Man Like Mateo Thunder

Chapter 7

The underground arena ran on violence and desperation. Thousands of spectators packed the concrete tiers, pressed against the chain-link that kept them from the cage. The air tasted of blood, spilled beer, and cheap cigars.

Halogen lights cut through the haze onto two heavyweights tearing into each other with bare knuckles, and every time bone met bone, the roar shook the pillars holding up the ceiling.

The VIP balcony hung above it all behind a waist-high wall of ballistic glass, open above the rail to the noise and the smoke. Leather booths, imported liquor, velvet ropes. Down on the canvas, men bled to pay off gambling debts. Up here, men traded lives and companies over vintage champagne.

Rodrigo stood at the mahogany railing, watching the cage the way a child watches insects fight in a jar. Slate-grey silk suit, a gold chain at his open collar. Syndicate bosses and lieutenants crowded his booth, laughing before he reached his punchlines. Nobody wanted to be the last to please Victor's godson.

"I had the municipal logistics contract folded into my company before the ink dried on the city council's desk," Rodrigo said, loud enough for the booth behind him. He sipped from his flute. "The local regulators looked the other way. The federal ones took their cut. Every shipping crate, every loading dock, every truck that crosses the district line pays a toll into my accounts. A handful of phone calls and a few briefcases of cash. That's what a monopoly costs."

"And the woman who won it?" one of the lieutenants asked. "I heard she fought."

"She fought." Rodrigo smiled into his glass. "Then the evening news explained to the city what kind of woman she is. By tomorrow nobody will remember she ever held it."

Glasses rose. Rodrigo drained his, turned from the pit, and looked to the darkest corner of the booth.

Sofia sat against the cushions, pale, twenty-four hours past exhaustion. Julian had called an hour after Mateo left for his shift. An emergency family meeting, he'd said. He had a plan to save her career and keep their name out of the papers. He had sworn it. Then he had walked her down the stairs and handed her to the men who ruined her.

"Sofia, thank God," he had said on the phone. "Are you alone?"

"Mateo's at work."

"Good. Listen. I've been making calls all evening. I know people at the network. I can make this story go away, but I need you in person, tonight, before the morning editions."

"Mateo told me to stay in."

"Mateo." A pause. "Sofia, with love, Mateo is the reason any of us are in this. Come to the arena. Side entrance. Twenty minutes."

She had gone. That was the part she would not forgive herself for. He was her brother, and she had gone.

She had known on the stairs. The guards had not searched her, which meant she was expected. Julian's hand had been too firm on her elbow, and he had not once looked at her face.

"Where's the meeting?" she had asked him.

"Upstairs. Don't make a scene. Just listen to what they have to say."

"They. You said family."

"Victor is practically family now." He had tried to laugh. "He holds enough of our paper."

Rodrigo crossed to her and tipped his glass in her direction.

"You thought you could go around me, Sofia?" He was smiling. "Three months hiding your work. Bleeding over those ledgers. Building it all behind my back like a rat in the walls. And for what? I took it in hours. The contract belongs to my shell company now. You own nothing. Disgraced, unemployed, and you never even saw the board you were playing on."

"I won that review," Sofia said to the carpet. Her voice was low, but it did not shake. "Seven firms bid. Mine scored highest on every measure. You didn't beat me, Rodrigo. You sent four men with knives."

A few of the lieutenants shifted. Rodrigo's smile stayed where it was.

"And yet here I am with the contract, and here you are with a bruise. Tell me again who scored highest."

Sofia kept her eyes on the carpet under the glass table. Her jaw ached from clenching. She would not cry in front of them. Her cheek still throbbed from the night before, and the cancellation sat on her chest until each breath had to be forced.

Victor filled the center of the booth, rolling a Cuban cigar between ringed fingers. He blew smoke at the low ceiling.

"You overreached, little girl." He leaned forward, forearms on his knees, his gold watch catching the light. "You wanted to play savior for that spineless accountant you married. You thought ambition could beat me. Now you sit in my arena, bankrupt."

He pointed a thick finger at the glass, toward the arena floor.

"Look down there. Look at him." His voice dropped to gravel. "He scrubs blood off my concrete. He wears rags. He takes orders from my thugs. He gave up his dignity to pay for your family's mistakes. You built this trap yourself, and you pulled him into it with you."

"He did nothing to you," she said. "That debt is paid every night he walks in here. Leave him out of it."

"Leave him out?" Victor smiled around the cigar. "Little girl, he is the only reason you are still worth talking to."

Beside Victor, Julian swirled whiskey in a rocks glass. He did not look at his sister until he had taken a drink.

"You did this to us, Sofia." He said it too loudly, one eye on Victor. "Your career, our name, all of it. The news is already calling us criminals. Nobody is taking my calls. You cut every line we had, and now you sit there sulking."

Sofia's head came up.

She had shielded him her whole life. She had taken the blame for his failures and covered his gambling debts. She had watched her husband give up his freedom to keep Julian out of a shallow grave. And here he sat, drinking their liquor.

"Julian," she said. "I paid your debts."

He flinched. Then he glanced at Victor, and his face closed.

"So pay this one." His voice went flat. "Stop playing the victim. Get on your knees, crawl into Victor's bed, and beg."

The words hit her like a blow to the chest. She searched his face for remorse, for any sign that this was a play to buy them time. There was none.

"Entertain him properly tonight," Julian said, leaning toward her, "and maybe he clears it. Maybe he forgives the millions. Be useful for once. Sell yourself and pay the toll."

The men roared. Sofia did not move. The laughter, the crowd, the fight below all went quiet in her ears.

Far beneath the glass, Mateo had stopped scrubbing. He was looking up.