Mateo lit a cigar and leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on his knees and allowing fatigue to settle over him like a cloak. He was tired, but it was a good kind of tired. It'd been a long two years. Mateo acted as second-in-command, enforcer, and diplomat to the Butcher, Isaac Sotza; flying around the world, using the might of the Venezuelan cartel to convince both friends and competitors that they needed to work with the Butcher instead of against him.

Mateo had also taken on a special project, one that was personal to Sotza. Something that he only entrusted Mateo to complete. Hunting the Mexican cartel boss, Nicolás Garza. Mateo looked down at the bloody heap that used to be Nico Garza. After several long seconds, the mess of bones and gore that used to be his chest lifted and dropped. Garza was still alive.

Good. Mateo wasn't quite done with him yet. He had strict orders from Sotza to prolong the suffering. This man had shot the Butcher's wife. Though it was only her arm, and she'd recovered in a matter of days, it didn't matter. In this world, the underworld, such insults couldn't be allowed to pass unchallenged.

Mateo was impressed with Garza. Impressed with his ability to run and hide. It had taken twenty-three months for Mateo to finally hunt him to ground. And disappointingly, Garza's second-in-command and lover, Desiree, wasn't with him. Maybe Garza knew Mateo was closing in and hid her somewhere, drawing Mateo's focus onto himself to protect her. It was a noble attempt, but ultimately useless. Mateo would find her too and finish the woman who helped try to bring down the Venezuelan cartel. Despite his dislike of killing women, Mateo would do his job.

Nico let out a moan. Or maybe it was more of a gurgle since he didn't have any teeth or a tongue.

"Are you waking up?" Mateo asked in surprise.

Garza had more stamina than Mateo had given him credit for. Not that Mateo minded, he liked playing before the kill. It was something he had in common with his boss. It helped ease the ever-lurking darkness staining his soul. Death and suffering grounded him in a way nothing else could.

Nothing else except a pair of sharp blue eyes attached to the only woman that he'd ever looked at twice. She consumed his thoughts. She was his perfection, though she was far from perfect. Her quick wit, her barbed tongue, her fiery temper. It all belonged to him. Raina would be his prize for completing this mission. Sotza had promised and the Butcher didn't break his promises. He agreed to give Mateo two things if Mateo took out Sotza's enemy; his stepdaughter and the American east coast.

Now, Mateo was ready to collect.

He bent over and pressed his lit cigar into Garza's now empty eye socket, putting it out. God forbid he start a fire and be forced to leave before his job was completely done. He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen into camera mode. He pointed it at the dying man, "Smile, Garza." He took several shots and sent them to his boss. He'd get rid of the phone with the evidence once he was finished.

He stood, stretched his back and cracked his knuckles before reaching into his pocket for the gloves he wore when he worked. He stared down, not a flicker of emotion over what he was doing except for a sense of satisfaction over a job well done. He'd managed to keep Garza alive for five days of torture. If he was at home, at the compound, in the 'shed' as they called the building where they detained prisoners, he'd be able to keep Garza alive for weeks.

As it was, Mateo would have to finish up soon. He was hearing some concerning gossip coming out of Italy, Raina's current country of residence. He needed to get to her, extract her from whatever the hell she'd managed to get herself into and then take her home. Not to Venezuela, but to Miami. Their new home.

"Okay, Garza," Mateo announced. "Let's finish this."

Since Garza was close to the end, Mateo decided it was time for his signature. He picked up a pair of garden shears he'd set aside on the table and bent to his prey. Gently he picked up Garza's mangled hand and worked the shears between his fingers. He snipped Garza's trigger finger off and tossed it onto the table. The other man didn't say anything, but his gurgled screams spoke eloquently.