"We're pulling into the parking lot. Where are you?" Ikeno gestured toward the lobby building where the main entrance was, and Rémy parked in the nearest slot, cutting the engine. "We're coming in."

Ana met them in the lobby with a tall, dark-skinned man at her elbow. She was noticeably pale beneath her golden skin, her fingers trembling slightly.

"Ikeno, thank you so much for-"

"Can we skip the pleasantries?" The big man interrupted, his hazel eyes cold. Rémy studied him silently, taking in the quality of his suit, the way it was tailored to him, all the way down to the subtle shine of polish on his shoes. Deciding to let Sousa handle it, he shifted slightly in relaxation, a move the man's sharp gaze noted. Ikeno glanced at him.

"Who is this, Ana?"

"That's not important-"

"If you want my help," the big man was cut off gently, a faint razor's edge to Sousa's normally smooth voice. "You'll tell me who you are, and how you're involved in this."

"My name is Byron Evans. I travel for work and Colombia is a frequent destination. It's a cut-throat business I'm in, so along the course of my tenure, I've rubbed a few people the wrong way. It's created problematic situations that occasionally make it hard for me to conduct my business. This is one of those situations."

Ikeno's gaze never left his face. The space of a few heartbeats passed where no one moved then flat, coffee-colored eyes shifted to Ana.

"Where are the computers?"

"Here," relieved, she turned, beginning to point before slapping her hand down as a woman with a stiff expression and a hotel uniform stepped off the elevator. Supervisor was written on her nametag above Esteffi García. Her dour expression deepened upon seeing Ana and the entourage.

"What is going on here? Ana, you're not scheduled to work today."

"I came in because Celeste didn't show," Ana impressively managed a smile. "The shift manager called me."

"I didn't authorize that," waspish, the woman lifted her chin. "Next time, check in with me before you make your own work schedule."

"It wasn't-"

"I approve the pay for every shift each employee works," Señora García moved forward, accustomed to her position buying her the respect of her subordinates. "Unless you clear extra shifts with me, I won't submit your time to the payroll department. I run an efficient hotel, not a free-for-all all."

"Yes ma'am." Ana forced an appropriately humble expression, meekly lowering her gaze.

"Now, who're all these people? You know the hotel policy. Only employees are allowed past the front desk into the back rooms. I'm afraid whoever you all are, you'll have to step back into the guest area."

"Let me explain-"

"Now, Ana." A sharp, no-nonsense gaze shut her up. "I will call for security to escort them from the premises unless they are guests staying here."

Rémy moved before Señora García finished speaking, his hands stabbing forward in blunt, chopping motions at her throat and chest. With a gagging wheeze, the hotel day supervisor toppled forward. Catching her, Rémy glanced impatiently at the motionless party.

"Can we get this done before anyone else shows up?" Feeling eyes on him he looked over at the man calling himself Byron Evans. Hazel points were coolly measuring. They held a stiff staring contest for an instant.

"Bring her in here," Ana quickly led them toward the room but Rémy stopped her from swiping her hotel badge to unlock the door. Tugging the one free from the supervisor's pocket, he swiped it instead the light flicking from red to green. Evans used the fold of his jacket to open the door, waving them all through. Inside, Rémy propped the limp woman in a corner as Ana started toward the wall of computers.

"Ikeno, we really have no time. Please, can you do it?"

"Here," taking out several pairs of latex gloves, Sousa passed them around. "Try not to touch anything even with the gloves."

"Why do you have these?" Evans asked, dark features crinkled in skepticism. Ikeno looked at him.

"Why am I helping you?"

"Touché."

Easing into the seat facing the numerous screens, tapping a few keys, moving the mouse around, Ikeno took a moment to recognize the system. The images flicked and changed in rapid succession.

"It's a basic reservation program, low-grade firewall. Give me the credentials I'm looking for."

An ID was put on the table, along with the credit card that had been used. With a practiced eye, Sousa noted all the pertinent information and got to work. Within a few minutes, the reservation was gone, along with all trace of it being in the system. Deciding it would be best to leave the premises for a while, they followed Ana to the back door, pausing in the shade of an overhang where they all tugged off their gloves, stuffing them into various pockets. The spot was hidden from the security camera.

"Thank you, Ikeno," Ana's gratitude was sincere despite the worry shadowing her features. "You have no idea what this means,"

"Don't thank me yet," coffee eyes were kind but firm. "I don't work for free, and I don't work blind."

"Later, please. We still have some things to take care of, and my supervisor will wake up at some point and I'll have to-"

"Sorry, I think you misunderstood my actions." Rémy interrupted quietly, his blue orbs flicking to each of them in turn. "She's not unconscious."

Ana paled, swaying as her knees buckled slightly. The man calling himself Evans caught her gently, a familiar arm going around her waist. Dark eyes went from Ikeno to Rémy in growing horror.

"What...what are you saying?"

"She's dead." Rémy shrugged carelessly, glancing at Ikeno. "Sorry, it's just how I handle things."

Sousa allowed a slight smile, mostly undisturbed. The family tree that included Ana and her husband wasn't exactly the top tier of law-abiding citizens. Blood was just another form of payment, and that was hardly the first dead body left in a closed room.

"A trail of bodies I didn't need, so I'll thank you to not help anymore," Evans snapped, but Rémy was unfazed.

"A trail means more than one," arching a brow, the French mobster crossed his arms, moving to stand clear of Ikeno. "Is that what you're hiding? Another dead body?"

"What?" Ikeno looked between the three of them in growing unease. "Ana, what's going on? Who is he?"

"You saw the passport-"

"You know I can tell the difference. Who is he really."

"Now isn't the time,"

"This is a family matter." Sousa cut off Evans sharply, features hardening. "There is so much more at stake here than you could possibly understand. If you're involved in anything illegal, this is the worst possible family to antagonize. Ana's married to a man that makes people disappear every week."

"Is that a threat?"

"Back off." Rémy moved forward, an ugly expression ghosting across his face. "That's a threat."

"Please," Ana grabbed Evans' arm, looking at him earnestly. "Don't cause trouble. This is bad enough already."

"We have to get back," Ikeno took Rémy's arm, lifting a sleek chin. "Everyone is expecting us, and if you're very smart, you'll think of a really convincing story to tell your husband as you follow us."

"I can't," shaking her head, Ana took a step back, clinging tighter to Evan's arm. "I wish I could explain to you, but... I just... can't."

"He'll kill you, Ana." Ikeno said it softly, expression softening. "You know he will."

"I can convince him not to, I just need time, that's all. A few days."

"Days?" Head shaking, stifling a sympathetic laugh, Ikeno tugged on Rémy's hand. "You'll be fortunate to have hours, Ana. Days are a luxury you won't be able to afford if you run."

"I'm sorry, I wouldn't have dragged you into this, but I had no one else to call, Ikeno,"

"Don't worry about that, of course I'd help you. We're family. But Ana... unless you make this right with my cousin, you can't call me for help again. This is a line in the sand."

"I understand," voice strained, Ana forced a tight smile as the two couples warily backed away from each other. "Thank you, Ikeno.

"Goodbye, Ana."

Once inside the car again, Rémy paused before starting the engine, sliding a sideways glance at Ikeno.

"That was fun. Are all your family get-togethers so stimulating?"

A knee-jerk reaction forced a laugh from Sousa, the smile wide and beautiful.

"You're sick, amado. That was bad. So, so, so incredibly bad."

"How much trouble are we in?" Starting the car, he shifted into drive, smoothly leaving the lot and hotel behind. "Honestly."

"Once my cousin finds out... It's going to get bloody."

"I brought the wrong shoes."

Snorting a laugh, Ikeno took one of Rémy's hands, leaving a tempting kiss against his palm.

Patagonia, South America

Tony was cursing fluently under his breath, the bitterly cold wind cutting straight through the wool jacket he wore. The map was proving to be useless, as the country was so rugged and remote that even the small circle of dried blood would take weeks to explore. No one he asked knew anything about a building or compound called Atar con alambre.

Lips chapped by the constant dry wind, they cracked painfully as he shouted into the phone to be heard above the noise.

"No luck yet! We're working it in a grid pattern!"

"I'm disappointed, Tony,"

"Boss, he has to be there! If Benji is out here in this, he's a corpse! He's at the warehouse, I can feel it! I just have to find it! Give me more time!"

"A week, Tony. Seven days. If you're not back...I will not be happy."

"A week!" His stomach dropped at the deadline, but Tony wouldn't dare say so. "It'll be done!"

The line clicked off in his ear and Tony shoved the phone into his pocket with numb fingers, teeth chattering. How did people survive in this weather? Nodding at the pilot he'd hired, he signaled for the plane to take off. Ivan sat next to him, fingers wrapped around the handle of a large silver .45 caliber revolver. The other three men were waiting in land vehicles so they could close in when Tony found their target.

The roar of the engine made conversation difficult even with the headphones. They were ancient and the static crackle was worse than annoying. It left him with little to do but stare out the window and remember.

'Ah tol' ya he'd wet himself,' Benji had laughed as they hustled from the backdoor of the liquor store. 'One look an' he was ready ta cry.'

'He gave us too much,' concerned, a much younger Tony had begun counting the bills. Benji shrugged, lighting a cigarette.

'Fa ya trouble.'

'Boss won't let me keep all this. There's a hundred extra in here.'

'It's ya bonus,' a turquoise eye glinted in mischief. 'Ah come from dere first.'

'Is that why you're banged up? What set him off this time? You're not fooling around with hookers on his dime again, are you?' A dark look from glowing liquid pools snapped his lips shut but Benji had begun to grin. It was a wickedly evil expression on his young, battered features. Pulling his jacket open, he tugged a sleeve off. Tony had yelped in surprise but was immediately laughing in stunned delight.

'A tat! You got a tat? You're not eighteen!'

'Money talks louda dan age. Cool, huh?'

'Holy crap! How big is it?'

Benji gestured the pattern that traced under his clothes, making Tony burn with jealousy. He wanted a tattoo but had to wait until he was older. Unlike Benji, he wouldn't dare cross Orzo Scarpetti.

'Why a snake?'

'Ta rememba,' taking a deep drag, Benji scuffed the tip of his sneaker on the pavement. The stub's red glow reflected in his eyes. 'Ah got tings I don' eva want ta faget.'

'Like what?' Curious, surprised to see anything but fierce apathy on his friend's face, Tony edged closer. 'Your parents or something? You told me your old man was no good, and your mom offed herself.'

'Yeah, ma folks,' blowing a long train of smoke, Benji leaned against the brick corner behind him. 'Bible tumpin', God-fearin', chuch-goin', self-righteous lias. Pretendin', hidin' what was really goin' on. Snakes in da grass.'

'Sounds like aces,' Tony had been frowning. 'Why you wanna remember them?'

'So Ah neva end up like dat.' Puffing softly, he looked at his friend square in the eyes. 'Ma old man was a drunk. Beat ma motha fa kicks 'til she passed out. No matta how bad it was dough, she'd always defend him. Pretend ever'ting was fine. Made me pretend too, til Ah couldn't no more.'

'He's the snake?'

'Was.'

'What about the flowers?'

Benji's upper lip had curled into a snarl of disgust, but the look in his eyes was pained. Looking away he'd mumbled the answer but Tony managed to catch it.

'She loved orchids.'

'Well, it's the coolest thing I've ever seen, no matter what it means, Benji. Nobody got ink that looks better than that.'

'So, the runt and the punk like tats,' the sneer came from the shadows behind the pair.

Benji had whipped around only to freeze as the streetlight put a soft glow on the metal of a gun barrel.

'Not so fast, punk.'

'This is Scarpetti territory, Axel-!'

'Shut it, runt, or I pop you both and toss you in the river for the fish.'

'Big talk," Benji muttered, shoulders hunched, hands loose at his sides. 'Dat all you gonna do?'

''Dat?'' The mocking tone came from a late teen with a shaved head, tattoos, and facial piercings. He stood behind Axel, his three buddies grinning behind him. 'Still haven't learned to talk right, huh punk?'

'Don' need words ta break ya face, Riki.' Shifting to face the group, his already muscular frame partially blocked Tony from sight. An instinctive move. Axel noticed though, his grin widening.

'I think we'll plug you both now, and let the cops find your rotting corpses in a dumpster. But first, the runt should get his own tattoo. Elbows' is a real artist. Does crazy work with a blade.'

Stepping forward, the gangster aptly named Elbows leered at the two boys, flicking his switchblade open. From the corner of his eye, Benji had seen how white Tony had gone, reading the sheer panic on his face. The threat didn't concern him much. That kind of thing was child's play in the darkness of the basement. Tony, though, Tony wouldn't make it through.

'Let him go.' Fingers spread, Benji had moved forward another step. 'Ya want ta pick on somebody, I'll take ya.'

'I've heard about you, punk." Axel stiffened a little, unconsciously intimidated by the teen's manner. 'Mad Dog, a real lunatic when it comes to pain. I heard you get off on it, sick little cracker.'

'Sca'ed?' The soft taunt fell like a brick, Axel's face turning red from anger. He didn't like being called out, especially by a Scarpetti mongrel! A sudden idea made him smile.

'Nah, Mad Dog, thinking. Runt doesn't want Elbows' work, fine, no problem. He can walk away.' The gun lifted, lining up with the neckline of Benji's tank top. 'You stay.'

'Tony,' he spoke without turning his head, shadows casting angular lines across his bruised face. 'Get outta here.'

'Benji, I can't-!'

'Ya got more important tings to do den worry about dese loosas. Go!'

'They'll kill you Benji. What am I gonna tell the boss?'

'Whateva ya want, so long as ya still breedin',' whipping around, he'd grabbed a fistful of Tony's shirt, roughly shoving him backwards off the sidewalk. 'Maybe Ah'll live, maybe not, but if ya stay, ya dead for sure. Get lost!'

Tony ran, his footsteps pattering into the alley across the street then fading away to silence. Axel chuckled as his friends formed a half-circle around Benji. The big teen dropped the butt of his smoke, rubbing it out with the toe of his sneaker.

'You might live, Mad Dog, I'll give you that, but I guarantee you'll wish you hadn't."

Tony hadn't run away. He'd crept back, staying deep in the shadows, hugging the rough bricks of the pawnshop wall. Heart pounding, sweat dripping in rivers down his back, he'd watched Elbows pat Benji down to check for weapons. Stomach rolling, he watched them jump in five-to-one.

Everything slowed down as Benji took them on single-handed, his street name on full display. Mad Dog. Even in his banged-up condition, he had the advantage until Elbows got in a lucky strike with the knife. It didn't take long after that, and Benji was limp on the pavement, covered in his own blood. Axel spat on him, giving him a final, vicious kick in the ribs before they'd run off into the night, laughing at their victory. Tony had waited, gaze fixed on Benji, but his friend wasn't moving. From where he hid, Tony couldn't see him breathing. Shooting a frightened look both ways up the street, he sprinted to Benji's side.

The sight made him want to throw up. Hands shaking, he'd tried to wipe away the blood but only ended up smearing it worse, staining his fingers and palms bright red. Growing more terrified and angrier by the second, he jerked around, seeing the shop owner they'd just collected from staring through the front window of his store. Lunging up, Tony bolted for the backdoor, getting there just in time to kick it open before the man could lock it.

'Phone!' He'd screamed angrily. 'Where is your phone!'

'I'm not getting involved, kid!'

'He's barely alive out there!' Hot tears burned Tony's eyes. 'He did it for me! He took it for me, and I let him! Let me use your phone!'

Scarpetti answered on the first ring and arrived in person six minutes later, two of his lieutenants peeling Benji's bloodied body from the concrete. As he was being put in the backseat of the massive Escalade, the mafia don had stared hard at Tony, demanding answers.

'It was the Brawlers, Boss.' A truth, followed by a lie. 'Ten of Mickey's boys. They jumped us, started talking big, you know how it is.'

'How did you get off without a scratch?'

'Benji made me run.' Another truth, before he stretched it with a second lie. 'Told me I had to get clear because I was carrying your money. He said that was more important than skin.'

'They did this to him?'

'Yeah.' He went all out on the lie, desperate to spare them both Orzo's fury. 'Benji said if they let me go and didn't cause any more trouble in our territory, he wouldn't fight back. Said they weren't tough enough to finish him anyway.'

'Cocky little punk,' Scarpetti couldn't help but smile at that, impressed with his creation. 'He was right. Do you still have the collection money?'

'Yes.'

'Good. Take a few bills out and get yourself to Doc Pharley's. Tell him I need him yesterday and he better not be late. Show him the money, but don't give it to him until he steps inside the clan house.'

'Yes Boss.'

As they readied to leave, Scarpetti took his men inside the liquor store to make certain the shopkeeper knew he better not say anything about what he'd seen. Tony had cautiously gone to the open backdoor of the Cadillac. Benji was limp against the cushions, breath rattling like stones in his chest, looking more dead than alive. When Tony's shadow blocked the streetlight though, he cracked a swollen eye open.

'Ya such a lia, Tony...' the rasp was faintly amused. 'He'll skin ya if he finds out,'

'Then he better not find out.' Tony had held out his fist, caked with Benji's blood. After a moment, cracked lips moved in a weak grin, Benji tried to lift his arm but not quite able to. So Tony had gently wrapped his fingers around Benji's wrist, looking him dead in the eye.

'Blood pact,' they'd murmured in unison. 'Keep it 'til death.'

'Thanks, Benji,' he'd added with more tears in his eyes. 'I owe you big.'

Bloodshot turquoise orbs had held his, glistening with moisture but Benji hadn't said anything. He'd just stared at Tony until Scarpetti came out wiping blood off his gloves, getting behind the wheel.

Watching the big vehicle speed off, the young gangster felt both freed and chained at the same time. He and Benji were solid now, brothers through a blood pact, but, he'd lied to his boss. Every move from now on would have to be made with that in mind.