Savage Redemption (The Caraksay Brotherhood #10)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

B az

“We need to do something about San Antonio.”

Kristian and I have just finished our regular meeting where we consider our latest sales figures, gambling receipts, and takings in the restaurants. Things are looking good, nothing to be concerned about, no traders needing a reminder of where their loyalties and responsibilities, not to mention their long-term health prospects, lie. He’s already on his feet preparing to leave but he pauses, eyes me under his brow.

“How so? That bastard’s causing no trouble as far as I’m concerned. He can rot for a while longer yet.”

“He’s been down there in my kill suite for the best part of a year,” I explain, though it’s hardly necessary.

Kris is as well aware as I am of the timescale since we took Adan San Antonio prisoner following his failed attempt to assassinate Kris. He kidnapped my wife and daughter and used them as leverage in an attempt to get me to betray my boss. It didn’t work out as he’d planned. We mounted an attack, decimated his forces and rescued the hostages. San Antonio was lucky Kris didn’t kill him right there and then, but he settled for a kneecapping and flung him in the cells beneath our headquarters for our operation on Tenerife and the rest of the Canary Islands.

The hacienda is also my family home

“ Your kill suite?” He arches a brow

Technically the hacienda belongs to Kris, but he chooses to live on his yacht in the marina.

“You know I prefer to keep the wet work away from my family.”

“It’s not wet work. Yet.”

“Lily and Julia both met San Antonio…”

“Obviously. He abducted them and kept them prisoner in a hovel. He threatened them, terrorised them.”

“Not exactly,” I correct him. “Julia told me?—”

“Yeah, right. Courteous, considerate, treated them well. We’ve been through all of this.” He turns to leave. “We would have killed me, given the chance.”

It’s fair comment. Kris was his target, not my wife or daughter. But still.

“The Madrid Mob are refusing to pay any ransom. He’s worth nothing to us as things stand.” I try another tack. “We could strike a deal with San Antonio himself.”

My boss’s brow creases. “Since the Madrid contingent chose a new Don, San Antonio is cut loose. They don’t want him back. He has no access to their money, so no way of paying the ransom himself and no leverage that I can see. He’s worth nothing to anyone. What sort of a deal could he come up with?”

“He wasn’t their Don for long, just a matter of months. Before that, while Carlos Domingo was boss, Adan was their money-maker.”

“I know that. He was good at it, I gather. He should have stuck to that rather than branching out into attempted assassinations.”

I ignore the bitter remarks and home in on what matters. “He was better than good. My sources suggest the Madrid Mob is struggling to maintain their income. Adan was clearly the one with the business acumen, the ideas, the entrepreneurial flair.”

“He should have stayed in his lane,” Kris observes drily.

“What if he was to get back in that lane, but working for us?”

Kris gapes at me as though I just sprouted an extra head. “Are you serious? Let me remind you, he wants me dead.”

“Wanted.”

“Kris shakes his head. “He’s a made man with another firm. No one shifts allegiances like that, or if they do, they can’t be trusted by anyone.”

“ They let him down. They left him to his fate. Why should he remain loyal to them?”

“It’s his birthright. His destiny.”

“Bollocks. What goes around comes around. Loyalty cuts both ways. And, if you could manage to strike a truce with Ethan Savage, why wouldn’t he be prepared to trade with you?”

“It’s hardly the same.” Kris snorts. “Between me and Ethan it was about money. And Janey. He wanted to protect her and didn’t trust me to treat her right. He still doesn’t but gives me the benefit of the doubt. With San Antonio, it’s about attempted murder.”

I sigh and gesture to him to take his seat again. He glowers at me as he does so.

“As I see it, we have three choices.”

“As many as that?”

I ignore his sarcasm. “One. We kill him.”

“That would save us bother and money. Put an end to the problem permanently.”

I press on. “Two. We keep him prisoner indefinitely. Which means we have to guard him. And the hacienda is my home. My wife and daughter live there, and they know we have him locked up in the cells.”

“Why would they care?”

“They…like him. As I’ve said, he?—”

“For fuck’s sake, Baz. What’s with all the touchy-feely crap? He’s an enemy, we need to neutralise him.”

I plough on. “Or, three. We form an alliance with him and let him make money for us. He could pay off his own ransom.”

He stares at me. “I can’t believe you’re actually serious. Why would you trust him? He’ll sink a dagger in my neck first chance he gets.”

“Why? What would he have to gain by that? The Madrid Mob won’t have him back, even if he wanted to overthrow the new Don and regain his position there. He doesn’t. He’s out of all that, and he wants to go back to his old life doing what he’s good at. Making money.”

I fall silent, waiting.

He regards me through narrowed eyes. “How do you know what he wants?’

“We talk.”

“How cosy. Over a glass of my fine brandy, late at night?”

“Not exactly.” But close. I do spend time down there with him, and I have been known to take a bottle of the decent stuff with me. It pays to know your enemy.

“You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“Some. Yes.”

“And San Antonio? Has he been giving it some thought, too?”

“We’ve discussed it, yes. It was his idea.”

“I bet it was.”

“I believe him. I think we can trust him.”

“Well, I don’t.” He gets back to his feet. “No, it’s not happening. We stick with options one and two. My preference is for one. Get it done, Baz. Nice and tidy.”

I shake my head. “Boss, before we do anything we can’t come back from, at least talk to him yourself. Listen to what he has to say. If you don’t trust him, try trusting me.”

“You know I trust you. Absolutely.”

“Well, then?” Now I’m also on my feet. “A few minutes. Hear him out.”

“For fuck’s sake. All right, but no longer. And no promises. If it comes to it, we do what’s necessary. Agreed?”

“Agreed, boss. When do you want?—?”

“Why not now? Get it over with.”

Adan San Antonio

Drip, drip, drip .

I glare at the far wall and wish I could actually see what’s making that noise. The concrete is damp, but no running water, exactly. I get to my feet, pace the cramped, Spartan cell. Three paces in one direction, four in the other. Apart from the narrow bunk built into one wall, the only other furniture is a rickety table and a single chair, and even those are a concession from Baz Bartosz. The sanitation consists of a bucket, which is mercifully emptied twice a day. I’m provided with decent food and warm drinks, and there’s a laundry service of sorts. It amounts to a change of clothes and bedding every few days.

Baz provided me with a heater last winter, one of those paraffin ones they use for camping. There’s no electricity, apart from one lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, but Bartosz had someone come down here and rig up a way I could switch it on and off.

As prisons go, it could be worse. Much worse.

Most inhabitants of this accommodation don’t stay here for long.

It’s the isolation that gets to me most. At first, I spent days on end with no human contact apart from a surly medic who came to dress my injured leg. But a bullet in the knee requires more than a few bandages. I was in agony, not able to drag myself from the bunk, until Bartosz decided to let me have proper medical attention. I was transferred to some sort of secure medical facility, where they removed the bullet and made some attempt to repair my shattered knee before shipping me back down here.

It was less painful after that, but still it was weeks before I could put any weight on it at all. I managed to come up with my own physiotherapy regime, exercising daily and gradually becoming more and more mobile by sheer grit and determination. Even now, I need a crutch to do more than half a dozen steps, but I get by.

The isolation eased somewhat when my jailor started to visit me. Baz Bartosz is decent company, and we spend evenings together sometimes. I gather his wife and daughter have recovered from their ordeal at my hands, and I’m glad of it. My quarrel was never with them, though it took me a while to become reconciled with Baz himself. He’s the underboss for my enemy, Kristin Kaminski, the man who annihilated by family and seized control of these islands.

Kaminski had to die. My remaining family expected that of me. As Don, it was the least I could do, avenge the deaths and take back what’s ours. I was new in the position; I had everything to prove.

My first attempt failed, but I’d have tried again. And again. Kaminski should have killed me that day at the cottage. I’m still not sure why he didn’t, why he settled for a bullet through my knee.

I wasn’t surprised when my cousin, Marco, refused to pay the ransom. He never forgave me for seizing the leadership when old Carlos died. Marco fancied himself as Don and challenged me for the role, even though I was next in line. It was my right, and I fought for it. I came out the victor, and the rest swore allegiance to me. But Marco resented my position, never really accepted me. Along with everyone else, the senior ranks and the foot soldiers alike, he swore allegiance to me, the slimy little arsewipe. But it meant nothing. First chance he got, he slithered into my place, claiming the position he’d always coveted, and left me to rot.

At first, I was seething, determined to get my position back, my birthright. But as weeks went by, then months, my perception shifted. It’s not that I don’t hate Marco. I do, and if and when the opportunity arises, I will end him. But I don’t want to be Don anymore. I never did, if I’m honest with myself. It was expected. Men like me crave power. We’re born to it. It was in my DNA, or so I thought, and I was ready to crush any opposition as I fought for what was rightfully mine.

And look where it got me? Crippled, a prisoner, betrayed by the people I should have been able to rely on. Even Rosa couldn’t get away fast enough when the chance came to escape.

I pause in my lurching progress back and forth. Rosa . Sweet little thing, compliant, obedient, she warmed my bed nicely and never demanded anything much for herself. A place to live, food, warmth. Safety. That was all she expected, and I was happy to provide.

She’s back with her family, in the UK. Or so Baz tells me. I asked if I could see her, and he explained that she’d gone home. She’d begged him to contact her father in England, so he’d done just that.

Why didn’t she ask me? I’d have phoned her father if she’d said that was what she wanted.

Or would I? I’m a selfish bastard. I wanted to keep her with me. I never thought of her as my prisoner, not exactly, but would I have let her go? I knew she’d been trafficked, and I knew how she came to be with Mateo and Alejandro. Auctioned. Bought and sold like a piece of meat. It was a miserable existence. I knew that, and for what it might be worth, I was sorry it had happened to her. Sex trafficking was never a practice I approved of or indulged in, though most men in my position would. I tried to be…better.

I came across Rosa by accident, after my cousins had been murdered by Kaminski. She was hiding in one of our safe houses and seemed lost, scared. On impulse, I took her with me and gave her a home. In exchange, she apparently assumed she was expected to ‘service’ my needs.

I let her. Well, why not? I never forced her to do anything. I didn’t need to. She was used to being…available and made no protest when I suggested she share my bed.

She was my companion. I liked her. She was responsive, a seriously good fuck. And beautiful. I had the impression she liked me, liked being with me, but perhaps I was kidding myself. What choice did she have, really?

No point dwelling on it. What’s done is done. I wish her well, wherever she is.

I resume my pacing.

The grating of the lock stops me in my tracks. I face the door, not sure what to expect. It’s too early for Baz and one of our evening chats. He’ll be working. And the fresh linen isn’t due until tomorrow.

It swings open.

“You!” I limp back to my bunk. “What the fuck do you want?” Stupid question. There’s only one thing would bring Kristian Kaminski down here.

I meet his gaze. I’m ready to die.