THE GUN CLICKED, LOADED AND ready, and the man almost hyperventilated. A barrel to the temple does that to the bravest of men.

“Where is he?” Bendetto asked, low and vicious.

“Las Vegas,” the man stammered, gripping his wounded arm. The ripped sleeve of his Royal Guardsman uniform seeped with blood.

Re-aiming the pistol, Bendetto fired and shot the man’s foot. His scream pierced the air, but not a single man among the guards around the hall moved to help him.

“We checked there,” Bendetto barked, once the man stopped screaming. “He’d already fled. But you know the protocol. Where did they take him?”

“Honolulu and Vegas were the last two approved locations,” the man whimpered. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Then you’re baggage,” Bendetto finished, and shot him in the temple. No one moved. Bendetto holstered his pistol and snapped his fingers. A trail of blood followed the body as two soldiers dragged the former Royal Guard from the palace’s Great Hall.

The gems and diamonds on the silver throne at the head of the room shimmered under the spotlights that constantly illuminated its grandeur. The chair itself sat atop several marble stairs, covered in a light-blue rug accented with gold floral threading. History books detailed the throne was a gift to the first ruler of Solana, King Eduardo Peralta, by his runaway bride’s family, supposedly Queen Victoria of England. Bendetto had heard the story often enough from the Lozano family, and how eager they were to get their hands on a priceless piece of British history, and sell it on the black market. Queen Victoria’s half-neice, Elise, fell in love with and married Eduardo Peralta, back when Solana was still under Spanish control. Despite the shame of eloping against family’s permission, Queen Victoria couldn’t let Elise move to Solana without some form of protection and financial security. So she provided the fancy chair and hefty purse as Elise’s dowry, all out of love for her beloved niece. During the Spanish campaign to decimate the islands, England provided Solana protection. Which was the start of Solana’s prosperity.

A prosperity Bendetto had envied in his tiny and impoverished home on Caraga, the poorest island in the Philippines.

Now their fortune is mine.

“Vasco,” he barked.

An massive man covered in black fatigues stepped forward, expressionless. The thorny vine tattoo etched up his neck and into his hairline was less intimidating than his black eyes. Irises so dark, Vasco was the only man with an FBI profile with eye color marked as black. No better career for him than a cartel hit man.

On loan from the mob boss himself.

“Have they found the princess yet?”

“Tracking her passport to Taiwan,” Vasco replied. “Not long now.”

“Is the airport closed down?”

“Under cartel control.”

“Good,” Bendetto smirked. “I want the royal safe cracked tonight. The Luna de Azul is mine.”

Vasco adjusted the automatic rifle slung around his torso. His casual and almost bored attitude made Bendetto’s eye twitch. But he was the insurance Lozano required. So he had to put up with him.

“What of Prince André?” the brute asked.

Bendetto stood against the vast bay window, looking over the Royal Square now full of the cartel mercenary army. Beyond the stucco walls covered with red hibiscus blossoms, the sunrise greeted the island city of Solana with a new fear.

Bendetto’s law.

“I think it’s time you use your connections. The playboy prince wouldn’t run on his own. Giving up his lavish lifestyle won’t be easy for one so pampered. Track the ones who’ve babied him—friends, bodyguards, any women who lasted more than a week. Dig into their lives and find him.”

Vasco turned to leave.

“Vasco…”

He stopped.

“By any means you like.”

Vasco jeered, and Bendetto’s reflection mirrored in his black eyes.