“WHERE IS LUNA DE AZUL?” Santos Lozano lit a cigar and gazed out over the sapphire ocean from his expansive patio. The secluded mansion was one of several he owned through the islands, but this one was his favorite. It had the best view, offered the quickest escape route, and easiest staging point for all his operations.

Several of his men loaded supplies onto his mega-yacht, Pacific Tempest, docked in the private bay north of Manila. The air heavy with humidity, a line of sweat trickled down Lozano’s back. Rain wasn’t too far off. The heat never bothered him, which is why this lifestyle and line of work suited him so well.

It was the cold he couldn’t stand. And darkness.

“Raul said Bendetto doesn’t know,” Ricardo answered. His eldest son stood next to him outside, overlooking the yacht’s preparations. “The princess took it just before she escaped.”

Ricardo was a spitting image of his austere father, with a touch of his mother’s Filipino blood. The young man was Lozano’s pride and joy, and eventual successor of his massive empire. If only he’d employ more brutal methods, or demanded the respect with as hard a hand as his younger brother, Raul. No one would dare confront the Lozano cartel for generations.

Lozano blew out a smoke ring and turned to his son. None of the six surrounding guards moved, dressed in gray suits, each with two or three handguns hidden in their jackets.

“So not only did Bendetto let a twenty-year-old girl escape, but he misplaced his form of payment as well.”

“Seems that way. But the island is under his control, and the amepphire mines. The rest of the Peraltas are dead.”

“Not all,” Lozano corrected. “Prince André is still in the United States.” Bendetto swore he’d take care of the issue, ensuring no threat of a Peralta returning to reclaim a throne.

Lozano’s top general had already started to fail on his promises.

“I say we give him a chance to correct the mistakes.” Ricardo lit a cigarette. His son preferred golf shirts and linen pants, but Lozano liked seeing him in suits and ties. The clothes demanded more respect than the casual, spoiled-boy image.

“You’re defending Bendetto?”

“Not entirely.” The young man adjusted the pistol at his waist and blew the smoke away from his father. At least carried his own weapon. One lesson learned. “An operation this size with this many moveable parts is bound to have a few snags. I want to see how he handles the wrenches in the wheel.”

Lozano scowled. His son was rational and educated, but still too soft and slow to act. He had a lot to learn before he took over. First and foremost was how to earn and keep the loyalty of his men. Which was only gained through brutality. No mercy, no weakness.

“What did Raul say to that?”

Ricardo’s jaw tensed. “He’s eager to take over at your orders. Then again, when is he not?”

There was no mistaking the rivalry between his sons. Raul was currently on Solana, overseeing the mercenary army that was taking over their new prize, and keeping tabs on Bendetto. It was because of Raul’s lust for violence that the elder Lozano sent his youngest son instead of Ricardo. Something Ricardo resented, but wouldn’t dare voice to his father. Not that he had to. Lozano would do what he had to do to make them learn, even if it meant pitting them against each other.

“Giving Bendetto time to fix his follies is a folly of its own,” Lozano said. “It’s only a matter of time before the international community steps in and asserts their military authority. We must be fully ingrained and in control when that happens. The UN and U.S. don’t care about justice. Only stability. If the people aren’t being slaughtered anymore, they’ll let a country fend for itself.”

“So now we’re in the business of taking over countries? To what, better the lives of ultra-wealthy moguls?”

The yacht’s engines roared to life, just as thunder clapped overhead.

“I don’t give a shit about the people. All I want is the airport, marina, and the mines. The rest is for Bendetto. What do I care if he wants to rule on a broken throne over a stupid childhood grudge? When I have the resources and operations we need to expand our empire, he can do whatever the hell he wants.”

Dark clouds gathered and his men moved faster to get everything on board before the rain started. This weekend’s trip into the city was supposed to be a celebration of a new cash cow under his belt, but all of that depended on whether his general, Bendetto, could keep his word.

And not fuck up again.

“What do you want me to tell Raul?” Ricardo asked.

“Have him keep a close eye on Bendetto, and that bulldog assassin of his, Vasco.”

“And the necklace?”

The sky opened, and a deluge of rain covered the pristine grounds. One of the guards moved forward with an umbrella over Lozano’s head. Ricardo moved under it while the others stood in the rain and waited on their leader.

“You handle that personally. Track Princess Alanna and bring her to me. She’ll have the jewels and we can use her as leverage if Bendetto lets Prince André escape, too. Use your connections with the authorities. A privileged, naïve girl like her will stick to what she knows—big cities and planes. Which requires a passport and money. Find her. How hard could that be, even for you?”

A heavy-set man in an oversized suit came through the mansion’s lanai doors and walked through the rain to stand beside Lozano. Tiburón had been with Lozano since the beginning. His key enforcer loved the dirty jobs, and no one completed them with more detail, viciousness, and pleasure than the Shark. But he lacked the international finesse needed for this particular job.

Oblivious to the downpour, Tiburón removed his sunglasses and clasped his hands over his round belly. “We’ve found the package,” he began in his rough, deep voice. “Waiting for your word.”

Lozano’s mouth twitched. The occasional snitch was always dealt with swiftly. Tiburón never made a move without him or brought anything incriminating to his doorstep. There was usually nothing left to bring. “Any witnesses?”

“No, sir. He was alone. Sitting on the shitter.”

Lozano nodded. “Put him in a drawer. Today.”

His favorite method of eliminating witnesses or snitches. Stuffing them in a laundry bag with a concrete block tied to their feet, and then tossing them in the ocean.

“Air bubbles?”

Lozano considered for a moment and looked at his son. One day he needed to learn not to give people a chance to fuck him over. “Sure. But no chance for an encore by our loose-lipped friend.”

Meaning cut out his tongue first, but leave him alive when he was dumped over.

“Any trophies?”

Lozano grunted. “Not from that weasel. Feel free to have fun with him first, if you wish.”

Tiburón nodded and walked away.

Lozano stared hard into his son’s face. “That’s how you handle wrenches in the wheel. You don’t let it fix itself. You toss it away and get a new fucking wheel.”

Ricardo swallowed and glanced in the direction Tiburón left, shifting his weight away. “What’s your fascination with the drawer?”

Lozano looked over the water. In a lower voice, he replied, “It’s the worst way to die. Crushed. In the dark.”