Page 107 of Cartel King

I shake my head again. I still don’t want to argue with him in public, but I will if I must. I step around Pablo, my gun aimed at the car, ready to pick off any of the men. I’ll shoot any of those men, including Matías, if they look the wrong way at any of us.

“Ta fille doit avoir six ou sept ans maintenant.” Your daughter must be six- or seven-years-old by now.

I approach the vehicle and flick my fingers in a come here motion to the two guards surrounding my target. They hesitate and look toward Enrique, who must give them permission because each man grabs an arm and hauls the guy toward me. When he’s in front of me, I point to the ground, and the guards press him to his knees. I continue in French.

“How’s Marie-Claude, Gérard? Has she started school yet?”

The man’s expression is inscrutable.

“I know you got her a puppy three months ago. It would be such a shame if she found it with its throat slit.”

The man still looks straight ahead, but I see him clench his jaw. I’m out of the business, but I keep tabs on the people most likely to kill me if they find me.

“What will your wife do without you there when men break in and take your daughter? She won’t know what to do since she has no clue who you are. You haven’t prepared her for that because you believe no one knows about your real life, but Jacqueline won’t be able to protect Marie-Claude or your little boy. Pierre looks so much like you these days, which is surprising since he’s not your son.”

Gérard Sainte-Croix’s gaze flicks up to me. I shrug dismissively.

“He’s not. He’s Henri Bouvier’s. Your wife has a type. She likes blondes. I know you’ve always suspected it, but it’s true. It happened while you were on the Munich job. I’m certain you’re wondering how I know. It’s because I introduced them. You screwed Don Vizzini over on a job, and Henri owed me a favor. There’s no way Pierre’s yours since you were in Munich for three and a half weeks. The dates don’t line up with when she had him.”

I watch him as I mind fuck him.

“You’ve always suspected he’s somebody else’s. I have plenty more secrets I can share. How much more pain would you like me to inflict before I get mean?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You were arm candy for men doing business you know nothing about.”

“But I do. Your wife has a birthmark on her left ass cheek. From nursing two kids, her right breast is slightly bigger than her left.”

That registers shock on his face, and his body practically vibrates with rage. I step forward since the guards still hold his arms back. I put my handgun to his forehead and turn off the safety.

My bodyguards were often decoys when I wasn’t fulfilling my role as an accountant. People suspected they might be mercenaries when they negotiated on Tommaso’s behalf. But no one guessed I was the hired gun working behind the scenes. They didn’t know I gave the men cues during the meetings where I was seen but not heard.

I’ve created and kept dossiers on many mercenaries and syndicate men over the years, including information about the people most important to them. It’s a type of rainy-day fund. You never know what you might need to make it rain for someone else. It’s awfully cloudy today.

I peer down at Gérard and grin as I keep antagonizing him in French.

“Is your daughter’s favorite color still yellow? The last I heard, your wife was painting her bedroom to look like it was full of sunshine.”

“Stay the hell away from my wife and children.”

“Then stay the hell away from my family.”

I push the muzzle of the handgun harder against his forehead, not thinking twice about calling Enrique’s family mine. It comes naturally to think of them that way.

“If you are who you claim, you aren’t family to anybody. You abandoned yours.”

“Would you like my sons to prove how protective they are of their mother? I’m sure Enrique has somewhere we can put you until they can get here. In the meantime, I’m certain his nephews have questions for you, too. Where’s Catalina?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I look up from Gérard’s glowering face to the guard on his right.

“Hold up his hand.”

When the guard does, I grab Gérard’s middle finger and push backwards while twisting until I feel the pop. I move on to his ring finger, then his thumb. I leave his index finger and pinky how they are.

“You have a choice. You can either answer my question, and all I do is break your last two fingers. Or you can be stubborn, and I’ll blow your fucking hand off.”

“You aren’t doing shit like that with a pistol.”

---