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Only Tisha sat on my right.
The engine hummed.
Five black SUVs—large and imposing—followed behind us. Their exteriors gleamed in the moonlight. Tons of heavily-armed men fill the vehicles.
The Eye of the Gator rested on my lap.
I lowered my view to it and traced the glass’s cool contours with my fingers.
Suspended in a clear, preserving fluid, the eye stared back at me. The pupil was narrowed to a vertical slit.
Long ago, it had been a vital organ, a powerful tool for a predator in some huge swamp, granting the creature night vision and enabling it to be an efficient nocturnal hunter.
Now the eye floated lifelessly in preserving fluid.
Its gaze fixed.
Unblinking.
Its once powerful capabilities now reduced to mere memories.
How will you help my mouse heal?
Sighing, I put my gaze on the window.
As we gradually drifted away from the heart of the French Quarter, a lively atmosphere pulsed around us.
Even though it was just a weeknight, the place was alive with people, each moving in their own rhythm. They strolled, sauntered, and sometimes danced through the streets, adorned in outfits that were a dizzying display of bright reds and deep blues, vivid yellows and glowing greens.
Buildings, aged yet timeless, stood proudly with their wrought-iron balconies and shutters in shades of turquoise or coral, lavender or bold, cheerful yellow.
As we moved along, jazz musicians with trumpets and trombones played soulful tunes, their notes floating out to the street.
Further up, a tap dancer clacked rhythmically on the corner. His feet moved in a blur, creating a percussion that echoed off the old brick buildings.
Tisha pointed at five women crossing the street. “We will have to schedule a night off for us to see the sights.”
I nodded. “Once my mouse is healed, we will have time to party.”
“I have a little bet going with your brother-in-law, Maxwell.”
I grinned. “Then, it will be a night to remember.”
“It sure will be.”
Enticing aromas wafted from the small cafes and restaurants—fresh beignets, spicy jambalaya, and rich gumbo.
But none of it could calm my mind.
Mysh, please be okay.
Tisha’s expression shifted to serious. “Kazimir, I have ordered my top killers to arrive in New Orleans by the morning. Hundreds of men. They’ll be coming from my territories—Dominica, Panama, Uruguay, Paraguay, etc.”
In Latin America and the Caribbean, a lot of countries had problems with how they ran things—like their police and courts being corrupt as fuck. This, along with the fact that the drug business thrived there, made these countries attractive targets to the Brotherhood.
Upon my giving him territory in these regions, Tisha had been gradually spreading his power in these countries, which helped to grow my empire.
Additionally, there was a lack of transparency and effective state monitoring in the banking systems of these nations, which kept them vulnerable to my money launderers.
