Our shipments, which smuggled military-grade weapons to Russia had been seized. Not by the FBI, but by a rival gang. How the fuck was it even possible? I'd made sure to bribe and threaten every single government official and licensed Colombian gun dealers. I'd even planted men at the ports to keep watch.
I leaned back in my leather chair, jaw clenched so tight I could feel a vein throbbing in my temple. The news Dimitri had just delivered felt like a sucker punch to the gut. Our shipment, seized. Millions in weapons, gone. And with them, our foothold in a lucrative new market.
I'd vouched for this shipment personally to some very dangerous people back home.
"Dimitri," I growled, "what the fuck did you find out?"
Dimitri, who'd brought me the bad news, handed me his phone. "Watch it." He said.
I took the phone, my fingers leaving smudges on the screen slick with Dimitri's nervous sweat. I played the video.
