**Efrain

“So… you’re saying he just came in and took her,” I said, narrowing my eyes on Frank Russo, who was sitting on the other side of his desk.

Russo shrugged, examining the items I kept in my office. “I wasn’t about to fight him for her. She’s your bitch, not mine.”

Catalina was my bitch. MY bitch, not Mateo’s. I thought I’d made that perfectly clear at The Pound. Well, I’d tried to, anyway. Whatever supersoldiers Mateo had brought ...