Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
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?