Untamed Hearts 1: The Viper (25 page)

“It’s a lot more than a few cars. They’re all luxury vehicles. He still chops the cheap ones, which again could be a source of profit for you once you make an arrangement with him. They deal too. Though he’ll likely deny the drugs. It’s up to you once you get in to figure out how much of his business you can get a cut of, and I’m willing to invest my own money to help you.”

“How much?”

“I’ll pay for whatever you need to get in and start making it profitable for your organization.”

Nova tilted his head as if considering it. “You provide the starting capital. I provide the connections. We split the profits seventy/thirty my favor.”

“Why do you get seventy percent?” Tino barked at him.

“Because start-up capital is easy. Connections are much more difficult to get, and he wants me to manage the business.” Nova gave his brother a hard look. “My time is valuable, Valentino. That’s a deal I’d only make to a friend of yours. I have better things to do than muscle in on one gang in Miami. The old man is going to shit a brick when he finds out I’m using waking hours doing this. The cut has to be big enough to make it worth our while.”

“I’m willing to agree to seventy/thirty.”

“And in the negotiations with your friend Angel, I get your cousin out.”

Chuito nodded. “That’s the deal.”

“And now you control Angel,” Nova added. “But you’re indebted to us.”

“Yes.”

“This is more than just getting your cousin out. This is revenge. You want Angel by the balls,” Nova said knowingly. “What’d he ever do to you?”

“He fucked with my family.”

“Right, never a good idea.” A smile quirked at the corner of Nova’s mouth. “I see why my brother likes you, but how do I know you’re not going to turn on my organization?”

“I don’t have very many people I consider family. I consider Tino family. I consider Jules and Wyatt family too. Romeo. Tabitha. The kids. All of them.” Chuito quirked an eyebrow at him. “I think I’ve already proven my loyalty as far as that is concerned.”

“You have,” Nova agreed, still eyeing him critically. “I have to look into the situation. Like I said, we’re not the only family in Miami.”

“You’re just the most powerful one there.”

“Mmm,” Nova agreed as he thought it over more. “We may have a deal, Garcia, but that makes you my associate. Do you understand what that means?”

“Yes, I think I do.” Chuito nodded. “My loyalty is to you first. Always.”

“I don’t like loose ends.” Nova gave him a harsh look. “The people I bring into my inner circle, the ones I go into business with, I need to know I can trust them. Do you know what omertà means?”

“I do.”

“Are you sure? You bailed on your first organization.”

“Are you planning on fucking over my family?” Chuito countered.

“No.” Nova laughed, looking amused all of a sudden. “I think we’ve already established that’s bad for anyone’s health.”

“You have no idea, Moretti.” Chuito couldn’t taper the sharp edge to his voice. “Angel’s getting off easy. I didn’t take care of that other situation so you’d owe me a favor. I did it because I wanted to. That’s the truth.”

“Lucky for you, I’m a man who can appreciate that level of family loyalty.” Nova stood up and walked around the table. He held out his hand, and Chuito stood and took it. He let Nova pull him into a hug, their hands still firmly clasped. Nova kissed his cheek and whispered in Spanish, “The war ever comes to Garnet, you have their backs.
All of them
. You go to the mattresses with them. That’s the deal.”

“Always,” Chuito assured him in Spanish. “I didn’t need to be an associate for that. They’re family. I owe them my life. You knew that a long time ago.”

Nova pulled back and used his hold on Chuito’s arm to turn it outward, displaying his Los Corredores tattoo. “You need new ink.”

Chuito let out a relieved laugh when the tension in the room evaporated. “I’m always up for new ink, Moretti.”

“Call me Nova. We’ve known each other a long time. You did me a favor by taking care of the other thing. Especially California. I
do
owe you. We’ll put the squeeze on Angel. I’ll fly out as soon as I can. I understand it’s urgent. I’ll make a call in the meantime. I have some muscle that can watch your cousin’s place. Your mother’s too. They’ll be discreet. Your family will be safe until we get it taken care of.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I’m heading back too. We can go together. First class. My treat. We can work out the financials when we get there, and I may have the cut of something else to offer you. I just need to iron out the details first.”

“I like this guy.” Nova grasped Chuito’s shoulder and turned to Tino. “He takes care of business.”

Tino threw up his hands. “I have good fucking taste.”

“Okay, dinner.” Nova walked around and kissed the top of Tino’s head. “He’s your brother. He’s my brother. You can stop fucking glaring at me.” His voice dropped as he said in Italian, “
Dovevo essere sicuro
.”

“I know. It’s all good.” Tino reached up and patted Nova’s cheek affectionately. “Missed you,
fratello
.”

Nova held up his hand as he walked out. “I’ll tell Romeo you’re staying, Chuito. Family stays for dinner.”

Chuito watched him go, waiting until his footsteps drifted far enough down the stairs; then he turned to Tino and took a breath. “Coño.”

“Told you!” Tino grinned as he held up his hands again. “Easy.”

Chuito had suffered through four broken ribs, a concussion, and enough bruises to keep him laid up for two weeks when he got jumped into Los Corredores.

For some reason, facing down Nova Moretti was harder, but he just nodded in agreement. “Yeah, easy.”

Chapter Eighteen

Miami

Marcos just went on with his life.

He wasn’t going to hide from the grim reaper. If he showed up, Marcos would deal with it, though, like he’d promised Angel, as the days wore on, he was starting to feel a little less spiritual about the whole thing.

So now bars were starting to look like a bigger possibility than dirt. At least he knew what to expect in prison. Marcos was strapped every time he left the house.

He couldn’t get a legit job, and he wasn’t working for Angel anymore.

So that left only one thing.

Fighting.

It actually worked out okay. If anything, it helped relieve the constant tension that waiting for a bullet in the back caused.

His phone had been blowing up for three days. Everyone was nervous. Most of the OGs had left the warehouse, except for Luis, who, like Marcos, had very little to lose. No kids. No chica. No mother.

He had volunteered himself to be the ear the ground.

Marcos had nixed it.

But Luis was a dumbass and wasn’t listening. As if Angel didn’t know that was the reason he was there. It made Marcos very nervous, but he couldn’t change his friend’s mind.

He sat waiting for his next fight and reading Katie’s old Missed Connections posts, wondering what would have happened if he’d never seen them. Would he have been so desperate to get out then? Or would he have played a different game?

He’d had a lot to think about over the past several days, and he knew this was all about trying to be a man worthy of her. To somehow cleanse his soul and deserve her love that she kept texting to him about.

In texts he wasn’t returning.

It was ripping his heart out.

But really, how far had he come since leaving Los Corredores? He was in another hollowed-out building, this one an abandoned bread factory, crammed with men drinking and laughing. It was hot, stifling, filled with smoke and the scent of sweat. They didn’t have a cage here, only a recycled boxing ring.

They didn’t have rules here either.

They didn’t pay their fighters, but it was packed tonight.

Fuck the Cellar in Garnet, he had his own fight club. An underground one, crowded with people who were gambling like crazy, but what did it matter?

“Okay, I got a thousand bucks down.” Neto sat next to Marcos, talking loud over the other fight going on in the main part of the building. “You better not lose, cabrón, ’cause I can’t afford to lose that much green.”

“I’m not gonna lose.” Marcos didn’t look up from his phone as he read Katie’s post about the beach, wishing for some way to make that happen for her.

“You’re not paying attention.”

“Am I fighting right now?”

“If you lose, do you have the grand to cover me?”

“I’m not gonna lose,” Marcos reiterated.

“And we’ll split the take if you win?”

“I split it with Miguel on Tuesday. What makes you think I wouldn’t split it with you tonight?” Marcos asked sharply. “If I say I’m gonna split it, I’ll split it.”

“You’re in a bad mood.”

Marcos finally looked up at him. “Don’t you think that’s a good thing? You got a thousand bucks riding on me being in a bad mood.”

The other fight ended, and Marcos got up from his spot in the corner. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to Miguel. He handed him his phone too and then rolled back his shoulders. He left his keys and wallet in his pocket. He didn’t plan on this taking long.

“That’s it? No Vaseline?”

Marcos held up his hands. “What do I need Vaseline for?”

“What if you get hit?” Neto asked with a snort of disbelief. “You’ll mess up that pretty face of yours. Then what’ll the chicas have to say about it?”

“I’m not gonna get hit.”

“Mierda.” Neto groaned and dropped his head. “One day the crazy is gonna catch up with you. It
has
to.”

Marcos might have practiced on Neto for doubting him, but then the guy on the mic was saying his name and the crowd was shouting, and he supposed he ought to go up there and make sure Neto’s kids didn’t starve.

“
El Vibora
,” the emcee yelled in Spanish, and then added in English, “The Viper!”

“One hundred and eighty-five pounds and—”

“Fuck him.” Marcos gestured to the emcee in the ring around the corner and turned back to Neto as he ignored the rest of his introduction. “I’m one eighty-nine!”

Neto winced. “I lied.”

“What?” Marcos shouted at him over the screams of the crowd. “Why?”

“He was gonna put you with a bigger fighter. Light-heavy weight.”

“I
am
a light-heavy weight!”

“It’s four pounds!”

“Four pounds of muscle!”

“Chuito fights light-heavyweight and—”

Neto’s voice was drowned out when the emcee’s voice got too loud to talk over. “First cousin to the one, the only, UFC Light Heavy-Weight Champion.
The Slayer
!”

Marcos turned back to Neto when the emcee repeated it in Spanish. “¡Maldita sea la madre que te parió! You told him Chu was my cousin! You better
hope
I get knocked out!”

“I thought it’d make the other fighter nervous!”

Marcos pulled his gun from the back of his pants and shoved it at Neto’s chest. “Hold that so I can
shoot you
later!”

“¡Ay carajo!” Neto growled as he grabbed the gun. “You don’t just shove a gun at me!”

“You think I’m strapped without the safety on?”

“Probably!” Neto yelled. “It wouldn’t be any more insane than anything else you’ve done this week!”

Marcos just threw up his hands and stepped around the corner. The crowd was loud and insane, and people kept touching him, which made Marcos nervous and antsy. This place was much worse than where he’d fought in Hialeah on Tuesday.

At least they had a fucking scale in Hialeah.

He crawled into the ring and glared at the emcee, who was likely the promoter too. This was what he got for letting Neto find the fight. He’d been too caught up with other things to pay attention much. He just figured showing up and winning was his job.

The emcee dropped his mic and whispered to Marcos in Spanish, “Where are your gloves?”

“Gloves are required, but a scale isn’t?” Marcos snorted.

The emcee shrugged and looked to the other fighter. “No gloves?”

Marcos turned to him, seeing that he wasn’t one eighty-five either. He was at least ten pounds heavier. That made him feel a little bit better. This fighter’s friends were probably running the same scam Marcos’s were.

The fighter looked to the crowd behind him and then pulled off his gloves and started unwrapping his knuckles.

“
NO HAY GUANTES
!” The emcee’s voice boomed. “NO GLOVES!”

The crowd really went insane over that.

Bloodthirsty bastards.

When the emcee stepped out of the ring, the other fighter met Marcos in the center. He growled, “The Slayer’s cousin? What bullshit!”

They bumped fists, but Marcos didn’t bounce back like the other fighter did, he jumped forward instead, following him as he lashed out, catching him in the corner of the eye with a right hook hard enough to make the pain in his knuckles blinding.

The other fighter stumbled and fell, and Marcos finally bounced back, staring at him for one moment, seeing if he was going to get up. At the same time, the energy in the crowd seemed to change. If Marcos wasn’t hyperaware of the Angel situation, he wouldn’t have looked, but he did.

He turned around, glancing to where the wave of people seemed to be going away from the ring instead of toward it. There, in the middle of the crowd, was Chuito. Looking a little bigger than the rest of these pendejos, with sunglasses on at midnight, and a black UFC hat pulled low over his eyes.

Motherfucker really
did
think he was a baller.

Actually, Marcos had to admit, he did look like one, especially with a whole crowd of people around him, wanting to touch him, like he was a rock star or something.

This was exactly why Marcos watched Chuito’s fights on television.

Something about Marcos’s world felt upside down when he saw Chuito as anything other than the cousin who’d shared a bedroom with him growing up. This was too far away from Marcos. Something he couldn’t even fathom.

It wasn’t that he was jealous.

It was that seeing how different Chuito’s life was now made him realize how far apart they’d drifted.

Then from one moment to the next, Marcos’s world really was upside down when someone grabbed his foot, and he was suddenly flat on his back in a ring that wasn’t the most padded he’d ever fought in.