Man, Americans were so freaky. Even Latinos had been Americanized and were doing the weirdest things.
His country might be considered third world, but Maldonado preferred the way of conducting business down there. While hunting, or enjoying a good, bloody barbecue. Drinking in a country club. Not in Florida. Here they spent all their time in a gym doing yoga, saluting the sun and shit like that. But when in Rome, right? So after moving to Miami Maldonado had joined the most exclusive gym and spa in the state and started conducting business Florida-style. Heck, he’d even hired that buttard Lars to keep him in shape, but he drew the line at those murky protein shakes. So fake everything. But he wasn’t the one going to judge folks taking a preference for powdery stuff, was he?
Joining that gym had been most profitable. Not so much health-wise, for networking, it had been invaluable.
After giving him an approving once-over, the waitress offered a shake to Nico, but he refused.
The Russian was in top shape, though Maldonado never saw him using the spa facilities. Or training with the ultramodern machinery there. Not the style of the enforcer.
Nico’s phone beeped. After reading the message, his expression tightened.
“What? More trouble?”
“Another shipment has been lost. Intercepted upon arrival.”
Not to mention they still had one stuck in an all but paralyzed port.
Maldonado let out a curse in between clenched teeth.
Lately, everything was going to hell. And it didn’t seem to be improving in the immediate future. The whole mess with Aalto. The mysterious witness at large. Back home he was having trouble with the police and the other cartels. Nico would be the one to send to take care of that, but Maldonado was forced to see his best asset off to Hawaii on a wild goose chase because an old fart didn’t know that when he couldn’t swallow an olive it was time to retire. Oh, and he couldn’t forget the morons who’d dumped a body over the ocean and had it land on an island. And then made the wrong witness disappear.
“Any news on Jacobson? Any vices we could exploit?” Maldonado asked, trying to breathe through the murderous thoughts.
Nico shook his head. “Nothing so far.”
Jacobson, the politician who’d replaced Aalto, had even a tougher line on immigration than his predecessor. What was worse, he was squeaky clean, and no matter how hard they tried, they hadn’t been able to dig up any dirt on him.
He was a fanatically religious man with an equally enthusiastic wife. No vices. No extramarital affairs. No kinks. The asshole was a frigging saint. Give him a decade and all that enthusiasm would go down the drain. He would be taking bribes, doing drugs, and fucking whores by the dozens, but they didn’t have a decade.
“We can talk to him,” Nico suggested. “Convince him of the error of his ways.”
True. Intimidation worked as well as blackmail, but fanatics tended to love to end up like martyrs. No time for that kind of shit. He’d try other venues. It would take some time and would require him traveling and kissing some ass, which he was not too keen on doing, but he reckoned it’d be worth it.
As Nico stood up to leave, Maldonado said, “By the way, I saw Carlos. What happened to his face?”
Nico didn’t even flinch. “I work alone. And heat makes me cranky.”
It was best that the Russian worked alone then, or he was going to disfigure half his men.
“Why is your bodyguard-slash-private-terminator staring at you as if he wants to eat you alive?”
Elle smiled at her inquisitive sister. “Probably because he does. Starting with biting my head off.”
“Nah,” Tate said, “I think he means to start eating much lower.”
Elle covered her nephew’s tiny ears and feigned shock. “Who are you and what have you done with my straitlaced sister?”
“Please. Your straitlaced sister, lover of soft-mannered, politically correct metrosexuals, married James Bowen. She’s gone.”
That was true. And this new Tate was so much fun. Motherhood really became her. James became her.
“Are you still pretending to be together, or are you fucking him for real?” Tate asked.
“Let’s just say we decided it would be mutually beneficial to find a way to work out the sexual tension between us before it went kaboom.”
“And?”
Elle chuckled. “What do you mean ‘and’? We are working it off.” Although it didn’t help. The more they went at it, the more electrified the air around them got.
At that moment, Jack walked to them and nodded to Tate, then turned to Elle. “Pet, wrap it up. There’s somewhere I have to pass by on the way home.”
“Two minutes, Borg.”
He cupped her neck and took her mouth. “You have one,” he said and strode away.
“I see getting into bed with him hasn’t made him more laid-back,” Tate whispered.
No, it hadn’t. Jack was as intense as always. More even.