Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
He leans his head down and presses his mouth to mine. I stand frozen while he proceeds to kiss me, his tongue invading my mouth. The taste of tuna mayonnaise makes my stomach roll with queasy waves, and I wonder if he would snap and kill me if I vomited into his mouth.
Chapter 6
SANTIAGO
Sitting out by the pool, I look at the horizon as the sun comes up.
I’ve been so busy the past year, but I always make time to sit on the veranda during the early morning hours so I can watch the sun rise.
At least all the hard work is paying off. I’ve formed an alliance with four powerful people. Dominik Varga, the biggest arms dealer, who’s quickly becoming a trusted and close friend. Leo Toscano, the head of the Italian Mafia. Enzo Oliveira, who’s in charge of a syndicate in Portugal, and Cassia Dimitrou, the head of the Greek Mafia.
A while back, we all bought an island together and built nothing short of a fortress slash resort on it that acts as a safe haven for us. Situated just off the coast of Chile, it’s not too far from my home here in Peru.
I grin when I think of the house I bought in Chile for Dominik and his wife, Grace, a few months ago. It was a token of how much I value our friendship.
I also grew closer to Cassia after she married one of my friends, Knight. The man suffered after losing his sister to sex trafficking, and seeing him happily married to Cassia brings a smile to my face. He now lives in Greece with her, and I don’t hear from him as often anymore, but I still see him whenever the alliance has meetings on the island.
Even with the luxurious island nearby, this villa in Peru will always be my home. I turn my head and look at all the little cottages to my left. Every year, I build ten new cottages to accommodate our growing population, but at the pace I’m saving people, I’m considering constructing apartment buildings.
Currently, I have one hundred and fifty-nine people living on my property. We’ve formed our own little village, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I know every single person, and once a week, I’ll walk through the village to check on everyone.
Even though it’s not something I want, they treat me like a god, thankful for everything I do for them.
Some have created jobs from hobbies and have become self-sufficient, but they don’t want to leave, and I would never ask them to. They fear life outside the walls of my compound, and I understand why.
Every person on my property was either a sex slave, forced into prostitution, used as drug mules, or someone who had organs stolen from them before being left to bleed out.
The list of vile acts is endless, and just when I think I’ve seen it all, I discover a new horrific act that leaves me stunned.
Once upon a time, I was a victim just like them.
Since the Alvarez cartel massacred my family, I made it my life’s purpose to dismantle every fucking cartel I come across. Right now, I’m focused on taking down the Rojas cartel, forcing them out of my territory.
It’s been a while since I’ve thought of my family. I was fifteen when Alvarez’s soldiers invaded our house. My father was an accountant for the cartel, but he wanted out, so they decided to silence him.
My older brother was killed first. He was the only one who had a quick death.
My mother was dragged behind a jeep until her body parts were scattered throughout the town we lived in.
I survived because I hid in a trunk where my mother kept the linen. I still have the trunk. It’s one of the few things I was able to salvage after our home was burned to the ground because the damn thing is near indestructible. It took some time, but it’s been restored to its former glory.
Years after the massacre, I tracked down a soldier of the cartel, who told me my father was tortured for months. They amputated one limb at a time and hung the severed limb where my father could see it. Apparently, he lost his mind toward the end.
I did the same thing to the soldier, and that’s where my most lethal tarot card was born. Death.
I shift in the chair and pull the pack of black and gold tarot cards from my pocket. The corners are worn from use, and I brush my thumb over the face. I have doubles of twelve cards. Each one holds a different fate. It’s my way of being fair. I allow the person to choose a card, then I carry out whatever fate it holds. Some give them a chance at freedom, but others range from a quick death to suffering for months.