Chapter Seventeen

*Scum*

The sound of fists slamming into leather echoed through the training hall. Harry moved with the kind of controlled violence that made people forget he was still human. Sweat slicked his bare arms, his black singlet clinging to his frame as he drove another brutal hook into the hanging bag. It jerked sideways, rebounding like it had dared to fight back.

Reinzi and Holman stood a few feet away, leaning against the padded wall. Neither spoke. They knew better. Harry's hoodie was abandoned somewhere on the floor and the look in his eyes made it clear — he wasn't training, he was bleeding something out. Maybe rage. Maybe restraint.

Another punch. Then another. His knuckles cracked beneath the wraps.

Holman shifted uneasily. "Should we say something?"

"No, fool," Reinzi muttered. "I thought you're keeping your mouth shut. Keep on that lane."

Harry swivelled, slammed an uppercut into the bag that made the chains creak. His jaw was tight and every muscle in his body coiled with the same force he'd held in that basement — the same fury he hadn't let loose on Mateo.

He exhaled sharply and rolled his shoulders back. "The statement I drafted?" he asked, voice low but cutting.

Reinzi straightened. "He's going through it as we speak. Everything is being prepped. We're keeping it clean. GPS data will link it to Jonas's account once it's released. Waiting for further directives from you before we move out, Capo." 

Harry's eyes stayed on the bag. "Once the video is public, I want eyes on him round the clock."

Then he jabbed again — sharp, clean and final — and then he pulled off the bag gloves. Reinzi stepped forward immediately, a sweat towel in his hands. Harry took it with a nod of acknowledgement and made a quick work of drying the sweat off his body.

"Someone is going to come for him, the one who put Jonas up to this," He continued. "I want a face. A name. Or a live body."

"Roger that, Boss." 

"Prep the papers for Venezuela — passport, ID. Use the new kid's name, clean slate. Make Duarte think it's his way out."

"Torres?" Holman cut in. 

Harry's gaze cut to him. "Got a problem with that?" 

"No. I—um, I thought you liked him? Are you going to throw him under the bus with that Duarte guy?" 

Reinzi rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. Harry stood slowly, stalked towards Holman, who backed into the wall but meets his gaze regardless. Harry tapped the side of Holman's head, "Think more than you speak, Holman. Why would I throw MY MAN under the bus for filth." 

"But you just—" 

"Torres is the only one among us who doesn't have papers to Venezuela, Man," Reinzi interrupted, his exasperation evident in his voice. "It's like killing two birds with one stone — get him his papers and delude Duarte." 

Holman's jaw dropped. "Oh." 

Harry sighed. "Get moving, Rein. Let Xan know I need an update on that shipment." 

"Sure boss." Reinzi and Holman made for the double door that led into the training hall but Harry's voice stopped them in their tracks. 

"Rein?" 

They turned. "Boss."

"If he isn't dead by the time whoever shows up leaves—" Harry gave Reinzi a glance, sharp as a blade. Reinzi didn't need words, he understood what he had to do. "Make sure no one will miss him."

"Comprendo." 

"His cold efficiency still gives me chills," Holman whispered as they made for the door again. Reinzi gave him a look that silenced him. Just as they got to the door, it pushed open and Xander rushed in, Luca right behind him. Reinzi paused, sensing an urgency. 

"Harry," Xander called, getting his attention. "The shipment is gone." 

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What shipment?" 

"The drug shipment from Venezuela!" Xander ran a hand down his face. "Truck was due to leave for Rotterdam tonight. One hour before schedule, it vanished. No trace." 

Harry stood so still they wondered if he was breathing. Xander took a step away from him. He was the one placed in charge of the drugs and knew the gravity of the situation they were plunged in. Sensing his panic, Luca stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, Xan. We can—"

Xander gave a sharp shake of his head, signaling Luca not to complete that sentence just as Harry's eyes snapped to them and leveled on Luca. 

"That shipment was bound for Alonso Marquez, the old lion of Mérida," he ground out." 

Luca frowned. The name wasn't familiar. He had joined Harry's team from Venezuela not too long ago and didn't know their clients as well as Harry or Xander did. 

"You don't fuck with a man like that. Not if you want your body found with teeth intact," Reinzi, who had stayed back, added. 

Xander moved Luca behind him, shielding him as Harry's stormy gaze stayed on him. Harry's scoffed at the gesture. "You fucking think *you* can stop me if I wanted to hurt him?"

"I was the one that lost the shipment," Xander pointed out. "Leave him out of this."

"Wrong move," Reinzi muttered under his breath. 

Harry's eyes steeled. "Your lips are swollen. Your clothes dishelved and you forgot to zip up. I know just *what* you two were up to while that truck was being trolled away."

Luca flushed a deep red, his head lowering while Xander hurried to zip up his pants. Xander exhaled heavily. "I didn't —"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustration building in him as he spoke. "Jesus. What were you fucking thinking? If we don't freaking recover that truck, I'm not the one he'll want to speak with — the DON is. And you know just as much as I do that we don't want that call happening, which is exactly why I put you in charge. Someone who fucking understood the stakes!"

"I wasn't thinking—"

"You fucking were. You were just doing the thinking with your freaking third leg!" 

Harry turned and kicked at the bench just behind him. Reinzi winced and Luca jumped, grasping tightly onto Xander's shoulders. 

*Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I should've freaking handled this myself. How did fuck did they get through the security in the warehouse? And left undetected? CCTV!*

Harry whirled around. "Did you check the surveillance cameras?" 

The door pushed open before Xander could answer and Newbie — Torres— hurried in, breathing heavily. He raised the iPad in his hands. "I—I restored the CCTV data."

Xander physically relaxed. "They introduced a bug that shut off the—" 

Harry wasn't listening. He snatched the iPad from Torres without a word. The screen showed grainy footage — a side-angle feed from the warehouse's loading dock. The time stamp flickered. Figures moved in and out like shadows, faces obscured by caps and masks. But Harry wasn't looking at faces, he already knew it would be covered. 

He was looking at movement, rhythm, precision. Searching. 

One of the men stood slightly apart from the others, giving silent hand signals, coordinating the loading of crates into a truck that wasn't theirs. Harry paused the video and zoomed in. The angle was poor but he could still make out the glint of something beneath the man's rolled-up sleeve.

His jaw locked. A tattoo.

Not just any tattoo — a snake wrapped around a blade, inked in a style Harry would never forget. He'd seen it too many times during training drills in Venezuela. Only one person wore it on their right forearm, instead of the traditional left.

 *Félix Vega.*

A loyal soldier under Vlad, the Don's son. Harry's knuckles whitened around the iPad. He hit play again and watched as Félix gave the final nod, then climbed into the driver's seat of the stolen truck like he owned it.

Harry stared at the iPad even after the screen went blank. The other guys all exchanged glances, wondering what was wrong. Torres opened him mouth to speak but Xander shook his head, silently telling him to back off. Reinzi grabbed a hold of him and drew his back. "Read the room before you speak kid," he admonished quietly. 

Vlad Del Cárdenas.

The name resounded in Harry's head hauntingly. They had met in the juvenile detention center. Vlad had been sent there for a crime Harry didn't know till date. He was a little crazy and Harry himself had been out of it too —fighting, standing up to the juvenile officers and sneaking out of the center.

They had clicked. 

And Vlad had saved his ass because he was on the verge of being sent to adult prison for his assault on a guard, who was beating another inmate and for breaking three ribs while doing it. Vlad had spent just six months in the detention center despite receiving a sentence of three years and had promised to get him out. Harry had thought he was bluffing, a promise made to soothe a friend that was being left behind.

Except he had pulled through.

Not only had he gotten him out of there, he had his probation time cancelled and flew him to Venezuela.

Harry had joined the organization after doing a hit job to prove his worth. He and Vlad had become close — training, going on missions and watching each other's back. They were brothers 

Until they weren't. 

Vlad had wanted him to stay under him, work with him. The Don had another idea. Over the years, Harry's intelligence, fighting skills, instincts and insights had impressed him. He started comparing them — him and Vlad. That was the first sword wedged between them.

When it came time to name an underboss, the Don made it a competition: whoever secured the international markets would earn the title. Knowing fully well that Harry wouldn't participate if he knew the price, the Don had told him he was giving him an opportunity to expand the organization and stay close to his family in Spain. 

So, he had taken up the challenge, delivered and became the organization's youngest underboss. Before Vlad. That had been the last straw. Nothing he said mattered, from then on, they were enemies. 

He had a great relationship with the Don—he respected and maybe even adored him. Rumors spread through the organization: the Don wanted Harry to be his heir.That only deepened the rift with Vlad

.

He didn't want the seat. Even if he did, he would rather build an empire of his own than take what belonged to Vlad. 

But of course, Vlad didn't know that. Nor would he believe it. 

He still remembered the Don's words, said in that rich, unreadable voice: "Let's see who brings me a kingdom first."

Vlad had smiled like it was a challenge. Harry had nodded like it was an opportunity. Neither of them knew it was the beginning of war — one that had always had him on the defensive and Vlad on the offensive. He owed him too much to sabotage him. 

It had been so long since Vlad had tried to sabotage him, he had thought that phase over. *This*. This he was not going to ignore. 

Harry. 

Harry. 

Harry. 

He frowned. 

A hand wrapped around his wrist, jolting him out of the memory lane he was trapped in. He snapped out of it to find four pairs of eyes looking at him with mirror expressions — worry and curiosity. Xander's grip on his wrist tightened, bringing his attention to him. 

Of course. He was the one that would've the guts to reach out, despite already being in his bad book. Him and Xander went far back also. Except far back to when he had just joined the organization, they had joined together. 

"What is it?" Xander asked. 

Harry shrugged his hands off and turned to Rienzi. "Where is Holman?" 

"I sent him off with instructions on how to handle Duarte," Rienzi answered. "Something seemed wrong and I was right." 

Harry sighed, ran a hand down his face. "Prepare the Jet for Venezuela, Rein. I'll handle this myself." 

It had been two years since he stepped foot in Venezuela. That streak was about to break.