Page 78 of Corrupting Camille
He wouldn’t disturb me in New York unless shit was serious.
“What happened?”
His breath comes ragged through the speaker, frustration simmering beneath his tone. “Convoy got hit. The shipment leaving the Everglades warehouse, bound for Little Havana, guns, coke, cash. Three trucks, full load. Should’ve been clean, but someone tipped them off. Ambushed us right outside Miami Gardens. Automatic fire, military-grade gear. Precision hit.”
My chest grows tight, heat flooding my veins. I already know the answer before I ask, dread sitting heavily in my gut.
“Casualties?”
“Six dead on the spot,” Javi says, voice hollow, a carefully controlled anger beneath it. “Three others critical. Docs aren’t optimistic.”
I close my eyes briefly, jaw clenching until my teeth ache. Six men down. Men who trusted me, men I swore to protect. Butsomething darker tightens in my chest at the edge in Javi’s voice. He’s holding back.
“Javi,” I warn. “What aren’t you telling me?”
A pause stretches too long. My heartbeat pounds, anticipating the worst. Then, quietly, reluctantly, he speaks.
“Mateo was in the lead truck.”
Mateo.
Nineteen years old, attitude for days. A punk kid dealing cheap coke on Calle Ocho when I first spotted him, barely sixteen and tough as nails. Reminded me too damn much of myself at his age. I should’ve walked away, should’ve left him to the wolves, but instead, I gave him a job and a place to belong.
And now he’s dead, lying on asphalt, used as someone’s fucking message.
“How bad?”
“Bad enough his mother won’t recognize him,” Javi bites out, barely restrained fury making his voice shake. “Torres carved him up. Hands, face…made him his fucking billboard.”
Cold fury sears through me, blistering beneath my skin. I squeeze the phone so tight my knuckles burn white-hot. Mateo’s face flashes through my mind, the cocky grin, the endless bravado masking a desperate need to belong.
Torres touched mine.
A kid who trusted me. Who died because I let him into my world, let him believe he was safe, that he belonged somewhere. His blood’s on my hands now.
“Torres.” The name tastes like poison. “You’re sure?”
“Confirmed. Bastard left his mark on Mateo’s chest. Clear as day.”
The world goes quiet around me, air thinning, every muscle coiled tight, ready to break. I think of Mateo’s mother, Ana. Small, proud, with tired eyes from working double shifts to raisea kid alone. I’d promised her he was safe with me, that I’d take care of him.
Now I have to deliver him back to her in pieces.
“Clean it,” I say, voice dangerously calm. “No evidence. No loose ends.”
“Already in motion,” Javi replies. “We’re scrubbing warehouses, rerouting shipments. It’ll be spotless by sunrise.”
“Good. Mateo’s family…I’ll handle them myself.”
A beat of silence stretches between us, heavy and uncomfortable. “You sure about that, Kane?”
“He was mine. My responsibility.”
Javi sighs, resigned. “We both know Torres won’t stop here. He drew blood, he wants to see if we’ll bite back.”
“Oh, we’ll bite back,” I say, low and lethal, eyes fixed on the city skyline beyond my windows. “He wants blood, I’ll drown him in it.”
Javi’s tone steadies, comforted by violence, reassured by vengeance. “Jet’s waiting at Teterboro. When do we move?”
