The Debt: An Irish Mafia Romance (Downing Family Book 2) Read online

  Duardo Castellanos all but filled it, staring at me with predatory intent in his expression.

  “Hello, Daria,” he said in a calm voice.

  I swallowed and darted a look in the direction of the kitchen. If I screamed, would anybody come and help me?

  “I don’t want to hurt anybody if it’s not necessary,” he said in a level tone. “But, if it’s necessary…”

  His words trailed off, and he went back to staring at me, his expression making it clear that he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt somebody…if necessary.

  “What do you want?” I whispered, backing up. My leg bumped into the edge of the desk. There really was no place to go.

  “I don’t think I need to explain it.” His smile was cool and tight.

  The way he looked at me made me want to shrivel into a ball and die.

  When he took a step toward me, I cringed away and turned my face. Resignation hit me like a wave. There was nothing I could do.

  True nobody, Isabel had told me. She’d been right.

  Maybe if I’d been looking at him, I would have been able to brace myself, defend myself…do something.

  But I wasn’t looking at him, and I didn’t even see him move.

  A blinding pain exploded through my head, and then there was just…darkness.

  Chapter Eight

  Brooks

  It took a hell of a lot longer than I liked getting clearance to land in Santiago de Cuba.

  I normally used the airstrip located on the island just north of my place. The owner of that island and I were acquaintances, and it was a lot easier to land on a private airstrip than a commercial one.

  Money made everything better, and after a few calls, I was able to secure a time slot. Once I passed the information off to the pilot, I sat back in the plush leather seat and stared out into the world below.

  It was a clear day, save for a few wispy white clouds, and I could see down into the blue-green of the ocean. Normally, when I was flying south, I could feel the tension draining away, but there was nothing normal about this trip.

  Not long after I’d spoken with Daria, I put in a call to Duncan and updated him.

  He, in turn, shared the grim news about Enrique. The old man had had several small heart attacks, and they were doing damage that his tired heart couldn’t withstand, especially if it kept up.

  “I’ll stay in touch with the doctors. Justine went to visit him. I gave her a few days off, with a bonus.”

  “Good call,” I told him. Enrique didn’t have any family since his wife had died a few years ago. Duncan and Justine were all he had. Maybe seeing Justine would give the old guy some determination to fight.

  “Will you need help in Cuba? I can fire up the yacht and be there in a couple of hours.”

  “No.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, hoping to ward off a dull headache already forming. “I need you there. I might need you to work some of your magic when I get hold of Daria. She doesn’t have any documentation, and it might not be so easy to get her out of the country without your help.”

  He grunted his understanding. “I’ll start laying the groundwork in case I’m needed.”

  I thanked him and ended the call, leaning back in the chair once more.

  Although I knew the small aircraft was making excellent time, we weren’t moving fast enough to suit me.

  I needed to get to Daria. I needed to make sure she was safe, that she stayed safe.

  Brooding, I began to plan.

  I found the restaurant where Daria said she’d wait for me.

  I hadn’t talked to her since that phone call, but she’d told me she’d used the business phone, and although I’d tried once to call, nobody had answered.

  It didn’t matter. As long as she was here and safe, that was all I was concerned about.

  Once inside, I needed a few seconds to adjust to the dim interior.

  A round, middle-aged woman bustled up to me. She spoke in heavily accented but clear English.

  I spoke to her in Spanish. I’d learned the other language some time back, and I saw the relief in her eyes as I used her native tongue.

  “I’m looking for Daria. She’s the young woman who called me from here a few hours ago.”

  A worried look entered her eyes, and she looked around.

  “She…she is not here, senor. She made her phone call and left. I haven’t seen her since I showed her into my husband’s office. I thought she left to meet whoever she had called.”

  I stared at her hard, as I processed what she’d told me. Quietly, I said, “I wanted Daria to wait here.”

  Her brow creased, and she looked around as if that would make Daria somehow appear. “I’m so sorry, senor. She just…left.”

  I wasn’t buying that.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I pinned the older woman with my hardest look. “She wouldn’t have just left. She’s in trouble. She knew I was coming here.”

  The woman wrung her hands, and I saw something that looked like real concern in her dark eyes. It softened me, a little. “What’s your name?”

  “Ximena, senor. My husband and I own this place.” She clasped her nervous hands together in front of her like a schoolgirl and met my eyes once more. “The senora came in with the priest from our church. He said he thought she might be in trouble and he wanted to help. He told us she needed to make a call. He’s a good friend of ours, so we fed them and told her she could use our phone. I let her use the phone and…” She stretched her hands out wide. “When I go to check for her, she was gone.”

  I ground my teeth together, looking around at the few patrons. There was only a handful, but it was the middle of the afternoon. At least four of the people looked like tourists. They were easy to pick out with their cameras and maps. The others looked like locals.

  “Did anybody seem to be looking for her?” I asked, shifting my attention back to Ximena.

  Surely the Castellanos hadn’t found her already. She’d just arrived in Cuba last night. She’d told me she hadn’t talked to anybody other than a priest and a couple who ran this restaurant.

  “I…well, no.” Even though she denied it, she pursed her lips in a thoughtful frown.

  “What is it?”

  She bit her lip, then gestured for me to follow her. I ducked into the narrow hallway concealed by an old door painted a bright and cheerful blue. Once inside a small office, she turned back to me.

  “There are…” She hesitated again, then licked her lips. “This is a nice place. I have nice customers. I’m even getting tourists to come in sometimes. Some of the patrons eating now are from the United States.”

  I nodded, waiting.

  “But…” She looked more and more worried the longer she talked, hands twisting into knots again. “There are some people here who are not so nice. They do…bad things. They hire men to help them do bad things.”

  Speculation had me focusing intently on her. “Was one of these hired men in here today?”

  She gave a solemn nod. “I told him I didn’t want him in my place of business, that he wasn’t welcome. He can sell his drugs and do his work elsewhere. But he was here today. I told him he should leave, and he tells me that he is just there to eat, he wouldn’t cause any trouble.”

  “Do you know who he works for?”

  I could tell by the look in her eyes that she did, but she didn’t want to say.

  “Okay, can you tell me where he lives?”

  More reluctance filled her eyes, but slowly, she nodded. “If he took the senora, she could be in trouble,” she said in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. “She is so young. My Mariana would have been her age.”

  Grief darkened her eyes. I didn’t ask about her Mariana, just waited.

  “I will tell you where he lives.” She gave a short nod, as if coming to some deep, internal decision.

  “Thank you, senora,” I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a card. “Keep this. If you ever need a favor, call me.”

>   She eyed the card curiously but offered a hesitant nod. “Si, senor.”

  The address Ximena gave me led to a slum.

  There wasn’t any other way to phrase it. Some of the buildings looked to be made of tarpaper and plywood. Others were in various stages of disrepair, like one of the hurricanes had come through the area, and they’d pieced the small houses back together with whatever materials they could scrounge up.

  The home in front of me was in better shape than the rest of the neighborhood, the walls covered with siding and a roof that didn’t look like it might blow off with one harsh wind.

  I gave a perfunctory knock and waited.

  I wasn’t left to wait long.

  A young man, maybe nineteen or twenty, opened the door. Behind him, I heard several other voices, all men. The man at the door had a sullen look on his face, and it darkened to downright hostile when he saw me.

  “What the fuck do you want?” he demanded in Spanish.

  I gave him an easy smile. “English?”

  He spat on the ground in front of me and muttered under his breath. I caught the words pendejo in the jumble. I was pretty sure he’d just called me a stupid penis—stupid dick.

  Then he spat on the floor again and said, “Si, I speak English.”

  I could have talked to him in Spanish, but I’d rather he not know that I understood him…yet.

  Pulling out a fifty-dollar bill, I flashed it in front of him. “I’ve got a couple of questions. Answer them, and this is all yours.”

  He looked me up and down then muttered under his breath again.

  I caught most of it that time, translating it easily. He suspected I could pay more than fifty—maybe he’d make me do it anyway.

  I didn’t react, just waited calmly.

  Slumping against the door jamb, he gave me a bored look. “What are the questions? Then I will tell you if I will answer.”

  Somebody approached from behind, and I heard the newcomer asking who was at the door—in Spanish.

  My new friend responded in the same language. Some stupid man. Be quiet. He’s going to pay me some money.

  “Are you sure you want to talk to me outside?” I asked politely. “What if your…employer hears about it?”

  Something that might have been fear flickered in his eyes, but he shrugged. “I’m my own employer, cabron.”

  “The Castellanos won’t mind you talking?”

  With that one word, I saw something much bigger than a flicker, but he quashed it fast and stepped aside. “Your funeral, amigo.”

  I ducked inside the dim hall, and we stood there, facing each other while our audience of one glared at us.

  He continued that glare for a full thirty seconds before looking at the man in front of me. Ximena had told me that his name was Hector, although she’d been reluctant to give me a last name. I didn’t care what his name was. I just wanted to find him.

  “You like helping pretty girls get kidnapped?” I asked softly.

  Hector managed, almost, to cover his reaction. But almost wasn’t good enough. “You’re crazy, cabron.” He shoved a hand through overly long black hair. It flopped right back into his eyes. “Is that the question you want me to answer? Okay, I answered. Now pay up.”

  The man next to him asked what was up.

  Hector fired off a spate of rapid-fire Spanish. It was so fast, I had to think it through twice before my mind could translate.

  This guy is loco. Asking about pretty girls.

  There was a little bit more, but that was the gist of it.

  He looked back at me, but the slight glance he shot the other guy made me wonder.

  “Didn’t cut your friends in on your latest job with the Castellanos, huh?”

  His eyes widened a fraction before he caught himself and narrowed them in what I took to be his most menacing glare. “I don’t know no Castellanos!”

  “So, if I put in a call to Basilio and ask him if he knows a Hector down in Santiago de Cuba, Basilio won’t know who I’m talking about? Think he might ask Marcos? Duardo?”

  It was the second name that got him. His entire body seemed to flinch when I said it.

  I allowed myself a small smile. “So, Duardo asked you to watch out for her, didn’t he?”

  Hector’s companion was listening furiously to the conversation. I waited for either of them to react.

  The reaction came from down the hall, though, in the diminutive form of a slim, older woman with black eyes that all but shot sparks as she drew closer.

  “The Castellanos, Hector? You said you weren’t going to work for them anymore!” She pointed a finger at his nose. Her frustration and anger would have been obvious even if I didn’t speak Spanish. “You promised! After what happened to Fernando, you promised.”

  He tried to cut in, but she ran right over him.

  I crossed my arms over my chest, content to watch. I didn’t know if the woman was his mother or grandmother. She had the sort of features that tended to freeze around her forties and didn’t show much sign of aging until her sixties or more. Whoever she was, Hector looked scared to death of her.

  Finally, she exhausted herself—or the ire she’d been directing at Hector had run out and turned her attention to me.

  In heavily accented English, she asked, “What has Hector done, senor? He will make amends.”

  Hector started to argue with her. She smacked him across the head, and he lapsed into silence.

  “A girl was kidnapped from this area earlier. I’ve got reason to believe the Castellanos are responsible, but Hector helped facilitate her abduction.”

  She turned those dark eyes on Hector. This time, though, there wasn’t anger in her gaze. It was a deep sort of grief, like my words had shattered her heart. “Hector, no,” she murmured.

  “Mama—”

  She held up a single hand and again he went quiet. “Tell him what he wants to know, Hector. Or leave my house and never come back.”

  He flinched, then looked at me. “I got a picture of her in my email and was just told to call Duardo if I saw her. That’s all I did.”

  His mother heaved out a heavy, tired sigh and she turned away.

  Before she moved completely out of my reach, I touched her shoulder and said quietly, “Gracias.”

  She waved a hand. “Don’t thank me. I hope she is…well when you find her.”

  Her faint lapse indicated that she had doubts about whether or not that would be the case, though.

  It didn’t make me feel any better.

  I spent the entire flight back to Miami in a numb state.

  I had to find Daria. I had no idea what could be happening to her or what Duardo planned to do with her once he had her in his grasp. It was almost impossible to consider the options. They ran the gamut from him killing her to turning her over to Leon Delgado.

  No matter what he did, Duardo was going to pay for this.

  It would put my family in a bind, something I was fully aware of, but if my father had offered his help instead of attacking and expecting me to leave an innocent girl in the hands of somebody like Duardo or Marcos, then perhaps this could have been avoided.

  Maybe if I’d stopped trying to plan the right way to help and had simply gone to Basilio and told him I would take care of whatever they’d determined Daria owed them, this could have been avoided.

  I’d never know.

  But I had to find Daria.

  Marcos greeted me at the front door of the estate. “He won’t see you, Brooks,”

  “Did you tell him what I said?” I demanded, an edge in my tone.

  “I did, but he’s not interested.” Marcos looked me up and down, then shook his head. “You look rough, my friend. You should take a few days off, get a massage. Get fucked.”

  He grinned as he said it, and I wanted to cram that grin down his throat until he choked on it.

  “Thanks for the concern for my health. When is Basilio going to be available?”

  “Oh, he’s available
now…but not to you.” He took a few steps forward, not stopping until he was a few inches away. “Be smart, Brooks. Stay out of this. Our families might be doing business together, but this is a Castellanos matter.”

  He gave me another grin, this one sharp-edged and amused. “Have a good day, Brooks.”

  He shut the door then and left me standing there fuming.

  Chapter Nine

  Daria

  I woke with a start.

  Darkness greeted me, and the feel of an unfamiliar bed had me tensing in confusion.

  I looked around but could hardly make out anything in the dark room. One thing was certain—I wasn’t on the island with Brooks.

  Those big French doors always allowed some small trace of light in, even if it was just moonlight.

  I swallowed as I sat up and took another look around. I thought I picked out a table next to the bed, so I patted around on it until I found a lamp. It took some fumbling to find the switch, and when the light flared, it was pale yellow and piss-poor. I’d read that phrase, piss-poor, in one of the books Isabella had loaned me and never had it seemed more accurate.

  It didn’t quite penetrate the shadows of the room, but it was definitely better than that stifling darkness.

  I was in a small room, one that resembled the dorms I’d lived in for several years before Galina started taking me home with her.

  There was little furniture to be had—a dresser tucked up against the wall, one uncomfortable looking armchair and then the bed I now sat upon. The bed, surprisingly, was quite comfortable and I was tired enough that, were I not scared to death and confused, I might have laid back down.

  That wasn’t going to happen now though.

  Nerves had my hands going damp and sweaty, and before the panic building inside me could take root, I stood up and began to study the room in closer detail.

  I had no idea where I was.