So which good news shall I give Adán first, she asks herself as she slips behind the wheel: that he’s going to make billions of dollars in new money in Europe, or that he’s finally going to be a daddy?

And how will he react?

Will he divorce his young queen to marry me?

Do you want him to?

She’s become used to her freedom and independence; she’s not sure she wants to saddle herself with a husband. At the same time, the son of Adán Barrera—if it does turn out to be a boy—will inherit vast wealth and power. And if it’s a girl? Fuck them all—she’ll inherit a nice piece of change and influence herself.

Her mother is a buchona.

Magda pulls out of the mall parking lot and has only gone a couple of blocks when she sees the flashers behind her.

“Damn it,” she says.

Ever since the arrest that put her into Puente Grande, she’s had a fear of the police. It’s irrational, she has no reason for fear, because Mexico City is Nacho Esparza’s plaza, and she’s protected.

She pulls over, looks in the rearview mirror, and sees two cops get out of the car. One of them comes up, and she winds down the window. The cop wears a mask over the bottom half of his face, but this doesn’t worry her. Most police disguise themselves these days. She gives him her best beautiful-woman smile. “What did I do?”

“Did you know that one of your rear taillights is out?”

“No, I—”

The second cop gets into the backseat and sticks a gun barrel into her neck. “Just be quiet and you’ll be fine.”

The first cop slides in beside Magda and says, “Drive.”

As she pulls out again and drives, she says, “You’re making a big mistake. Do you know who I am?”

The cop takes off the mask.

It’s Heriberto Ochoa—Z-1.

Now Magda is scared, especially when Ochoa gives her directions and tells her to pull off in a vacant lot next to a construction site. A gun is pressed into the back of her neck, so she does it.

“How was Europe?” Ochoa asks. “Good trip?”

God, she thinks, he knows about that. “It was fine.”

“Who did you talk to?”

“You already know.”

“Yes, I do,” Ochoa says. “You’re not going to talk to them anymore.”

“That’s fine. I won’t.”

“I know you won’t. Take off your blouse.”

Her hand shakes as she starts with the top button. It’s black silk. New. Expensive.

“Slow,” Ochoa says. “Tease me.”

She does it.

“Now the bra.”

Magda takes it off.

Ochoa leers at her breasts. “Nice. Does Barrera like to suck on them? I asked you a question—does he?”

“Yes.”

“The skirt.”

Magda unzips it along the side and slides it down her hips. It’s hard to do from behind the wheel, but she gets it done and the skirt pools at her feet. She’s terrified, but underneath that is fury. Fury that men do this, that they can do this, that they do this because they can. She knows it’s not about sex but humiliation, and she is humiliated and it makes her furious. Then she sees the knife in his hand. “No. Please. I’ll do anything you say.”

“Anything?” Ochoa asks. “What do you do for Barrera?”

“Everything.”

Ochoa says, “I’m not interested in Barrera’s leftovers.”

The man in the backseat grabs her by the shoulders and holds her as Ochoa forces a plastic bag over her head. Magda can’t breathe, she sucks for air, but all she gets is plastic in her mouth. Her legs kick out spasmodically, her back arches, her hands grab at the bag and try to take it off.

She’s almost dead when Ochoa pulls the bag off. Magda gasps for air. When she can speak, she croaks. “Please…I’m going to have a baby…”

“Barrera’s?” Ochoa asks.

Magda nods.

He puts the bag back on.

The pain is horrible. Her body spasms violently, she wets herself. And then he pulls it off again.

“The world doesn’t need another Barrera,” Ochoa says.

He leans away and the man in back pulls the trigger.

Two hours later police responding to an anonymous tip go out to the corner of 16th Street and Maravillas, where they find a female body in the trunk of a powder-blue 2007 Jetta.

Her stomach has been sliced open and a large “Z” carved into her chest and stomach.

—

Marisol hears something.

She feels alone, and embarrassed that she also feels a little spooked. It’s the wind blowing through the trees, she tells herself. It’s nothing.

But she jumps when her phone rings.

It’s Arturo.

“I’m about twenty minutes out,” he says.

“Oh…that’s good.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course fine,” Marisol says. She walks to the window and looks out. “Erika is supposed to come but she hasn’t shown up yet.”

“She didn’t call?”

Marisol hears the worry in his voice. “She’s probably with Carlos.”

“Stay in the house until I get there,” Keller says. “Do you have the Beretta?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, it’s—”

“Do you have the Beretta? Go into the bathroom. Lock the door.”

“Arturo, don’t be silly—”

“God damn it, Mari, do what I tell you! I’m going to call you back in two minutes.”

Marisol thinks she sees people in the trees now. Must be my imagination, she thinks. Arturo has made me nervous.

“What?” he asks, sensing her anxiety on the silence.

“Nothing. I just think I see some people is all.”

“Get into the bathroom now.”

She goes into the bathroom and locks the door.

—

Chuy watches the police car roll slowly past.

It’s time.

He hefts his erre.

Chuy has never killed a woman before.

There was a time when that would have made a difference, but it doesn’t anymore. He doesn’t even contemplate the distinction, it doesn’t occur to him that he took an oath in La Familia to cherish and protect women.

Now he’s seen so many killed, and they die like anyone else.

They want this one hurt first.

Taken, hurt, and cut up.

As a lesson.

—

Erika pulls up at Town Hall and runs upstairs to grab a sweatshirt. Then she gets back in her car for the short drive to Marisol’s. She can recharge her phone there.

—

Keller phones Erika.

Still no answer.

He calls Taylor. “Get people over to Marisol Cisneros’s house in Valverde now.”

“Keller—”

“We’ll talk about it later. Just do it now.”

“I don’t have people in—”

“Do it now.” He gets on with Orduña. “I need men in Valverde right away.”

“The closest we have are in Juárez.”

“Chopper them out. Now.”

He gets back on with Marisol.

“Stay on the line with me,” he says. “It’s going to be all right. Stay on the line with me. I’ll be there in five.”

“I hear something outside,” Marisol says.

“It’s probably nothing,” Keller says, his heart racing. “But if they come in, shoot through the bathroom door. Aim stomach high, by the doorknob. Do you understand? Stomach high, by the doorknob.”

“Stomach high. Arturo…I’m afraid.”

“I’m five minutes away.”

—

Chuy sees the woman police get out of the car.

As she reaches back inside to get her rifle, Chuy’s men are already on her. She puts up a fight but they rip the gun from her hands, open the back door of her car, and push her in.

She yells, screams, and punches.

—

Marisol hears Erika.

Screaming, cursing.

She wants to stay inside. Put her hands over ears, close her eyes, and wait for Arturo to come. But she can’t. She pulls herself up off the floor on her cane, and walks out. She hears Arturo’s voice—Are you okay? I’m almost there. You’re going to be fine—and she says. “Good, good, I’m fine.”

Marisol opens the door to the house to see men shoving Erika into her car. Shaking, she raises the pistol and shoots.

Chuy feels the bullet zing past his head. He looks up to see a woman in the doorway of the house, shooting a little pistol at them. Raising his rifle, he goes to blow her away, but then he remembers that Forty wants her alive. Then he hears an engine, turns to see headlights coming at him, and hears shots coming from the car that’s roaring down on them.