Chapter Seven

Naz

" Príncipe ." Nicolas meets me at the elevator as soon as I step off, his expression grim. "We need to talk."

"Can it wait?" I growl, already striding toward my office. "I've got something to take care of this morning."

All I've been able to think about since Brynna ran off yesterday was the guilty, ashamed look on her face. It's driving me up the goddamn wall. I need to see her again, if only to reassure myself that the feeling of dread clawing through my fucking veins is my own imagination.

I don't know what her brother said to her, but it took every ounce of control I possess not to hunt the bastard down and put my fist through his face last night. She was right there with me, in my arms, her walls crumbling.

With one phone call, he sent them flying back into place. And I'm not entirely sure I'll be able to tumble them again this time. That's how shaken she was by whatever he said.

I know it wasn't just the call that rattled her. It was the fact that he called while I still had my fingers buried in her tight little body. She was still dripping around me, that perfect pussy gripping me like it never wanted to let go. Her sweet little pleas still rang around the shop.

He snatched away what should have been a moment of bliss for her and turned it into one of regret. I want to kill him for that.

But I fucking can't. Because if I do, I lose her for good. The little prick deserves to suffer, but if I make him pay, the only one I really hurt is the one least deserving of the pain. It's a moral quandary to end all moral quandaries.

Because I can almost fucking guarantee the prick is up to something. I knew it as soon as I saw her face. She may have been born in this world the same as I was, but she didn't come equipped for war. Her eyes don't lie. They're expressive windows right to her innocent little soul. And whatever her brother told her had to do with me.

Be safe.

Was she trying to warn me? Telling me the only way she knows how that her fucking family is up to something?

"It can't wait, Nazario."

I pause midstep, glancing over at Nicolas. His lips are compressed in a thin line, his jaw clenched with anger.

Dread washes through me.

"What happened?"

He cuts his eyes at the employees milling at the end of the hall, secretaries and whoever the fuck else works in this building, people we employ because running an empire requires more than cocaine. "We should talk in your office."

Whatever the fuck he has to say is bound to piss me off if he wants privacy to deliver the news. Fucking wonderful.

I jerk my chin in a nod, storming that way.

Thirty seconds later, I shove my way through the door into my office, Nicolas on my heels. The door slams shut behind him as I stalk to my desk. I don't sit. I'm too keyed up, too on edge.

If Nolan snatched another fucking business out from underneath me…

I need to move, or I'm going to fucking explode.

I wheel around to face Nicolas. "What the fuck is the problem this time?"

"The shipment that was supposed to arrive this morning never made it," he says, his tone clipped. He meets my gaze, unflinching, one of few men capable of doing it. Most are too goddamn afraid it'll end with a bullet between their eyes. Not Nicolas. He fears nothing.

"What did you just say?" I ask, my voice deadly calm.

"The shipment from San Diego never made it. We lost everything." He pauses. "Including Javier and Anton."

"Goddammit!" I roar, slamming my fist into the wall as rage courses through me in a roiling black cloud. Pain radiates up my arm from my split knuckles, but I welcome it, embracing the way it fucking burns as I shake off the drops of blood.

That stupid fucking prick. Does he have any idea what he's done? Anton has a fucking daughter at home, a little girl barely old enough to walk on her own. And Javier has a mother who relies on him.

"That shipment was over two million dollars, Nicolas," I say instead of saying any of that. What purpose would it serve? Nicolas knew them better than I.

"I know, Naz," he says, striding forward to grab the first aid kit from my desk drawer. He works silently, pouring alcohol over my bleeding knuckles and then dabbing it away. The cuts aren't deep, but they burn like a motherfucker.

"The fucking cops?" I growl when he's finished, but even as I ask the question, I know the answer. It wasn't the fucking Feds who killed my men and seized my drugs. The guilty, ashamed look on Brynna's face, her conversation with her brother…well, it doesn't take a goddamn rocket scientist to put the pieces together.

I put my hands on Nolan's pretty little daughter at the gala. I challenged him in front of everyone in that fucking room. And he swiped my goddamn shipment and killed my men to remind me that he bites back.

"No, it wasn't los pitufos ." Nicolas stares at me levelly. "I believe it was Sullivan."

As if there was any doubt.

I close my eyes, fighting the rising tide of red-hot rage threatening to swallow me. He just killed my men and stole two million dollars worth of product from me. Two. Million. Dollars.

I grip the edge of my desk until the wood creaks beneath my fingers. I welcome the pain that shoots through my still-bleeding knuckles, embracing it, letting it ground me.

I can't fucking lose control. But Cristo , do I want to. That bastard just declared open war. If he wants a fight, I'll bring him a motherfucking reckoning.

But even as I think it, all I see is Brynna's face, her pretty eyes full of regret. The quiver of her bottom lip as she hurried away. The way she clung to me as if she didn't want to go. Her plea for me to be safe.

Fuck.

She's trapped in the middle, caught between me and her family. And I'm the motherfucker who put her there. No matter what happens from here, she's the one who gets hurt. And that's exactly what I swore wouldn't happen.

"What do you want to do, príncipe ?" Nicolas asks.

Rain hellfire down on Sullivan until he's choking on the ashes of everything he's ever fucking built. But I don't say that. I fucking can't.

"How the fuck did they get their hands on my shipment, Nicolas?" I growl instead. "Who the fuck fed them the information?"

Nicolas hesitates. "I'm still looking into it."

"You don't know."

"No."

"That's a fucking problem, Nicolas. This wouldn't have happened if you'd found the motherfucking rat already," I snap, my voice ice-cold. "Bring me the goddamn list I asked for yesterday. I'll handle the problem myself."

"By gutting your own organization?"

"If that's what it takes."

"There are hundreds of people in this organization." He meets my gaze, his level. "Most do not know the Nazario I know."

"Meaning what?"

"You are not an easy man to work for," he says. "You ask me to find a needle in a stack of potential needles, and I look. But it's still a stack of needles. There is no loyalty because they don't know you. They fear you. Fear isn't enough."

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, scowling at him. "Not this shit again."

He shrugs. "I only tell you what you know is true. You need more than fear to lead. I know you. I know what you're capable of. They don't because all you give them is the same as you give the rest of the world. You bend for no one."

I tip my head back, cursing up at the ceiling. Maybe he's right, but I don't need them to love me. I need them to follow fucking orders. Following orders is what keeps them alive. It keeps Rojas off our doorstep. It keeps their families safe. Anything beyond that is a moot point.

"I'm not trying to be the goddamn King of England here, Nicolas. I'm trying to win a fucking war. No one has to be here if they don't want to be," I remind him. "They chose to follow. I expect loyalty."

"Yes, they follow because they believe you are capable of bringing Rojas down." He pauses, hesitating as if he isn't sure he should say what's on his mind.

"Just say it," I snap.

"They know what Rojas is. They've seen what he's capable of. They thought you were a better choice. But if all you offer is more of the same, can you blame them if they begin to wonder if there is a difference between you after all?"

"Enough," I snap, glowering at him. "That's enough, Nicolas."

He holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I mean only to say…they doubt you because they don't understand you, Nazario. They fear you. And people who fear do desperate things. Picking out which is desperate enough to go to Sullivan is not easy."

Cristo . Is he right? Have I become so fucking consumed with winning this war with Rojas that I'm slowly morphing into some sick simile of the bastard? I've been fighting it for so fucking long I don't remember a time we weren't at war. And when I'm not at war with him, motherfuckers like Sullivan or Lombardi are in my face, rattling their swords against the front gate.

I told Brynna that I was a protector, that I do what I do to protect my people from Rojas. But did I lose the fucking plot somewhere? All I've ever wanted was to ensure that bastard doesn't take another goddamn thing, that he doesn't gain another inch of ground. What people think never fucking mattered. Keeping my boot on his neck did.

But if the cost is everything, I've failed. And at this point, if I'm poisoning my own people against me…maybe the cost is too high. Maybe I am failing.

"I'll find your rat, príncipe ," Nicolas says after a moment. "We'll deal with him the way we deal with all rats. But chopping your nose to spite your face won't solve the problem."

I grit my teeth, nodding. "Fine. But I want him found, Nicolas. Before he does any more damage."

"Understood." Nicolas turns to leave and then seems to think better of it, turning back to me. "How are you going to deal with this situation?"

That's the two-million-dollar question, isn't it? How the fuck am I going to deal with the fact that Sullivan just hijacked my shipment?

I hesitate, searching for a solution that doesn't put Brynna in the middle, one that causes her the least amount of pain possible.

"Perhaps you should move up your plans for the girl," Nicolas suggests. "Take her out now and remind Sullivan that every move he makes against you will only increase his pain."

I'm moving before the last words even leave his lips. My hands close around his throat as I shove him up against the wall, cold rage a familiar fucking friend. I don't see him. I see a red haze. It whispers at me to end his miserable life right here, right now.

" Príncipe ," he rasps, surprise flickering in his eyes.

"Suggest killing her again, and it'll be the last thing you do, Nicolas," I snarl, my voice like ice.

His eyes widen, his mouth going slack with shock. "Nazario," he says, and I read the truth in his eyes. He knows she isn't just a pawn.

Fuck.

I shove him away from me, breathing hard.

For a long moment, Nicolas doesn't say anything. And then he clears his throat. "My apologies, príncipe ," he says softly. "I didn't mean to offend. I meant only to offer a solution. I didn't realize you were…"

He doesn't finish that sentence, but he doesn't have to finish it. I'm so twisted up over her that I'm attacking my own people now. Dio . What the fuck is happening to me?

Ha. Do I even need to ask?

I stride to the far side of the room, staring out at the city. Traffic is at a standstill, crawling at a snail's pace everywhere I look.

Dios de la Guerra , the god of war, the fucking cocaine kingpin, brought to his knees by a fiery Irish princess with sugar in her soul.

And despite it, I'm now forced to do something guaranteed to make things even more fucking complicated between us. Because if I let her father's attack go unpunished, every vulture in the city will be circling, looking for weak spots. And so will Rojas.

I can't allow that.

I'm on my knees for her, but I will never bow for that motherfucker. And I won't allow anyone else to bow before him either.

Sullivan has no fucking idea what he's done. To punish me, he may have just destroyed his daughter. And I'm the goddamn monster who started that ball rolling. I turned her into a pawn even after I swore I wouldn't.

Fuck.

Forgive me, mi alma. Cristo . Forgive me.

I shut off my emotions, locking them away in the black void of my soul where even I can't reach them, and then I turn to Nicolas and give my order.

"Find Josef, Andrés, and Griffin," I say, my voice cold and flat. "We have a message to send."

Nicolas nods, approval glinting in the depths of his eyes. "Where are we delivering this message, príncipe ?"

"Sullivan's precious club," I say without hesitation. "I'm going to burn it to ash."