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I’m immediately on high alert at the sound of that name.
“Let’s go.”
The drive from the compound to the club takes thirty minutes. When we arrive, we’re shown toward the back entrance that is near the office. Camila is seated behind a table, the only woman in a room filled with men. Her husband sits to the side on a couch, relaxed as he watches the scene in front of him.
Two of my men restrain another man on his knees. This is the man who used to be a part of Santiago’s gang, I’m guessing. A gang I personally disbanded and wiped out two months ago. The tension in the room goes up a notch I step inside. Camila gets to her feet and offers me a respectful nod before moving to sit beside her husband. I’d prefer it if they left, but by the looks on their faces, they’re not going anywhere.
“What’s your name?” I ask, leaning against Camila’s table and looking down at the man.
“Pa-a-ulo,” he replies shakily.
“Paulo, huh? They said you demanded to see me.”
“Not demanded, sir. Merely asked for an audience,” he says, brown eyes filled with fear.
“He kicked over two tables, breaking several bottles in the process,” Camila speaks up, her eyes narrowed in his direction.
“That was my mistake,” Paulo says apologetically. Any bravado he must have felt coming here disappearing under the weight of my gaze.
“I’ll pay for the bottles and the damage,” I tell Camila.
I cross my arms over my chest as I observe the man on his knees. There’s nothing outwardly special about him. He has buck teeth and matted brown hair. He looks like he hasn’t had a good meal in days. Must be hard to pay the bills now that Santiago’s gone.
“Tell me your important information,” I prompt.
He nods, gaze drawn to the ground.
“Santi isn’t dead, Mr. Ramirez,” he informs me. “I was there that day. When you attacked.”
The day I chose to get rid of Santiago and his cartel once and for all. It was a bloodbath. In the middle of it all, I managed to shoot Santiago. Two shots, one in the thigh and the other in the stomach. The last I saw of him, he was being rushed into a black van that drove off. I had hoped he died from the bullet wounds. But hope is a fool’s notion.
“How did you survive?” I ask slowly.
Every man in the warehouse that day was killed.
“I was the one behind the wheel of the car, sir. I drove Santiago away,” he states in a quiet voice.
“I see. And he survived thanks to that,” I note. “Where is he now?”
“That’s the thing, sir. Last I saw Santi, he was telling me that he was going to return to Mexico. He wants to go and rebuild his gang, sir. And he was promising that once he returns, he’ll kill you. He’s gone crazy, boss.”
“As opposed to how sane he was before?” I drawl.
Santiago’s always been a psychopath.
“Even more crazy than before,” Paulo assures me. “It’s why I didn’t go with him back home to Mexico.”
“Instead, you’re here, providing me with this incredibly valuable information. What do you want?”
“Some money, sir,” he says, clasping his hands together. “Things have been hard for me since Santi left. I just need to take care of my little brother. He’s twelve, and he doesn’t have anyone else but me.”
I don’t immediately reply to him. I tap my fingers against the table as I consider what to do next.
“How long did you work for Santiago?” I ask.
“Ten years, sir.”
“Hmm. Ten years, and yet you can kneel before me, open your mouth, and betray his whereabouts, his location, and provide me with evidence of his survival. You made a mistake coming here, Paulo.”
