I was opening a new chapter in my life. I was going to search for my place in the world, because New York was no longer it. Suddenly, it felt unfamiliar and completely mismatched with my vision. I needed more than sitting behind a desk. My training with Calloway hadn’t been wasted. I intended to use it in my future position in the Criminal Department. Yes, that hint of adrenaline definitely reminded me that I was alive.
“Maybe I should call Elijah, just in case,” Carter’s voice—my superior—reached me as soon as I pushed open the office door.
“You’re throwing her to the sharks and planning to inform her father?” another man said mockingly.
“You’re right,” he muttered. “She’ll manage. She’s tough.”
I guessed they were talking about me. I smiled to myself.
“Old Valtieri would sooner swim across the Atlantic than let that red curl handle those lunatics,” the second agent laughed. “Seriously, we need to plant someone between them. If we don’t tear them apart from the inside, they’ll keep growing like a fucking virus.”
Was that what I was supposed to be? Bait? I narrowed my eyes and stepped out of hiding.
“Finally. What took you so long? Painting your nails on the way to work?” Charles mocked.
I curled my lips into a sly smile, crossing my arms.
“Keep laughing, Donovan. Your only achievement is getting out of bed in the morning, while I’ve already broken the nose of a counterterrorism idiot.” I glanced at him through my lashes. “If we’re done playing childish games, let’s focus on something more important—like my promotion.”
The agent glared at me, then turned to the boss.
“Give her the case. When she gets her ass kicked, I’ll enjoy it immensely,” he said coldly as he walked out.
We both waited until the door slammed behind him. The man grabbed a box filled to the brim with folders and dropped it loudly onto the desk.
“What is this?” I peeked over the pile.
“Your promotion,” he said with a proud smile. “Well, part of it. You have to absorb this before it happens.”
I dropped into the chair in shock, running my fingers through my hair and tugging at the ends in frustration.
“A desk job?” My voice revealed disappointment. “You said—”
“It’s fieldwork, but before I throw you into deep water, you need to do your homework.” He tossed the first folder onto my lap. “We even prepared a summary of what awaits you.”
Opening the file, I expected anything—but not what I saw.
“Brazil?” I swallowed hard. “The FBI is forbidden from conducting investigations there.”
“Jurisdiction isn’t the problem.” He waved his hand dismissively. “The Brazilian office asked us for help. A massacre is coming—one those lands have never seen. A week ago, a Mexican cartel entered Brazilian mafia territory and opened fire. Our informants say the fiancée of the successor from Rio was killed. If that’s confirmed, the South will drown in blood.”
“Mafia?” I snorted. “Do they have ties with the Sicilians?”
“Maybe in transit, but no blood ties,” Charles muttered, grabbing another folder. “They run the country. The president is just a puppet. They provide him protection, and he politely stays out of their business. They don’t interfere in politics, but they influence the economy and claim shares in the largest oil company on the continent.”
“But what’s my mission?” I asked, confused. “What am I supposed to do? Accuse them of corruption?”
He laughed.
“Corruption, my ass,” he said mockingly, tossing me a pen. “Write this down, Valtieri. Your job is to get close to the successor, tear this shit apart from the inside, and arrest Renzo Castellani before he decides to wipe out the entire population of Mexico.”
“And the cartels?”
“They’ll slaughter each other in drug wars. In the South, everyone answers to Brazil—they’ve made peace agreements,” he mumbled, biting into a sandwich. “The public won’t give up Castellani easily. His family funds education for kids from the favelas. They get support from them and work for him from a young age—gathering information or dealing drugs. No one would dare bite the hand that feeds them.”
“So they’ll protect him like a damn pope,” I exhaled. “And the police?”
“In their pocket,” he said with his mouth full. “And politicians keep quiet. His people clean their closets—get rid of lovers, rivals, anyone who knows too much. In return, they can freely use presidential planes to transport drugs and claim national security is perfectly safe.”
“And the judiciary? Do any law enforcement institutions even function there?”
“You think that plane crash involving a Supreme Court judge investigating corruption was an accident?” he scoffed. “Judges, prosecutors, politicians—no one speaks up.”
“So he started bothering them.”
“They know the bullshit about law and order is just loyalty to that gang,” he rolled his eyes. “They got scared for their lives. Within days, FBI officials, Homeland Security, and Brazilian federal police held countless meetings. They signed an agreement allowing data exchange on terrorist and criminal groups. We’ll get biometric data, and they’ll stop acting untouchable.”
“Will I be sent there alone?” I asked, the words barely leaving my mouth.
“We created an Integrated Border Operations Center in Foz do Iguaçu to fight cross-border crime. Our agents will be stationed in major cities, so you’ll always have backup if things go south.” He licked his lips. “Your job is to gather enough dirt on Castellani so no force on earth can save him. Understood?”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Honestly, Valtieri…” he said, standing up. “I don’t give a damn. Take the files, get moving, and do your homework. You leave this week. Our people will brief you there.”
I scanned the stack of files, and before I could protest, the door slammed behind my back.
“What the hell have you gotten yourself into, you stupid carrot?”
