But then something happened. Something that McBride couldn�t fix, couldn�t shield him from. When the axe fell, it fell clean, as it always did. And Quinton�out of guilt�had flown to Brazil to face Carlos in person, to explain what went wrong.
McBride hadn�t recovered from that loss. Not really. But he understood the rules. The syndicate wasn�t a brotherhood; it was a machine. And machines have no mercy for the parts that fail. Quinton had crossed a line. For that, there was only one sentence�and it had been carried out without hesitation.
For Lesley, it had always been a closed case. He was the one who had urged Quinton to make the trip to Brazil, to stand before El Temido and plead his cause�a gesture dressed as hope but rooted in futility. Deep down, Lesley knew the truth: there was no redemption waiting on the other side of that flight.
Losing a million dollars of cartel money wasn�t a mistake; it was a death sentence. And not just for the man who slipped�it could swallow his entire bloodline.
When McBride confided that Quinton had been dipping into the syndicate�s funds for years, borrowing to gamble on Congo�s mining deals and currency trades, Lesley hadn�t flinched. He understood the rhythm of such plays. Quinton had always returned the money before, clean and without a hitch. But this time was different. This time, the market had bitten back. One misstep, one miscalculation�and the abyss opened.
Lesley had looked McBride in the eye and said the only truth that mattered: Your friend has already dug his grave.
So no�Lesley harboured no illusions, no guilt. The elimination of Quinton didn�t trouble him in the slightest. The only thing that gnawed at him was the vacuum it left behind. Quinton had been a rare piece in a ruthless game. And pieces like that were hard to replace.
For a heartbeat, silence claimed the room�a pause that felt almost ceremonial, as if the ghosts of Quinton�s failure lingered long enough to demand acknowledgment. Then Carlos broke it, his voice sliding through the stillness with unnerving casualness.
�Oh,� he said lightly, as if plucking a thought from nowhere. �Just remembered� have you secured the missing laptop?�
The question landed like a blade sheathed in velvet, his tone carrying the effortless certainty of a man who expected nothing but affirmation.