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“Perhaps we can come to an understanding.”
    “Just give me a chance, Lito, eh? I promise to take good care of the Hernandez branch and Maria.”  Which probably meant he’d treat her just a little better than the dozens of girls he perpetually abused both sexually and emotionally.  “Don’t worry, I won’t let you down.”
    Lito was silent for a minute.  Then he shrugged his shoulders. 
    “Well, now that you put it that way...”
    A triumphant smile lit Alfonso’s beaten face. 
    “Yes?”
    “Give me a minute to consider your...proposal.”
    The sun painted the sky amber as it sank over the horizon at Imperial Beach.  Between the Venetian blinds, slats of dying light cut through the dust of the dimming office.  The only sounds were the ticking of an antique grandfather clock and Maria’s soft weeping outside—so naive, so foolish.  That was why Lito had to protect her.
    This was not the life Mama had envisioned for any of them, especially baby Maria.  But it was Papi, the infamous Victor Guzman—by whose side Mama stood until her own untimely death—who had brought this upon the Guzman family.  Lito could still hear his raspy dying voice: No use crying over fate.   Blessed or cursed, you accept the hand you are dealt, and you fight!
    Then came the memories of all the good times he and Alfonso had shared since childhood, Lito only twelve and Alfonso seventeen when they first met.  But thanks to his size and ferocity Alfonso had already been in security training, part of the family for all intents and purposes.
    A twinge in Lito’s chest clipped his reverie short.  He patted his old bodyguard’s face gently and smiled. 
    “Thank you for all your service to our family, Alfonso.”
    “Wait! Where are you going? WAIT!”
    He walked to the door, opened it, and with a nod to his lieutenants, shut it behind him.  
    “Lito, no!” 
    Out in the hallway, he heard Alfonso’s panicked cries. Maria pulled free from Eduardo and ran over with tears streaming down her cheeks.  “ Ay dios mio !”
    Before she could say another word, two loud pops exploded behind the door.
    Twice, Maria flinched.
    Twice, she gasped.
    “Maria.” He kissed the top of her head—a sweet jasmine fragrance rose from her hair.  “One day, you will understand,” he said gently.  “You may even forgive me.”
     

7
     
     
    THE JOURNEY ACROSS THE PACIFIC was worse than he had imagined.  He’d agreed to this job thinking, what was the big deal?  Air or sea, cargo is cargo, right?  But now, after four weeks of mid-ocean ship transfers in the middle of the night, dodging international patrols, Yuri Kosolupov had to face the irony that he might die from sea sickness.
    Hanging his head over the gunwale to heave what little of his lunch he had kept down, Yuri comforted himself with the thought of his wages for this “simple” operation—20 million euros for gathering up components from various locations (an abandoned warehouse in Volhynia, Ukraine, the back alley of an electronics component factory in Pyongyang) and transporting the entire package to the States via the Mexican Border.  Five million of it was already in his account in Zurich as a retainer, the rest to be paid upon delivery.
    And now, after all the trains, the armada of ships he and his precious cargo had transferred from countless times, he felt like he was going to die on this miserable fishing boat off the coast of Ensenada.
    The sky turned a shade of green that probably matched his complexion.  As a dark veil obscured the sun, the air turned frigid with threatening winds that agitated the waves.
    Just what I need now.
    “Hey, Yuri!”  Tom Jonas, the boat’s captain, came over and slapped him on the back.  “Feeding the fish again?”
    Yuri wiped his mouth. 
    The ship started to pitch, and his stomach clenched again.  A distant howling announced the impending storm.
    “How much longer?” Yuri asked.
    “You’re going to want to get below