mansions and diamonds – the material trappings that had painted such a large target on our father’s back for the past thirty years. Instead, we sharpened and refocused as we slid deeper and deeper into the shadows. We paid out large sums of money for our anonymity, disbursing monthly retainers to a network of business associates to front our cartel on our behalves. We turned our truth into a myth in order to keep the Colombian and US governments guessing, and within fifteen years we’d taken our father’s modest turnover and turned it into a $20 billion a year commodity.

  But our privacy came at a price. Our business associates got greedy. So we adapted again, building up armies to help strengthen our grip on the narcotics trade. We were ruthless. We shunned second chances. Men who tried to take advantage of us paid with their lives, and rivers of blood flowed all the way from Colombia to Florida. I turned the Santiago name, not ourselves, into something to be feared and revered. We were reigning deities until a chancer cartel set off a chain of events recently that has peppered shrapnel into the sides of our organization.

  The Garcias are dead now, I had the pleasure of slitting their throats last week, but they’ve made us look weak in the interim. We’re no longer lauded ‘untouchable’ by our competitors and it’s a slip up in status that’s sitting uneasy with Emilio, much more than me. I can’t seem to drag my thoughts away from Eve. I do this work for my own twisted reasons, not for ego and fucking standing like him, but I agreed to fly out to Colombia today to discuss strengthening strategies with our partners and to confront my brother about his recent lapse in judgment. I’ve come well prepared. I have Grayson and ten of my best men by my side, plus a loaded gun under my shirt and two knives strapped to each calf.

  We may be brothers but I don’t trust him a fucking inch.

  Emilio emerges from his front door to greet us as soon as out vehicles pull up. He slaps me on the back after the briefest, coldest of embraces.

  “Welcome home, brother. It’s been too long.”

  Home? For me, Colombia is a tale of broken dreams and sorrow, of a childhood distorted by ugliness and the memories of a little girl I try hard to forget. I hate this place. It’s turned me into the type of man I swore I’d never become.

  “Emilio,” I say curtly, disentangling myself. “I trust you’re well.”

  We like to portray the Santiagos as a united front but our true bond is forged in mutual antagonism. I’ll never forgive him for the part I suspect he played in obliterating my former life. He’ll never forgive me for blowing the back of our father’s head off. We’ve been dancing on the edge of this darkness for as long as I can remember but now, after my former housemaid’s revelations, any lingering light left between us is gone.

  We’re both tall and olive-skinned but that’s where the similarities end. He’s shit-hot with the business acumen, with a neat haircut, sharp features, a massive coke habit and a psychopathic disposition. In truth he looks like a fucking accountant, whereas I train for hours and hours a day to fortify our empire with a deadly and violent precision.

  “Have the partners arrived yet?” I ask him as he leads us back inside.

  He nods. “They’re already waiting. Come… Let’s find you some tequila first.” Emilio’s a faultless host even when his knife is sticking halfway out of your back. I watch him glance over his shoulder at Joseph. “Compliments for last week, Grayson. I’m told there wasn’t much left of Señor Garcia to identify.” He laughs in grim pleasure at the undignified end we gave our enemy. He always did get off on stuff like that, the more gruesome the better.

  “Mr. Santiago.” Joseph bows his head in deference but I know it’s all bullshit. His dislike of my brother cuts just as deep as mine.

  Drinks now in hand, Emilio leads us through his lavish foyer and out onto a golden patio. Beyond the seating area there’s a large swimming pool lined with Sicilian marble, around which most of this house is set. To my right, two men are sitting around a low, glass table, underneath the shade of a dozen palm trees and twice as many bodyguards.

  “Dante, you old devil! Lured back to Colombia at last!”

  The elder, patriarchal figure of the two rises to his feet with difficulty but his embrace is much stronger and warmer than my brother’s.

  “Señor Gomez,” I drawl, accepting his affability. “I see the chefs of Cartagena are treating you well.”

  The old man chuckles and pats his expanding waistline with affection. “I’ve no complaints so far.”

  “The women might not share your enthusiasm,” quips a voice as the younger man – a sharp-suited, fair-skinned, dark-haired American – stands to shake my hand. “Dante Santiago. It’s been too long.”

  “Rick. It’s not often we see you this far out of Miami.”

  Rick Sanders is the face of our US operation and one hell of a smooth operator. He’s the man with connections. The broker who can turn a dying deal into a multi-million dollar return. I like him. I trust him. The only other man I can say that about is the tall American hovering right behind me.

  “A little bird tells me you’ve been fraternizing with our women,” says Rick, as I drain my tequila and Emilio clicks his fingers at the waiter for more.

  “A temporary distraction,” I murmur, cursing inwardly. I was right. My former housemaid’s intel is now the hot gossip on the street. Without my protection Eve will never be safe again.

  “Don’t be too charmed, my friend… Look around you. Colombian women have curves that’ll bring a man to his knees and they’re less inclined to make waves. I’d find your pleasure elsewhere if I may be so bold to say so.”

  “I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

  Rick’s grin is fading fast. “I’m serious,
Dante. Emilio’s getting antsy. Don’t start a war over some broad. If I remember it didn’t turn out so well for the Greeks…” He trails off when he sees the look on my face.

  “We’ve been friends a long time, Rick. It would be a shame for that end tonight.”

  “Jesus, Dante. Calm the fuck down. If I spoke out of turn then I’m sorry.”

  Damn right you did. You should know better.

  But in the end I accept his apology. Rick’s no enemy of mine, and as we take our seats together I enquire after his young family just to show him there’s no bad feeling between us. All the while Joseph is standing a few metres behind us, eyes on the play, watching my back as usual.

  There’s only one topic up for discussion tonight, the plans to expand our distribution along the whole of the east coast. New York is our last US bastion to conquer and we’ve been making inroads with a local cartel there, with an eye for a potential partnership and a complete takedown of the city.

  I keep my mouth shut for the most part, preferring to let others steer the conversation. I’m indifferent to these sorts of business matters and Rick’s words have distracted me. I left a hundred men to watch over Eve but in reality there are only two good enough for the job. My soldier’s instinct is on high alert. There’s trouble afoot but from which direction? I glance across the table at Emilio who’s conversing with Rick about the terms on the deal.

  He wouldn’t dare… would he?

  I drain my glass and request another. My obsession with Eve is turning me into a paranoid nut like my brother. When the conversation breaks after dinner, I rise to my feet.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment gentlemen… Joseph, a word.”

  He follows me over to the water’s edge and out of earshot.

  “What’s up?”

  “Take my plane. I need you back at my compound.”

  His face is expressionless but I know he’s not happy about it.

  “Go now before I change my mind.”

  “I thought you said she was an irritation, nothing more?”

  “I don’t know what the fuck she is, Joseph, but I have a bad feeling that no amount of tequila is going to make good. The word is out. I’m vulnerable. Rick’s just given me a warning shot. If Emilio thinks my head is out of the game he’ll do whatever it takes to keep me there.”

  Joseph’s eyes narrow to slits. “And is it?”

  “Is it what?” I’m distracted again. I’m thinking about Eve. I’m remembering the delicate flush in her cheeks and the naked lust in her eyes when I tore her dress from her body.

  “Out of the game. I wouldn’t mind a little notice if you’re planning on recusing yourself.”

  I glance back at the table. Am I planning on recusing myself?

  “It’s not that simple,” I snap, fully focused once more. “This isn’t just about her. No woman dictates my decisions, no matter how good she fucks.”

  “You sure about that?” His piercing grey gaze is smashing into mine now.

  “Christ, Joseph, I can’t quit this life any more than you can. There’s no going back for us.”

  He nods, finally accepting this. Fifteen years ago he lost his wife and young child in a car accident. I called him soon after with a proposition. Since then our work has fulfilled a dark and vengeful need in both of us. It brings purpose and meaning to our lives and without it we’d be screaming into the abyss and drinking ourselves to death.

  “This won’t end well, Dante,” he warns. “It’s full transparency or nothing with Emilio. You can’t reason with him.”

  “I’ll deal with him in due course. Until then watch your back.”

  “And hers too apparently,” he counters dryly.

  I shoot him a look.

  “Fine. I’ll call Tomas right away,” he sighs, pulling out his cell.

  “Good. Do it.” I turn on my heel and head back to the table so he can’t see the look of relief on my face.

  My return is heralded from all sides.

  “Dante, just in time, this evening’s entertainment has arrived,” Emilio announces, smiling unpleasantly at me as ten beauties erupt onto his patio. The clacking of their high heels and their excited chatter immediately set my teeth on edge. One practiced glance tells me all I need to know about them. They’re the trappings of our trade, high-class whores with spectacular bodies; the best Colombia has to offer. But they’re young and inexperienced. They’re giddy on the splendor of Emilio’s house and drunk off the prospect of such exclusive clients opening their wallets for them.

  Two weeks ago I would have gladly taken advantage, enticing three upstairs and fucking each one in turn until dawn, flouting all limits of debauchery, causing pain but not caring enough about them to give pleasure. It’s seems like another lifetime. What I wouldn’t give to feel Eve’s soft body underneath me right now, to feel her arching into my stomach as I fill her up with my cock, to have her fall apart in my arms. None of these women hold a candle to my angel but these men don’t seem to share my lack of enthusiasm. With a roar of approval Gomez pulls one giggling blonde onto his knee and slides his fat palm under the hem of her skirt. Rick Sanders looks like a kid in a sweet shop.

  “Only the best for you, gentlemen,” Emilio grins, ever the gracious host again as he slaps the ass of a passing brunette. “Where’s Grayson?” he calls out to me.

  “Busy.”

  “Pity,” he says lightly, picking up his whiskey glass and swirling the ice around. “I hand-picked a couple of these whores for him. I know how much he likes them doe-eyed and docile. When’s he coming back?”

  It’s an innocent enough question, yet something in his voice spikes my interest. I’m suddenly conscious of the knives attached to my calves and the loaded weapon underneath my shirt. “Not tonight.” I catch the eye of the waiter and indicate to my empty glass again. “I’ll be sure to let him know his work is appreciated.”

  “You do that.” Emilio eyes me beadily across the table. “Because once again I find myself concerned about the lack of women in your African fortress, baby brother.”

  “Then you have too much fucking time on your hands.”

  It’s just the two of us at the table now. Gomez and Rick have moved their whoring inside. The waiter hands me another tequila and I down it in one, slamming my glass back down on the table. The burn at the back of my throat matches the intensity of my ire. Fucking Emilio… always pushing me. Always provocative. Usually I ignore it but I find myself rising to the bait tonight.

  “Are you not partaking in this luscious feast yourself, brother?” He waves his glass in the direction of the brunette who’s stripping my face off with her scorching hot glances. “It’s not like you to pass up a pretty face… too busy pining for your little American?”

  My back stiffens. His grin disappears.

  “You lied to me.”

  “Fuck you,” I growl. “I don’t answer to anyone.”

  Emilio leans across the table and sizes me up before his face splits into a shit-eating grin. “What the hell is up with you at the moment?”

  “Maybe I’m tiring of the constant intrusion.”

  “You forget yourself, Dante. I’m still the head of this organization.”

  “For now…”

  My words hang heavy over the table.

  “Is that some sort of threat?” Emilio hisses. “You’ve got some fucking nerve coming into my house with this. What are you going to do about it?”

  “Raise your voice to me again and you’ll find out.” I tip forward in my chair to meet him halfway, resting my forearms against the table. “Tread carefully here, Emilio... It’s the only advice I’m offering.”

  He doesn’t respond straightaway. Instead, he puts a finger to his lips like I’m some naughty kid who’s disobeying the rules. I want to take that finger and ram it down his throat until he chokes on it. At the same time I’m aware that four of his men, including that ugly fucker, Rodrigo, have taken up position right behind me. I watch Emilio’s gaze flicker up
wards followed by the briefest shake of the head. He’d be fool to try anything. He knows how lethal I am. Those men would be dead in the water before his smirk left his face.

  Seconds bleed on and on. Tension thickens the air. The gentle hum of the swimming pool’s filter helps to keep my body sharp and my mind focused.

  “You said you were bored with her, Dante,” he murmurs eventually. “Still, I’m not surprised she’s holding your interest. You’ve always had a thing for Americans. There’s the ever-faithful Grayson and now there’s Eve.”

  Hearing him speak her name pushes at the well of darkness inside me.

  “We don’t get attached, baby brother. We don’t have weak links in our organization. We made the rules, remember? Together. Cut her loose, like I cut my bitch ex-wives loose. She’s becoming a problem.”

  I shift my position, my fingers grazing the outline of the knife strapped to my right calf. “Are you asking nicely or dictating?”

  Emilio stares at me in surprise. “My, she really has got to you. Pale skin, dark hair, those big blue eyes… remind you of anyone, does she?”

  The temperature between us plummets further.

  “Do you really want to go there, Emilio?” I say softly.

  “Does she know who you are?”

  Fuck.

  My ensuing silence speaks volumes.

  “How interesting.” I watch him steeple his fingers in front of his face. “And what would happen if someone was to let slip that unfortunate detail to her?”

  “I’d cut out their tongue.”

  “Naturally.” He nods at his men who start to back away from me. “So it looks like we have ourselves an impasse.”

  “Then I suggest we go back to our respective parts of the world and keep the hell out of each other’s way.”

  “Except that now you’ve starting flouting our rules. I thought you’d put a bullet in her head and be done with it. Instead, you keep her locked up like a pet and now I’m sat here asking myself why… Why would you keep a fucking DEA agent’s daughter in your bed? A DEA agent that I ordered you to take out… A DEA agent who is currently sitting pretty with five of your own men protecting him.”