“So it’s just Mom?” I ask. “Then what’s stopping him?”
“He made her a promise,” he says with a shrug. “And if he’s not good for it, he’d be compromising his integrity.”
My jaw clenches, but the smile that creeps across my brother’s face makes me narrow my eyes. “What?” I snap.
“Do you know you get that look every time Dad does something that makes you want to murder him? Then you agonize over it because you think that means you’re just like him. That you’ll wind up beating your wife and kids someday like he does.”
“You don’t think it’s a valid fucking concern? He wanted me to live up to the name so much he beat it into me. What if I have kids someday and all that fucking vile shit comes out? All the parts of him that make me who I am?”
Maddox shakes his head and waves a hand at me. “Don’t you get it? This is proof that you’re not like Dad. I don’t know why you always beat yourself up over a hypothetical, but I don’t think you have to worry. You changed your goddamn name, for fuck’s sake. Erasing that asshole for good isn’t going to change who you are at your core, so don’t keep wasting your energy on it. Anyway, if fatherhood is in the cards for you—hell, for any of us—I think we’ll all do just fine. We have enough of Mom in us, brother.”
I clench my teeth, holding back my argument. Wiping Dad off the face of the planet would go a long fucking way to easing my mind, even if it wouldn’t erase who I really am.
The door latch clicks, and Maddox turns and reaches for the handle, opening to reveal a pair of faces that seem familiar, but it takes me a second to recognize them. The twins, Benny and Baz Quiñones have grown up and filled out since the last time I saw them more than three years ago after they witnessed what was probably their first shooting. They’re the same age as my youngest brother, Sam, so they can’t be more than twenty-two, but they have a dangerous edge to them now.
Their discipline shows when they step inside and flank the door, standing with their hands clasped in front of them like a pair of Secret Service agents in bespoke suits. They’re both clean-cut, their young faces looking like they barely shave, though their physiques make it evident they train hard. Traces of blackwork peek out from their collars and cuffs, betraying the gangbanger identities beneath those expensive threads.
It’s bordering on theatrical, and I can’t help but wonder if Arturo chose the twins for appearances’ sake. But I know better. My brother just said as much too: Flores doesn’t do anything if it won’t benefit him somehow. He also wouldn’t choose a pair of bodyguards based on optics. The twins are as close to sons as the man has, even though they’re his housekeeper’s kids. My gut tells me they were probably trained by Amon, the same cold-eyed killer who trained me for my mission, which means I really shouldn’t fuck with them no matter how tempting it is.
I eye them anyway, then look at Arturo as he enters. “You’re being pretty liberal with my secret, Flores. How long have they known I’m alive?”
“My business is their business. But you can be assured I only tell them what they need to know to do their jobs. The most important thing right now is your assignment. Your brother hasn’t shared much in the way of details, so I hope your presence here means you’ve succeeded.”
“It’s complicated,” I say and shoot a quick glare at Maddox when he snorts a laugh. I sigh and stand up, fishing into my pocket for the flash drive Zavala sent me away with. “This isn’t all the intel we want. It’s just a sample. You may as well see it, since it’s going to affect you once the Feds get a peek.”
Arturo’s disconcerting hazel gaze rests on my face, giving me the sense that he can read my mind. It makes me itch, but I manage to remain still and don’t look away until he glances down at the drive. He plucks it from my fingers and holds it up and points it at my bruised face.
“Your condition suggests things didn’t go well. Zavala’s using the rest of the intel as collateral for something, isn’t he? What does he want, and why is he sending you to get it?”
I’ve seen the dirt Zavala has on Arturo—he made sure to show me before I left, claiming I needed to know the man I was in bed with—but now I realize it just means the old man and I have something crucial in common for a change.
“Zavala is using more than just the intel as collateral,” I say, nodding at the drive. “He also knows about the deal you have with the feds. He wants in, plus he wants his brother released from custody or he’s not giving us the rest. Worse, if we don’t give him what he wants, he’ll go to Amador with it instead. Trust me, we don’t want that. None of us want that.”
I don’t elaborate, but I’m all too aware of the pair of sentinels by the door and how the secrets would affect them. There’s no telling what else the twins know, but I doubt Arturo has shared his darkest secrets with them. Secrets that somehow Zavala has managed to discover and store away like a fat little squirrel hoarding all the meatiest nuts for the winter.
Arturo nods. “Thank you,” he says in a low voice, the subtext clear enough in his look:
