Page 67 of A Love Most Fatal
“Of course. Apologies,” Ronaldo says. Lisa lets out the breath she was holding and Mom smiles into her drink. Nate and my eyes meet, and he tips his head.
I pick up my fork and knife. “James.” I take on my friendly tone once again. “Tell us about your new car.”
24
VANESSA
I’m moisturized,teeth flossed, in my pajamas and almost ready to drift into the only place where nobody bothers me when my phone shrills. Mary. I sit up in bed to answer it.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Lockdown shit.” Mary sighs, code for something we don’t usually deal with but now have come to deal with. “Miller warehouse. Get down here.”
I dress quickly in black slacks, a turtleneck, and heeled boots. I don’t have time to put on makeup, but I swipe red lipstick on before going downstairs where Leo is already in the garage waiting for me.
“What do we know?” I ask as he drives us out of the estate and towards the warehouse on Miller.
“Mary and I got the alert that cameras went down, and she rushed over. By the time she got there, a bunch of shit was stolen. Five bodies. Slit throats.”
“Garza?” I ask. That fucking cartel has been salty with us since we gained the mayor’s favor last fall, but our relationship has been cordial enough. A room of slit throats is their calling card, though.
“Or someone who wants us to think it was the Garzas. What would they need with enough explosives to bring down a shopping mall? They never hurt for weapons.” Leo blows through one empty red light and then another.
“Dabbling in domestic terrorism?” I ask, sarcasm hiding the way the thought roils my stomach. “Did you call your guy?”
“Not yet. Wanted to get a good look first.” Leo’s grip tightens on the steering wheel, and we drive in silence for a few minutes.
Of all my family members, Leo is the chummiest with other crime families. He’s easy to get along with and has a lot of friends, Santiago Garza being the closest of these. It doesn’t hurt that Santi is the youngest brother of the head of the Garza Cartel. Something has been going on between Leo and Santi for years, but Leo assures me it’s nothing serious.
There’s a reason Leo doesn’t date, and I have a feeling it has less to do with his busy schedule and more to do with that youngest Garza boy.
I’ve expressed my support if he wants to date a man—though, I’m sure the old heads wouldreallyhave something to say about this—and offered to talk about his dating woes, but he won’t budge on the topic. Until he does, it’s none of my business.
When we arrive, Mary and Willa’s cars are already parked in the lot.
It’s more of a sideshow than I expected, and I breathe steadily through my nose, as to not get queasy at the sight. There’s blood everywhere, splattered on the walls, pooled on the floor, and marring tipped over shelves of product. We don’t usually have to be at big scenes like this, where the vile parts of our work are so blatantly on display in front of us. It’s nauseating.
Willa stands with a clipboard scribbling notes as she counts product and Mary has dragged each of the dead bodies into a bloody row in the middle of the warehouse. Five of our men.
They were killed in various ways, bullet wounds, blunt force, but all were given the same slit-throat treatment afterwards.
“It’s not the Garza’s handiwork,” Mary mutters when I crouch down to look closer. “Too jagged.”
I look over my shoulder to where Leo is waiting, his fists clenched at his sides, and nod. He was right.
He relaxes barely before retreating to make a call.
“What did they take?” I call to Willa. She’s in a matching bright pink sweatsuit, JUICY across her ass, and her hair is pushed out of her face with a big cloth headband. I’d guess she was doing her skincare routine when she got the call.
“The rest of the little bombs. A couple of the big. Cameras, too, and some sensors.” Willa consults her clipboard. “Any guesses why they would need so much security equipment?”
“Probably to resell it,” a male voice responds from the backdoor. We all turn to see Cillian who is already rolling up his sleeves as he approaches. “Garzas aren’t smart enough to know how to use them.”
He hadn’t heard Mary’s verdict. I wonder if he’ll see right away what Mary has, the shoddy craftsmanship of the copycats.
“You sound racist again,” Mary calls out.
Cillian holds his middle finger up in Mary’s direction. “This has nothing to do with race. The Garzas could be Irish and I’d still think they were stupid.”