Page 100 of Cartel Devil

I shake my head. “I didn’t even think of it.”

Like other syndicate women, I have a piece of jewelry with an emergency tracker on it. These pieces can only be removed with a special key. It’s sort of like an old-fashioned clock winder that’s custom to each piece. No amount of pulling or twisting will get the necklaces or bracelets off because they’re designed to be virtually indestructible. That’s the entire point. They’re a deterrent as much as they are a means for rescue.

It’s not like my family watches all my comings and goings. No one’s interested in that for anyone. But if there’s an emergency—say, like, your vehicle blowing up—then you can hit the alert.

“Tre, do the vehicles have trackers and alerts too?”

We are—were—using Vizzini SUVs.

“Yes.”

“Then everyone’s phones will be lighting up. We should get calls⁠—”

As if on cue, our phones both ring. Joaquin’s is usually on vibrate at all times. I know he has a family group chat and a chat only for the men that both have ring tones. He told me this morning, before we headed out, that my calls and texts now have a ring tone too. He won’t risk missing them.

I glance at mine while Joaquin slides his finger across his screen. I tug on Joaquin’s sleeve.

“What do I say?”

“The truth.”

I open my mouth to ask if he’s sure, but his expression tells me it wouldn’t be worth lying.

“Hello, Uncle Tommaso.”

“Hola, Tío.”

We answer our phones at the same time, speaking to our syndicate’s respective leader.

“Tricia, what happened? All our men’s trackers are going off, but yours isn’t.”

“I didn’t get a chance to hit mine. There were three explosions. Our SUVs are gone.”

My uncle swears in a stream of Italian and Sicilian before I hear him barking orders to whichever unfortunate soul is now caught in his crosshairs.

“Where are you?”

“A bank in Brookline.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Joaquin?”

It pains him to ask. He likely doesn’t care beyond being sure he’s alive to protect me.

“He’s—”

I look over at him, and he’s slightly turned away, so our voices don’t overlap on our calls.

“Joaco! Oh my God! You’re hurt.”

With my eyes closed earlier and how he kept himself angled away from anyone else seeing his back, I hadn’t noticed.

How the fuck could you not notice?!

Selfish!