Tainted blood

Santi

Ten Years Ago

The snow is falling harder now.

It’s settling on the windshield. Fading the whole world to white.

I check my phone again, my pulse kicking into overdrive when I see RJ’s text.

Got it. Call you in five. 

I knew it.

I’m already stepping out of the SUV by the time Tito, my cartel-appointed babysitter, shakes his fist at me across the console. “¡Maldito niño estúpido! Get back in the fucking car, kid!”

“I’ll only be a minute.”

“Where the hell are you going?”

I shift my gaze toward the old church. “To prove a point.”

Slamming the door, I make my way across the street, a thick blanket of snow climbing up to my calves and soaking my jeans.

I can hear my father’s voice with every step.

Choices have consequences, Santi. 

Even as a reckless thirteen-year-old, I understand the meaning of the phrase, and the warning that comes with it. He’s drilled it into me so many times it’s become like second nature.

Today, I’ve made three choices, but the consequences are still a mystery. The first was crossing the Mexican border into America. The second was my decision to join this war. And the third? That happened ten seconds ago, when I chose to ignore a direct order.

The snow is up to my knees. I decide I’m not a fan as I trudge a path through it, adrenaline rushing through my veins.

I can’t screw this up.

I won’t screw this up. 

I glance down at my phone.

Three minutes to go.

I slow my stride as I reach my destination, the muted yellow street lights above me casting a wide glow. With its menacing stone gargoyles, Sacred Heart Church looks out of place on the quiet street in Hasbrouck Heights, New Jersey. It’s a little town right outside Hackensack, coated in Americana and family values. Mom and Pop shops line one side of the narrow streets, while parks and little league fields dominate the other.

Simple.

But that’s another thing I’ve learned. The simplest solutions are often the smartest, like hiding in plain sight, for instance.

While I wait for RJ’s call, my gaze strays toward the jagged New York City skyline. Something stirs inside me. Something I can’t explain. Those bright lights might as well be spelling out my name. One day, I’ll rule the entire East Coast. Not just New Jersey. I’ll take New York too, and the Carreras will rule it all.

My breath comes hot and heavy at the thought, billowing out in front of me like a cloud of smoke. The gun shoved in the waistband of my jeans feels even heavier, pressed against the small of my back. I want it in my hand. I want to feel the grip. To curl my finger around the trigger… To know the power of deciding someone’s fate.

Just as I reach for it, my phone rings.

“Well?”

“Definitely stolen,” he confirms.

I rake an icy hand through my hair. “Damn it.”

As soon as I saw that dark sedan park down the street, my suspicion shot off like a bottle rocket. Once I had the license plate, I texted RJ.

My cousin lives for this shit. If you want a database hacked or record unsealed, RJ’s your guy. At fourteen, the kid is already a menace to society. In a few more years, he’ll be a national threat.

Cops are the last thing we need. “Has it been reported?”

“About twenty minutes ago. Which gives you about forty before your quiet little suburban neighborhood turns into a SWAT team party.”

“I’ll get back to you.” Ending the call, I type out a quick text to my father.

Surprise blue light show in forty.

Hitting send, I shove my phone in my back pocket.

Packed snow crunches under my feet as I brace against the bitter wind, all the while keeping a steady gaze on the dark sedan.

Fucking stolen.

Stolen means things are about to get really messy.

Cupping my hands around my mouth, I exhale a few hard breaths, trying to coax the feeling back in my fingers. Can’t pull the trigger if my hand is numb.

Whoever is inside that car isn’t here to pray for their sins. They’re here to dance with two devils. But until they make the first move, all I can do is watch and wait, which is the story of my life.

You’re not ready, Santi…

Watch and learn, Santi…

Wait until you’re eighteen, Santi…

Well, screw that. I’m not a little kid anymore, and I’m tired of waiting.

I kick at the piles of snow in frustration. Now that I’ve been given the chance to prove myself, I’ve been regulated to “falcon”—a fucking watchdog...

Dios mio, I’m Santi Carrera—the kingpin’s son. I shouldn’t be hiding out, reduced to surveillance like a low-ranking soldier. I belong inside where the action is. Seated next to my father, Valentin Carrera. Staring into the black eyes of our enemy, Dante Santiago.

The snow keeps falling. It’s like Mother Nature is trying to counteract all the darkness seeping from the church. It could bury us, neck deep, and it still wouldn’t matter. Light never triumphs over dark.

Inside, a muffled string of heated Spanish fights for dominance.

I check my watch.

Eleven minutes.

I’m surprised they lasted that long. My father and Santiago haven’t been in the same room together—hell, in the same country—in eleven years.

Not since La Boda Roja.

Leave it to Gia

Which is why they’re all inside, and I’m out here freezing my nuts off.

Santiago and my father would rather spend the rest of their lives behind bars than align again, but both men will do anything to protect their families. Even if it means being inside the same room. 

From what I gather, an agent flipped a couple of dockhands on both sides of the river, putting not only Santiago’s and my father’s asses on the line, but Gia

Out of nowhere, a brutal gust of wind hurls a sheet of wet snow at my face. Blinking the flakes from my eyes, I turn toward the dark sedan again in time to see the rear passenger’s side door swing open.

“Fuck.” I fumble for my gun.

“Bug!” I hear a deep voice hiss from the driver’s side. “Come back!”

A red, wooly toboggan breaks through the wall of white. It’s a girl. A young girl. She’s kicking up waves of snow as she runs toward me.

Shit! 

“Shoot her,” a voice in my head says. “Shoot her now.”

“But she’s just a kid,” I whisper.

“Enemies come in all forms,” it growls back. “The sweetest faces are often the most deceiving.”

My throat tightens.

“Are you waiting for someone?” she calls out. “Do you want to come sit with us?”

“Do it.” the silent voice commands. “Prove yourself.”