Fernando smiled. “Anyone who ransoms me is bound to be disappointed. My father’s wife holds the purse strings, and she despises me. She would consider my disappearance a blessing. Maybe she even half-hoped for it in sending me here.”

Of course, Juan Francisco’s pride would never suffer such a slight as to have his favored son kidnapped by backcountry lowlifes. The senator might not be a cartel man, but like any man of means in this country he had his dealings. This small-time mafioso would find himself strung up by his entrails in short order. Fernando didn’t wish for this to come to pass—not out of regard for Mondragón so much as his desire to avoid Juan Francisco’s interference in his affairs.

The patrón gave him a fatherly frown. “You mistake me, Fernando. I mean you no harm. I am merely curious to get the measure of you, as I would be of any man who handles my money—with or without my consent to do so.”

A bit of steel underscored this last remark. Fernando inclined his head.

“I would have preferred never to have touched your money, señor. I did so only out of necessity, to salvage this enterprise and save face for the man who hired me on when I had nothing but my word to recommend me. I’ve managed your funds as prudently as if they’d been entrusted to me directly. As if they were my own.”

The patrón nodded back to him. “Had you not,” he said with icy civility, “we would not be having this conversation now.” His air of fatherly amiability returned. “I bear you no ill will, Fernando. Quite the contrary. I am impressed with you. You have impressed me. Meeting you now has impressed me all the more. You have the bearing of a man well past your years. There is a certain mettle in you,” he said knowingly, “which I flatter myself to have a knack for spotting in a man. May I confess a bit of truth to you now?”

Fernando said nothing. Taking his beat of silence for invitation, the patrón proceeded.

“I had every expectation that this venture would fail. Your erstwhile jefe is my woman’s brother. I suspect you know as well as I do that he is dumber than a dog cunt. It was an act of selfish charity on my part, to place him in the role of overseer. I thought, Cortez? Well, who gives a fuck about anything there. But now that I am here, I find myself pleased to stand corrected.” Pausing significantly, he fixed Fernando with his golden stare. “Come and work for me.”

Fernando might have pointed out that he was already working for him. But instead what he said was, “I like working here.”

“The work here is nearly at an end.”

“Even so, I would like to see it through.”

“Very well,” the patrón said, steepling his hands together as he sat back in his chair, “then after this you will come to Saguero—”

“No,” Fernando said. “My friends and relatives are here. My grandmother is here. She’s old and half-mad, and I will not leave her. My place is here, in Cortez.”

The patrón was silent, circumspect. Though his gaze had chilled at Fernando’s refusal, after a moment he gave a gracious wave.

“Your talents are wasted in this place, joven. But if you insist, then so be it. Such loyalty is to be respected, irksome though it may be. Since you are established here, run this new establishment for me once it opens. Keep your trusted men on with you if you wish. Tend to your dear grandmother, and then in time we will see.”

Fernando nodded. So they would.

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La Gorgona © CS Dark Fantasy