CHAPTER FOUR
The warehouse smelled of gasoline, sweat, and old fear. Hidden in a forgotten corner of East London, it was a cathedral of crime where angels did not come and men traded in futures they could not keep.
Crates lined the walls, stamped with false customs labels and packed with bricks of blanca muerte, the cartel's signature powder. The name Los Diablos had been carved into Europe's underworld one overdose at a time, and every crate felt like a sentence.
At the center of it all stood Roberto Montoya, the cartel's ghost king. He was untraceable and untouchable, a man who moved as if the shadows answered to him. His shirt was open at the collar, revealing a serpent tattoo that curled around his throat. The red light above him made his grin look carved from stone. He bit the end of a cigar and watched the frail middle-aged man before him with the interest of a man appraising a tool.
Across the room, visibly tense, Clyde Dempsey kept his hands close to his sides. He was the leader of London's Red Vultures, a gang that had once been feared. Now the Vultures were reduced to moving girls and running middleman errands just to survive. Clyde looked smaller in this warehouse than he had in the streets where he grew up.
It did not go unnoticed that Kyle had been the reason people paid attention to the Red Vultures. With Kyle gone, the gang had lost its bite. The Daggers had risen to take the throne in East Bridge. The Vultures were on borrowed time.
Roberto's men wheeled a duffel bag to Clyde's feet and set it down with a heavy thud. Four crates followed, the kind that moved the business and kept men like Roberto in power.
"That's two kilos more than we agreed," Clyde muttered, part grateful and part alarmed.
Roberto exhaled a long plume of smoke and waved a dismissive hand. "Consider it a bonus. For loyalty."
Behind them, a girl was dragged forward. Pale, gagged, wrists bound with zip ties, she fought to plant her heels against the concrete and dig for purchase. Her name was Gina Bronze.
"That one's clean," Clyde said quickly. "Quiet. No ties. Like you asked."
Roberto did not look at her. "You said that about Sapphire," he said.
Clyde hesitated. "Sapphire was... fragile. But Gina is different."
Roberto repeated the name, tasting it. "Sapphire," he said, low. "She broke a guard's ribs. She bit a man. She talks back every night."
A humorless chuckle left him. "I like that. There's fight in her. She knows she's mine. And yet…"
He leaned against the table, watching the girl as if studying a live experiment. There was a kind of cruel appreciation in his gaze.
"She still has fire," he added. "She still fights for something she thinks is freedom."
Clyde opened his mouth and closed it. He had come with something else. He drew in a breath and said it.
"About Kyle," he began. The air thickened with the name.
"He's out," Clyde said carefully. "He got out a few days ago. No one knows how, but he's back on the streets."
Roberto's smile curled slowly. He walked over to the crates, ran a finger along the tape, then turned.
"You're scared," he said simply.
"No," Clyde answered too quickly.
"You should be," Roberto said, and exhaled smoke like a small dragon.
"Kyle is the past. A relic. He was good once. But now?" Roberto scoffed. "Now he's weak. Soft. Probably still mourning his little sister."
Clyde felt a new worry, a cold thing at the back of his throat. He knew Roberto had underestimated Kyle before. He should have known better. He swallowed and answered, voice low.
"Kyle thinks Sapphire is dead. He'll come. He'll come for us ... for you, for me, for all of it."
Roberto's expression did not change at first. Then a smirk split his face.
"If he comes for her," Roberto murmured, eyes bright as if reflecting flame, "I'll make him watch. I'll make him understand what it costs to cross me."
Clyde's jaw tightened. "Don't underestimate Kyle Muretto," he said.
Roberto turned slowly, a lazy motion that was all the threat he needed. Guards in the corners shifted, ready.
As Gina was dragged out toward the steel doors, Roberto took one last pull from his cigar and let the ember glow. He watched the girl go and then looked out over Clyde as if evaluating him one last time.
"Let Kyle come," he said softly. "I'll be waiting."
The doors clanged shut behind the girl. The warehouse returned to its measured breathing, the lights flickering, crates lining their rows like silent witnesses. Outside, in the dark streets beyond the concrete, other kinds of plans were already moving... men with names that tasted like danger, and a past that would not stay buried.