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I turn over my phone and pull up the feed from one of the security cameras out front, while he fills me in. “They’re Czechoslovakian nationals and have been part of the ring for at least six months. Their photos are in the updated packet we received a few weeks ago from Interpol. They were caught on film in Paris and Barcelona, both times with the same brunette, but she’s not with them tonight.”
“We’re absolutely sure it’s them?”
I plan on taking a piece from those assholes before we turn them over to the authorities, and the last thing I need is an ugly lawsuit because we got ahead of ourselves. It would be a PR nightmare not only for Sirena, but for Premier Port and all of Huntsman Industries.
While Sirena is mine alone, I own Premier with my niece Valentina. It’s under the Huntsman umbrella, which is managed by my cousin Antonio. If I screw this up, he’ll never let me hear the end of it, and worse, he’ll be breathing down my neck, micromanaging every decision that involves Premier. And rightfully so.
“It’s them.” Zé’s tone is unequivocal. “After examining the photos side by side with stills from our feed, I personally verified every bit of intel we have.”
That’s good enough for me. “What’s happening in the neighborhood?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. The perimeter we set up is still loose so as not to alarm anyone, but the moment you say the word, it’ll tighten right up. Your soldiers have trained for this moment. Those bastards are not slipping through our fingers.”
I draw a breath and scan the crowded floor one more time. The significance of the directive I’m about to issue weighs heavily on me. Too many innocents in the club. But there’s no choice. Those sons of bitches are going down today.
“Let them in,” I order, my voice not betraying my concerns. The command is directed at Davi, my man outside, but there are dozens of other trusted employees, not all soldiers, hearing it too. It’s their cue that the operation is beginning. “Stay alert. These are bad men.”
“Give me a few minutes to move the line along,” Davi responds from outside. “I don’t want to spook them.”
Not only does Davi manage crowd control outside the club, but he’s in charge of sizing up every person as they wait to enter. Even under normal conditions, no one gets inside this place with anything besides a small purse—checked thoroughly—and everyone walks through a metal detector. Everyone. Unlike some other clubs, there are no exceptions for short skirts or nice tits.
“Keep us apprised,” I reply.
“Are you sure you want them inside?” Stella, the club manager, asks, wringing her hands. “It’s hopping down there. I vote for taking them on the sidewalk. Less chance of collateral damage.”
“This isn’t a democracy,” I quip.
Stella’s shoulders hunch, but I don’t regret the flippant remark. I want her—all my people—to feel comfortable speaking up, but I’ve made a final decision, and now I expect her to keep her opinions to herself and carry it out. I expect that of everyone on my payroll—except Zé. We’ve been friends since we were toddlers, and I depend on him to question me, to push me, to keep me honest. While I don’t always listen to his advice, I always hear him.
I glance at her tight expression. She knows better than to question me at this stage—especially in public. But this takedown has enormous ramifications, and we’re all wound tight. Stella’s loyal, and she gets a pass for her insubordination—today.
In truth, I don’t want those bastards dirtying up the club any more than she does. And I certainly don’t want to put our guests or the people who work here at risk. But we need to catch them in the act. Otherwise there will be extradition issues, bureaucracy, and a whirlwind of kiss-ass diplomacy before those sons of bitches get justice. It could take years, if it ever happens. But if they break the law here, they belong to us. And the reprisal will be swift and meaningful.
“If you don’t support this decision,” I say with a deceptive calmness that’s become my calling card, “I’ll have someone show you out.”
Stella pales and shakes her head. “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I’m one hundred percent behind you. Always.” She continues to shrink under my glare. “I-I-I should go to the command center to see if they need an extra set of eyes.”
After Stella leaves, I turn to Zé. “She needs to be circumspect, but she’s right to be concerned about collateral damage. I want them taken down without casualties, or a major scene.”
“That’s the plan,” he assures me patiently, as though it’s not the fourth time I’ve said it in the past hour. “We might have been caught by surprise, but our people are crawling all over the club. Xavier’s on top of the logistics inside.”
Xavier manages security at the club, and ordinarily he’d be in charge of any problem that arises here. I’d trust him with my life, and I have, but this is its own kind of beast. We don’t know its magnitude or how far the tentacles reach, and Xavier doesn’t have the breadth of experience to run this type of operation.
“Rafael,” Zé continues carefully. “You can watch this in real time from the command center. We’ve taken every precaution time affords, but we don’t know how it’s going to play out.”
Fuck that. I’m a highly trained soldier, and I don’t hide or shirk my responsibilities. That’s for men without honor.
“We have a problem,” Davi says in my ear. “They have company. Check out the feed.”
My mouth is bone-dry as the screen refreshes.
Three women have joined the flesh traders. Two I’ve never laid eyes on, but the third I haven’t stopped thinking about since Valentina’s wedding.
Fuck.
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RAFAEL
