74. Antonio

As soon as I pull up to the gate outside my uncle’s house, a welcoming party surrounds the car with their guns pointed at me.

Stupid fuckers.

I don’t make any sudden moves, and I keep my hands where they can see them.

“I’m getting out,” I tell them, with my hands behind my head. I can’t afford to be killed now, but if I have to surrender, I’ll do it on my own terms.

No one asks my name, or my business for being here. They know.

One soldier pats me down, and two others check the car. They’ll find nothing. Not my phone, or wallet, or any weapons. No contraband that they can use as an excuse to hurt Daniela. Not that they need an excuse.

They handcuff my hands behind my back and shove me into the back of a Jeep. Other than the handcuffs, I’m not secured. I’ve come of my own accord, and they know I’m not going anywhere until I have what I came for. But it’s arrogant. Almost insulting.

“Is my wife here?” I ask the two guards in the Jeep with me.

Neither of them says a word. Truthfully, I’d have been more surprised if they replied.

When we get to the house, three men are waiting for me. All familiar faces. The most outwardly menacing is Gustavo, who took Ruiz’s place as head of security, the youngest of the trio was Tomas’s personal guard, and the third is Costa, Abel’s right-hand man—when he needed a right-hand man. That sonofabitch worked for my father before he came to work here. Costa was a trusted advisor, who I summarily fired before my father’s body was cold.

When this is over, I’m putting all three of these fuckers in the ground.

“So good to see you, Antonio,” Costa murmurs, the slime oozing off him.

If he’s waiting for some show of respect, he’s going to be disappointed. “Take me to my wife.”

The younger guard, who was Tomas’s shadow, takes a swing that lands squarely on my jaw, sending my head careening to the side.

“You’re done giving orders, Antonio. Your arrogance was your downfall. I always knew it would be,” Costa says smugly.

I have Daniela to consider, so I don’t say everything I want to say. But I won’t cower before them either. That’s likely to be just as dangerous when dealing with these kinds of assholes. Every time they take a whack at me, or they think about hurting Daniela, I want them to remember that I’m powerful, and that I’m not done. If nothing else, it’ll at least give them a moment of pause.

“Either kill me or take me to my wife.”

I brace myself for another blow, but it doesn’t come.