Page 120 of Hostile Love
Suddenly, a female news reporter appears on the screen.
The footage behind her pans across black body bags set out in an orderly fashion on a neatly trimmed lawn fronting a huge mansion.
The yellow ribbon scrolling across the bottom of the image reads, ‘Breaking News: Brutal Murders.’
Her professional cadence echoes around the four walls of the chapel.
“Colombia is at a standstill today following the graphic murders of Mr. Lozano and his sons. The bodies were found mutilated on the grounds of their estate earlier this morning. Deep cuts were carved below their jaws, and then their tongues were pulled through, left hanging on their necks like ties. Whoever wanted the family dead certainly made a statement.”
The guests start muttering to their neighbors. Some even reach for their cell phones, not quite sure whether they should clap or make a call for help because they’re unarmed.
They soon realize there’s no reception in here. They’re all sitting ducks.
When they arrived at the plantation, our team confiscated their guns and forced their security to stay behind.
A wedding venue should be a place of peace. However, peace translates differently for people like us.
Peace is satisfaction knowing those who had wronged us are dead.
Peace is educating traitors that the Souzas never back down.
Peace is going to bed at night with the woman you love—certain she’s safe.
“India Souza is now the main shareholder in the Lozano technologies company and can do whatever the fuck she wants with it.”
Tomás nods to Giovanni.
“But there’s something else we need to address today. It's more troubling than a couple of wanna be gangsters. TheLozanos weren’t part of our organization…and they sure as fuck didn’t have the balls to attempt an uprising within our ranks.”
Four smartly dressed men from the back row shuffle and march to the locked doors. After a scuffle, and a lot of swearing, guns are pointed at their heads, and they’re manhandled back to their seats.
“What the fuck is this?” one guy yells. “Let me out of here!”
“Open the fucking doors,” another demands.
They just don’t get it.
Traitors die.
Shoulder to shoulder, Dani stands between me and Giovanni. The five of us form a line and move towards the unoccupied front bench on the groom's side.
“A wise man once told my brothers and I that we would either become the hunter or the hunted,” Tomás announces.
His gaze sweeps across the unsettled faces and lands on our grandfather, who’s scowling from the other side of the chapel.
This was unexpected by all our guests, even him. And if there’s one thing about Mad Mick Hennessy, he hates being ambushed.
“We, the Souzas, are forever the hunters,” Tomás adds.
After offering our grandfather a respectful nod, Tomás’ attention returns to the cocky fucks we’d invited to the plantation for a fake wedding.
Following extensive digging into their daily activities, the bastards were monitored for weeks and even met with our undercover agents who recorded their shady dealings.
These fuckers had the nerve to use our name to help themselves climb the ladder—while planning to assassinate my brothers and me to fill the gap we’d have left behind.
Back when I’d asked André to find the man responsible for torturing Dani, he unearthed a faction of conspirators—all working with Eduardo and his nephew.
Killing those two fuckers wasn’t enough, not when the betrayal ran so much deeper.
