Prologue
Chihuahua, Mexico
The Don did not like to receive bad news. His temper was legendary and many men would rather slit their own throats than tell the Don something he was surely not to like. However, Ignacio Riva was not most men, and he was paid quite well not to frighten easily. Still, he was not looking forward to delivering the news he had to the Don. Not because he was afraid, but simply because he knew how much it would hurt a man he had come to admire and respect so much through his years of service.
Don Fabio Paulo Sandoval was El Padrino, the godfather—or as the Sicilians put it, il capo di tutti capi, the boss of bosses—the undisputed head of the largest, most influential, and most lethal drug cartel in Mexico, responsible for smuggling black tar heroin, cocaine, and hashish. This in essence made him the number one drug dealer on the planet, although the Don didn’t quite see himself that way. More as a very well diversified businessman.
Ignacio Riva was el jefe de Seguridad, security boss, or chief of security for the cartel, which was more popularly known as El Sangriento Puño—The Bloody Fist. Riva in his own right was one of the most powerful men in the cartel, really only second to Don Fabio’s heir apparent, his youngest son Raul, a graduate of Yale Business School in the United States, and currently managing the day-to-day operations of the cartel as its chief operating officer. Riva knew that he should, for form’s sake, deliver his news to Raul first, but this he believed should go directly to the Don. After all, it was not strictly cartel business and Riva knew the old man would want to know right away.
So here he was, in the ultra secure mansion-estate of the great man himself, outside his private study at nine o’clock in the morning local time, steeling himself for what he must now do.
He knocked once and waited until the Don told him to enter. He did so crisply, went to the great dark oak desk where the old man sat having his breakfast, served by an extremely attractive and young dark skinned woman—girl really—with large brown eyes. The Don was delighted to be ministered to by this young angel and was clearly a little perturbed to be interrupted by even his closest of associates. However, he could tell by the expression in Riva’s eyes that the matter was urgent. The Don dismissed the girl quickly and wiped his mouth on a linen napkin.
“Si, Ignacio,” the old man said in a voice that still had iron in it after seventy-two years of use. “I can see you have something serious to discuss with me. Your eyes give you away, mi amigo. Tell me.”
And so Ignacio Riva did just that. As succinctly and gently as possible.
From the utterance of his first sentence, Riva could see the impact on the old man, and by the time he had finished he was sure that the Don would faint. But that would not be the man he knew, the all-powerful and lethal Don Fabio Paulo Sandoval—The Don as he liked to be called, a fan of old American gangster movies, in particular The Godfather trilogy.
Though his eyes were moist, his voice was still strong when he finally spoke a full two minutes after receiving the worst possible news of his life.
“I want the body brought to me as soon as possible,” he instructed.
“Si, Don Fabio,” Riva replied automatically. “I have already begun the process. Perhaps a full day.”
“Good,” the Don continued, taking in air and running a shaking hand through what was left of his unruly gray hair. “Then I want you to find out exactly who killed him, and then kill them all. And their sons. If they have no sons, take their daughters.”
“It will be done, Don Fabio,” said Riva.
“And I want those who put him there,” the Don went on, his voice rising with seething anger. “I want them all dead. The agents who arrested him, the prosecutors who tried him, the prison guards who could not protect him, and I especially want the life of the woman who put him there. She would not listen, she would not deal, she did everything she could to see him put away. I want her head most of all. That bitch! I was given assurances that he would not be harmed if…”
The Don’s voice cracked and he had to turn away quickly to gather himself. Riva stood perfectly still waiting for his boss to regain control. It took five full minutes, and when the Don turned back, his eyes were the coldest in the world, devoid of anything remotely human, almost enough to frighten even Ignacio Riva himself, a man not normally known to fear anything.
“I want her to suffer greatly, Ignacio. She must suffer and die slowly. Bring her to me. I don’t care if she is a federal judge in Gringo Land.”
“Actually she is retired now, Don Fabio,” Riva offered. “Three years, according to the information I have. I am not sure where she is at the moment, but she will be found. I promise this.”
“Bueno,” the Don said. “Then get her. Bring her here to me. Hire whomever you have to. No price is too high. They will all pay for what they have taken from me this day. Paulo was a good boy, my lifeblood. They took him from me and now they all die! Especially that American puta in the black robe! Is that clear, Ignacio?!”
Orders had been given. And now people would die. Ignacio Riva had been given and carried out many such orders in the past and was fully prepared to do so this time. Even if it meant going to war with several government and law enforcement agencies in the United States. Of course, that task would be made much easier with the assistance of quite a few paid friends the cartel had on the inside of these agencies, not to mention a large number of American politicians. They would be quite useful right now, especially when it came to locating and abducting the former U.S. District Court judge in Miami, Florida who had personally sentenced Paulo Enrique Sandoval to life in prison.
Debra Kathryn Patterson would suffer a painful, humiliating, and excruciatingly brutal death.
Riva left the study and left the Don alone to his grief, telling the young woman waiting out in the hallway that she was not to disturb him further until called for. She seemed a little disappointed, but knew better than to question Riva. He stood and watched her leave, secretly admiring the old man’s taste. A bit younger than he personally cared for, but in a few years…
Now he would go and tell Raul that his brother was dead. Then he would get started with the cold and dirty business that lay ahead.
