Page 2 of Maximum Bet

Santos circles Callahan, pausing behind him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “From what I have heard, you are interested in running drugs through my city.”

“It’s not a b-big operation,” Callahan stutters. “Just a boat or two a month docking here. I’m not selling in Miami. I’m picking up and taking the load straight to Boston.”

Santos sneers and nods toward his enforcer. “And did you ask my permission to conduct your business here?”

Callahan stalls, eyes wide, breathing heavy. “I did not, sir. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was an issue. You have such a major presence in South Florida. I didn’t think my small-time running would make a difference.”

“No one runs through my city but me!” Santos’s arm lifts before he backhands Callahan, the man’s body jerking to the side in response.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Santos!”

“It’s too late for sorry. What do you think your boss, O’Shea, will do when he finds out about your indiscretion?” Santos returns to his spot in front of Callahan.

“You don’t have to tell him,” Callahan pleads as the enforcer binds his hands with zip ties.

Santos laughs, cigar smoke once again billowing from his direction. “Oh, but I do. He and thatpandejoin Chicago are lookingfor any reason to start a war with me. When will they realize that drugs will make it into their cities whether I facilitate their transfer or not?”

I glance to the other side of the warehouse, where I know Nico hides in the shadows.

“I don’t want the mess.” Santos steps into view, waving away the thought. Cigar ash falls to the floor with the movement. “I’ll tell O’Shea so as not to burn bridges. After all, he might wonder why his soldier disappeared.”

Callahan chokes on a cry and tries to stand. He’s too late. His fate is already decided.

Santos’s enforcer holds him by the shoulders, forcing him into the chair as Santos shoves the lit end of his cigar against Callahan’s cheek.

The wails coming from the Boston associate echo off the walls. I’d feel sorry for him if he weren’t such an idiot.

I know what’s coming next, and with no connection to this man, I don’t care to revel in his torture. I move behind my crate and settle next to Marco with my back resting against it.

The wails of despair don’t last long as Santos and his crew end the life of the man who crossed them. Once the begging and pleading stop, a gunshot sounds, muffled by a silencer.

In Spanish, Santos commands his men to clean up the mess before leaving the scene. A car starts outside as the enforcer and his assistants shuffle and grunt, cleaning blood from the floor and lifting the body to transport it far from the scene of the crime. Someplace in the Everglades, if I had to guess.

Eventually, the metal hinges on the warehouse doors squeal in protest, and they slam shut.

Marco, Nico, and I remain quiet for an extended minute before Leo’s low chuckle sounds in our ears. “Well, I guess we have some blackmail on Miami now.”

“Did you get that all on video?” Nico asks, emerging from his hiding spot.

“I sure did,” Leo quips. “Perfect lighting and everything. Should have been in a Hollywood movie.”

“Send it to me,” Nico says. “I’m sure I’ll be able to use it.”

I sigh, lifting to my feet. “That’s great, but we didn’t get what we came for.”

Marco and I meet Nico in the center of the room, and we all congregate around the dilapidated chair in which a man just lost his life.

Nico grimaces. “It’s my fault.”

He runs a hand through his hair. It’s darker than mine, more raven-black than espresso-brown, the ends curling with the longer style. Nico reminds me of a Calvin Klein model from the early two thousands. His chiseled features and olive complexion make him look every bit the stereotypical bad boy. He’s as tall as I am at six foot three and takes pride in his strength. He’d be competition if we lived anywhere near each other.

“Where’d you get your intel?” I ask as the three of us make our way toward the exit.

“A mole I placed inside the Angeles De La Misericordia. He was sure tonight’s meeting was between the cartels and Santos.” Nico scoffs as Marco opens the door. “The kid’s desperate to please. He’s known to exaggerate.”

A black van pulls up as we leave the warehouse—Leo’s mode of transportation and command central.

The four of us remove our earpieces as we reconvene inside the vehicle.