“He’s young,” Guillermo tells me. “Nineteen, I think.”
“Won’t stop me from killing him, too.”
“He bought new guns from me just last week,” Guillermo tells me. “It was like he was preparing for something.”
“How many men does he have?”
“I’m not sure. Ten, maybe fifteen. I recognized only two of them,” he says. “The others were new.”
“Which means he’s hired them,” I conclude. “So he is scared. At least he’s not stupid.”
“Amigo, no offense, but are you?”
I laugh. “No, I’m not stupid. I am Bratva.”
Guillermo’s face goes bone-white with fear.
He knows that word. Enough to be afraid of it. He’s smarter than I gave him credit for, it seems.
I straighten up and look out towards the farmhouse where both boys are now jumping off the porch in turns.
Innocent and fearless. Too young to be as
