Chapter One

Naz

" W hat is this?" I ask, flicking my gaze up from the report Nicolas Arias just placed on the desk in front of me.

"The report you requested, príncipe ."

I draw a deep breath, a muscle in my jaw ticking with impatience. "The last time I checked, I was buying this company. So why is Nolan Sullivan now listed as the owner of record?"

"Ah, he is playing dirty games again." Nicolas sneers, his full lips twisting as he relays the news. "He bought the company out from under you."

Jesus Christ. That's the third time this year that Nolan Sullivan has messed with my shit. As soon as I set my sights on a company, he sweeps in and snaps it up. It's beginning to piss me off.

I don't fuck with the Irish mob and their businesses. I'm not sure why Sullivan has made it his mission to fuck with me and mine.

"And how did he find out I put in an offer on Roheim International, Nicolas?" I growl, drumming my fingers against the calendar on my desk. That's the important question as far as I'm concerned.

Being cut out once is random. Twice could be a coincidence. But three times in a year? That's intentional. It's a fucking declaration of war.

Nicolas hesitates for a long moment, rubbing his thumb along his bottom lip like he always does when he's about to deliver news he knows I won't like. The man is nothing if not predictable. "I believe he has people on the inside, Naz."

"A fucking rat," I say, wanting it spoken plainly. No need to beat around the bush. Nolan Sullivan is fucking with my money. And someone on my payroll is feeding the motherfucker the information to do it.

"I believe so." Nicolas grimaces, his heavy brows furrowed over sharp hazel eyes. "It isn't like when your father was barón , príncipe . Loyalty is everything, but some of these Americans have no concept of the word, no? They blow where the wind takes them."

I eye him levelly, my patience dwindling in the face of his familiar complaint. I've heard it a dozen times in the last two months alone.

Nicolas Arias dreams of the glory days when my father led our family. Unfortunately for him, the glory days died when my father, his wife, and my half-siblings were murdered by Felipe Rojas and his men, leaving me the only remaining heir to the Leyva empire.

To save me from the same fate, my mother—my father's American mistress—insisted I be raised in the country that birthed me. Nicolas has been stuck here since I was a teenager, dreaming of home. I was born here. I've lived here exclusively since I was eleven. I lead from my goddamn throne here—safely out of reach of Rojas and his cartel. Nicolas conveniently forgets all of that when lodging his complaints, however.

He's the only one who would dare—my oldest friend, my closest advisor. He's both the angel and devil on my shoulders.

"And I suppose the wind took them and my business dealings to Sullivan?" I ask, eyeing him levelly.

"It appears so." His lips twitch with amusement. He's trying to be funny, but I'm not laughing.

I crumple up the report, tossing it in the trashcan beside my desk. "Find out who the fuck is leaking my information, Nicolas," I growl. "I want them dealt with now."

He hesitates, opening and closing his mouth like he has something to say.

"That wasn't a suggestion," I snap, not in the mood for whatever other bullshit he's going to toss my way. I needed that fucking company to help facilitate product shipments into international ports. With recent crackdowns, moving our product out of Colombia has gotten more complicated. The more ships we have moving legitimate products, the easier it is to hide the things we need hidden—like the drugs and money.

The last thing I need is Nolan Sullivan in my business, throwing a wrench into the works. The man isn't even in the cocaine business. He owns a goddamn high-end nightclub he uses to distribute the ecstasy his people funnel through the city. The prick only wants my ships so I can't have them.

"I'll look into it, Naz," Nicolas promises. "But you've ignored his meddling so far. Perhaps it's time for a more direct approach, no? Remind him who he messes with."

"Are you telling me how to run things?" I ask, my voice cold. He may be my oldest friend, but no one tells me what the fuck to do. Not even him.

"No." He holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Of course not, Naz. I merely mean…our people call you Dios de la Guerra, the god of war, for a reason." A sly smile flashes across his face. "Perhaps it is time for Sullivan to learn exactly what that means, no?"

The god of war. Cristo. I'm fairly certain Nicolas is the one who gave me that particular name. I'm not sure what infuriates me more. The fact that it stuck…or the fact that it isn't far from the truth.

I haven't known peace since…actually, I don't think I've ever known peace. I was born in war. Rojas and my father were battling it out before I was even born. And I've been at war with that prick ever since. He isn't the only one. I have more enemies than I can count. And I've killed more than I remember.

Peace? It's a pipe dream not meant for motherfuckers like me.

"You can go now," I mutter wearily. "Find out exactly who the fuck is spying for Sullivan, Nicolas. I want the prick on his knees in front of me."

"Of course, príncipe ." Nicolas dips his head. "I meant no disrespect."

I don't respond. He never means any disrespect, but he skirts the line anyway. He's old school, old guard. And he still remembers when I was a teenager, trying to wear this crown and bury my mother at the same damn time. It wasn't pretty. Nothing I do ever is.

He's right, though. It is time for a more direct approach. It's been time for a while.

I wait for my office door to click closed behind him before pulling open my desk drawer and reaching inside. I grab the photo on top, lifting it out. My gaze runs over the image.

"Brynna Sullivan," I murmur, eyes locked on the girl staring up at me. She's gorgeous in a way that's unsettling. Long red hair frames an angelic, heart-shaped face. Her skin is so translucent I can trace the veins beneath. Ample curves have my hands itching to know what they feel like beneath my fingers.

It's those fucking eyes that really get me, though. They're the clearest green I've ever seen, staring right out of the image and into my fucking soul.

In the photo, she's fresh-faced. Innocent. There's a fascinating purity to her, like the harshness of our world hasn't touched her. It's bullshit, though. In this world, no one is truly innocent. We've all got blood on our hands. We're all guilty.

Her father certainly is. His list of crimes is as long as my own.

And if he wants to fuck with my business, there's a price to pay. His family. Specifically, his pretty little daughter.

The only thing in this world he gives a shit about are his kids. It's a well-known fact that he dotes on her and her older brother, Niall. They want for nothing, lack nothing, and are threatened by nothing.

Until now.

If he wants war, so be it. I'll fight…but I'm not fighting fair. He took something that belonged to me. I'm taking something that belongs to him.

Who knows? I may even let him have her back when I'm done.

I stroke my thumb down the photo, my cock throbbing in anticipation.

Or maybe I won't.