Read the first couple of chapters of
Villains' Reunion - Trikkster.
Her Dream Come True
09:58, Tuesday
Dão Lafões, Portugal
Look at that view, Matilde Urbano thinks as she rises from a crouch. Dust falls off her knees. This is what it’s all about.
She cracks her back and her left hand goes to the sweat on the nape of her neck. She pockets her pruning shears with her right. That view…it’s exactly what she wanted: rows of vines of Touriga Nacional grapes stretched across a green hillside. This grape variety has thick, dark skin, a high tannin level, high acidity, and is concentrated with fruity flavors. One of the best for making Port wines. They are at the fruit set stage; flowering has concluded and the grape berries are on their way to ripening.
From a row behind her, between the dense leaves, a critter comes her way, bouncing in a failed sneak attack. A sideways walk, with a hunched back and fur standing up, it tries to appear big and scary. It’s the ragamuffin, Ms. Marples. With a swift scoop of her hands, Matilde draws the cat into her arms. Not so scary anymore. “There you are!” Matilde coos.
The cat gives it away with a purr. “You are precious, Ms. Marples.”
She drops the cat and returns to the task at hand. Matilde was advised to prune around the fruit clusters to prevent things like the fungus Botrytis. Stripping away the leaves would introduce more UV light and more wind, all to make it much harder for diseases to attach themselves to the grapes.
“Hey!” somebody shouts, hidden in the dense foliage. And then he appears, a big grin on his face. Wes, who’s been working an adjacent row.
“Hey, yourself,” Matilde responds with a twirl.
“Does that mean it’s break time?” he asks.
“I think so,” she responds. “Your cat called it.”
Wes steps up and squishes Ms. Marples as he comes in for a hug and a kiss. The cat, unhappy, bounds from his arms. Matilde laughs. He wraps his arms around her instead. They kiss, and she laughs again. “This is perfect, isn’t it?”
He can only nod. “It is.”
The Danger
13:05, Tuesday
Mercado da Ribeira, Lisbon
“It’s true, both cachaça and rum are derived from sugarcane.” Isadora Rosa holds aloft a bottle of Rainha da Caipirinha Cachaça. “But differences abound.”
Isadora is alone, and that’s okay, as she is at ease with herself. She stands on stage with bottles of cachaça and a tilted mirror behind her. To the side, there’s a cameraman. A host. Isadora’s live at Estudio Time Out—located on the first floor of the Time Out Market Lisboa. Charming, stunning, and seemingly never nervous—she hides it well—Isadora is the daughter and face of the Rainha da Caipirinha brand. Plantation cachaça at its finest.
She pours a glass and holds it aloft. “This one, as you can see, is amber in color. That comes from the wood barrels it was stored in. Cachaça not stored in barrels can be clear.” She smells it. “Grassy, earthy, sweet.” She sips it. “Ah… That’s cachaça made by Rainha da Caipirinha.”
With a huge smile she adds, “It’s my cachaça, and I am proud of it. Brazilian, as all cachaças are. Now, we won’t mention rhum agricole, now, will we?” The audience laughs, and she does too.
She places the glass on the counter. “The differences from rum: Number one, and it’s a big difference, cachaça is only made from fresh sugarcane juice. Rum can be made similarly or mixed with sugarcane molasses and other products. Therefore, cachaça has very different characteristics from rum. An ABV, or alcohol by volume, of thirty-eight to forty-eight percent, by law, and this translates to seventy-six to ninety-six proof.”
She holds up her bottle, looking at the label and tilting it towards the camera. It’s true, her cachaça’s ABV falls within this range. She continues, “Rum has a process where the juice is cooked and turns into molasses. This molasses undergoes fermentation, then distillation, and one makes rum.”
A guy interrupts. “Outside of Brazil, say in the Caribbean, a rum made just from fresh sugarcane juice is a—”
She waves her hand. He stops. “Yes, good question, sir!” She continues, “I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’m just so excited.”
The man blushes and nods for her to go on.
“That’s the rhum agricole I mentioned, which I didn’t want to mention.”
The audience guffaws. The man apologizes as a bit of sweat forms on his brow.
With a wink at him, she continues, “For it is a point of contention. I am very passionate about this. So, I will stop here, or you will be here all day.” She laughs and the audience laughs too. “Thank you for listening to the presentation and I hope you all buy a bottle. But remember if it’s made in Brazil, it’s called cachaça. And the best cachaça is?”
They answer in unison, “Rainha da Caipirinha Cachaça.”
“Thank you.” With that, there’s applause, and Isadora is joined by the host. Together they hug and smile for the camera.
As the crowd amasses around her, getting handshakes and pictures, Isadora doesn’t notice a dour-looking man approach. He’s flanked by a woman who’s a bit off.
When she spots them, a look of fear washes over her face, then recognition. She knows them.
He beats her to it. “Luger Landprov and my daughter, Victoria,” he says with a wide grin.
“Ah…that’s right.” Isadora steps in for a la bise—an air kiss on both cheeks. Then a handshake with the surly Victoria. Isadora says, “I saw you recently. At the reunion.”
“That busy, chaotic reunion,” he chuckles.
“But you are not of The 30 yet also were present there.”
“Ah...” Luger retorts. “My work is, how to say…parallel. We travel the same roads, right?”
She studies him. “Do we, Mr. Luger?”
“I will convince you,” he replies. “Let’s find a quiet place.”
Isadora, Luger, and Victoria find a booth a bit away from the crowd. It’s a tight squeeze, which makes Isadora uneasy. Such is the world of bad people. Luger delivers this in a tone not to be believed: “So, Isadora Rosa, the Queen of the Caipirinha. Best cachaça—ever. What an honor to be with you.”
“You lay your flattery on thick.”
“Explain, please, what you are doing here. Selling cachaça?”
“Exactly.” Isadora pauses. “Where is this going?”
“Just this, my friend. You are famous, successful. No need to be here, selling. That’s my opinion.”
“Indeed.”
The waiter approaches, and Luger takes the initiative. “Three caipirinhas, with Rainha da Caipirinha Cachaça. Only the best. What do you say?”
Isadora grins. “Perfect.”
The waiter nods, rotates, and zips away.
“Three? I don’t want,” says Victoria, who skipped her opportunity to speak when ripe.
“A little late,” chafes Luger.
“You never asked.”
“I did—”
Isadora tosses her head back a bit and blinks. “Maybe I should…”
“Please stay, Isadora. We are always like this. We have a unique family dynamic.”
“No, I should go.”
“Isadora, something like five minutes. We drink—and you may guzzle it—then we part ways.”
“Fine.”
“You have friends in Brazil. Friends, who, let’s say, have alternate ways of doing business.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says.
Luger pauses. “And there’s nothing that makes you worry? Not sleep at night?”
“No.”
The waiter arrives and, in a singsong delivery, says, “Three caipirinhas using cachaça from the Rainha da Caipirinha.”
“Ah, perfect,” gushes Luger. “Now, return one and just bring a vodka—neat.”
“Oh? You don’t want?” The waiter hesitates.
“The order changed.”
The waiter sucks it up with an indeterminate grin, nods, and takes Victoria’s caipirinha away.
Luger continues. “Back to what I was saying. Business in Brazil—”
“Get to it, Daddy. No, I will,” interjects Victoria. “The reason why we here is that idiot Nuno made Matilde boss man. She no boss man type.”
“Yes, that.” Luger nods. “Straight to it, my Victoria. Sharp as ever, even in a language forever foreign to her. He holds his glass up and clinks it with Isadora’s. “Cheers.”
Isadora takes a sip and lets out an exhale. “Ah...I get what you are saying.”
“What? It good?” asks Victoria. “I think I want one.”
“You had one and sent it back,” chastises Dad.
“I changed my mind. I want to try green drink.”
“Fine,” agrees Luger. “When the waiter returns.”
“Matilde Urbano, what an idiot!” Victoria reaches for her dad’s caipirinha, drinks almost half of it, and makes a sour face. “She thinks she’s a perfect princess, but is more like a frog.”
Isadora nods slowly as she watches Luger’s eyes go to the half-empty glass.
“So, what we do about the frog?” Victoria asks, getting straight to it.
“That’s what we are here about, Victoria,” says Luger with a side-glance at Isadora. “Hash it out. Friend to friend. Same side, same objectives, okay?”
Victoria returns it. “Okay.”
“I think Isadora knows very well what I am referring to, right?”
“No. I feel like I am being cornered. Am I?” Isadora asks. “You two with your surprise visit, it’s all too convenient.”
“I am not cornering you, Isadora,” replies Luger. “You will see we have the same objectives.”
“You say that—same objectives.” Isadora smiles uneasily, still assessing the emerging proposal, and this person Luger. Yet Luger isn’t revealing much with his facial expressions. He casts a glance at Victoria. She’s focused on a point in the middle of Isadora’s forehead. Waiting. Just give the command. I will attack. Just like in Russia.
“Okay,” sighs Luger. “I have a message.”
“Like from a postman?”
Luger offers her a cunning grin. “I message, a note, a letter—a ledger. That’s it. But not just any. We found it in the Urbano mansion, all tucked away in a safe in the kitchen. Wasn’t meant to be found. Not by us, at least.”
“And?”
“It mentions a bunch of people, big and small, in Brazil.”
“So?”
“Dear rainha, the ledger has the truth.”
“Truth?”
He presses on. “Your empire is a mirage.”
Isadora blows a strand of hair from her face. “Oh, come now.”
He continues: “Built upon laundering money. Am I right?”
“Hmm…”
“And the names on that ledger found at the Urbano’s estate mention a cadre of the most interesting people in Brazil.”
“Such as?”
“Okay. Such as politicians and police, footballers, musicians, actors, business people.”
“Then, Luger, you get it. I am connected.”
“You are vulnerable.”
“Nah. Imagine I got to court, nobody will take the stand against me.”
“If it remains in Brazil, that is. And from the ledger, I see you make international transfers.”
Victoria cuts in: “Bam—they got you.”
Isadora sits back in her chair. Eyes going from Luger to Victoria, pondering. “I want to see the ledger.”
Luger nods and reaches into the pocket of his suit. He pulls a few pages out, and flattens it out as he hands to it her. “This is a copy.”
Isadora takes the ledger and begins perusing it. True, damning information. Detailed, even in a small format. This letter could be her end, the end for her associates too. Yet she keeps her cards close to her chest.
The waiter returns. “One vodka neat.”
“Finally,” says Victoria. “And make me a green drink like they have too.”
The waiter asks, “But…that would be a caipirinha?”
Luger nods. “Yeah, I know. Just make another one.”
“Leave the vodka neat?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” says the baffled waiter as he shuffles away.
Luger waits until the waiter is out of earshot before it adds, “Cachaça shipments are a front to your business of trafficking humans and contraband.”
Isadora drops the ledger several inches from her face and now gives him her full attention.
He continues: “That’s what your trip is about.”
“There’s nothing here to prove that.”
Lugar pulls another page from his suit’s pocket. “This page is also from the ledger. It indicates just that.”
She nabs the page from his hands.
He says, “You will read that Mr. Urbano kept three or more ledgers, all detailing your transfers and those of your friends in Brazil and internationally. The ledgers, it seems, will topple governments. Everything collapses, and there is no hiding, even in the jungles of Brazil.”
Isadora mulls, and her eyes rest on Luger’s. There’s a twinkle in them. The whole time she’s been improvising, reading him, reading Victoria. Is anything they tell the truth? And how does a rainha backed into a corner react?
“Why do you care?”
“We are fellow travelers,” he says. “I bring you this information—this ledger—in hopes of forging an alliance because we face a similar threat.”
“Mm hmm...And that is?”
“Matilde Urbano.”
“The idiot,” clarifies Victoria. “Will mess up everything.”
“That,” agrees Luger. “Matilde, it appears, has been embarking on reforms of sorts. Where she thinks that some nefarious activity occurred that lies outside of her definition of good and bad, well, it gets purged.”
“I know of some of her values.”
“Her so-called values will sink everything,” adds Luger.
Victoria concludes: “Because she is young and stupid, as I said.”
They let it sink in. Luger grins as he pulls out a phone and holds it toward Isadora. “Press play.”
“And this is?” Isadora hesitates before accepting it.
“Secret video.”
Isadora reluctantly takes the phone, settles back, and presses play. The video is from Matilde’s kitchen. It’s cluttered and real. Dishes in the sink—meaning, just eaten. She’s there, looking into the distance. Preoccupied, concerned, processing.
Into the frame stumbles Wes. He yawns. The contrast is huge. This is a different Matilde, all happy to have a vineyard and a house. She has responsibilities. Doesn’t like it. Wes, on the other hand, misses all of that. Wes’s problem right now is the coffee pot. It’s got barely anything left.
“Rats, coffee’s out,” he laments.
Matilde turns with a mug made by Costa Nova, a firm near Aveiro. “Oh? Sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“It’s fine,” says Wes. He proceeds to make more.
Luger raises his hand and catches Isadora’s eyes for a second. “That’s Wesley Turner. American boyfriend. Former tech. They are playing house.”
“He has a cat,” says Victoria. “Brought from the United States.”
“Oh?” Isadora shrugs.
“It’s ragamuffin,” explains Victoria, as if this matters.
“Okay.” Isadora continues to watch. “Where’s the cat?”
“Soon. Wait,” instructs Victoria.
Ms. Marples, the ragamuffin, only enters the shot when she decides to jump on the counter and into Wes’s vicinity. “I can make it, okay?” Wes says to the cat.
“Yeah, it’s the least you can do,” snaps Matilde.
“Interesting…” Isadora’s eyes narrow as she continues watching. In that one reaction, Isadora’s got Matilde down pat. From her desire to topple Matilde, now she has figured out what makes Matilde tick—her naivete and her blind drive to exonerate her parents. How weak this Matilde is, thinks Isadora. How fun it will be to cause this young woman to fall. People like this need to fall.
“What does that mean?” asks Wes, holding a scoop of coffee grounds.
“Wes, dear, you mope around, wake up late, and how’s it going with your Portuguese?”
“My P-Portuguese?” Wes stammers. “It’s great,” he says in a singsong voice that cannot hide strain. Then, “I’m learning.”
“Say something.”
“I can’t just say something; I need context.”
“Ha!” she yells. “Because you haven’t learned anything.”
“Caneca!” Wes yells. “I know caneca and fino.”
“Large and small beer.” Matilde rolls her eyes. “Wow…”
Isadora presses pause on the video. She rocks back and forth a bit before setting the phone back on the table. She clasps her hands. “I will tell you who she is.”
“Enlighten me…” he says.
“As you know, the Urbanos were in Brazil, and I met her and Rui. A criminal family, sure, but they went to great lengths to shield the children from that aspect. Though I found her sweet, and innocent, they were spoiled, because of unlimited wealth, coddled because they were kept in, let’s say, a kind of a bubble.”
“Because to get to the children, you get to the parents,” concludes Luger.
“Fine.”
“Now, when I watch this—and it’s all I need to see—I see someone abrasive. Notice her movements? Hectic, sharp, manic even.”
“Oh…”
“When she addresses that guy—”
“Wes.”
“He gets the brunt of her frustration.”
“Are you a psychologist?” asks Victoria.
“No, Victoria,” replies Isadora. “I am somebody who reads people.”
“Frustration,” says Luger. “Explain.”
“Where they should be joyful in each other’s company, young and full of life, they bicker. She projects his inability to learn Portuguese as the main issue.”
“And what is?”
“Luger, you know.”
“Tell me.”
“I conclude that Nuno Leão thrust her into this leadership position way too early. She neither has the aptitude or the inclination. Something about it, when she’s on top of the world, something is not setting right with her. Hence, she’s undergoing changes, psychological changes, for the worse, and she takes it out on Wes.”
“Ah.”
“Everyone knows Rui was first. The position should be his. Nuno gambled, got her, and she’s not up to it.”
“You are right,” agrees Luger.
“You knew this already.”
“Maybe,” he concedes. “But I cherish your opinion.”
Isadora clasps her hands around the phone again and hits play. Nuno enters the kitchen with a towel around his neck, tennis whites on like he’s at a country club. “Looking good,” remarks Isadora.
“Me?” asks Luger, ever hopeful.
“Uh, no.” She looks a bit surprised as her eyes meet his. “Nuno.”
“Oh.”
Back to the video. Coffee is done, and Wes holds a mug out to Nuno. He accepts and takes a tentative sip. Too hot. He blows a bit. “Matilde, let’s discuss the call this morning.”
“Discuss what?” she snaps. “I am the leader. I made a decision.”
“Well, yes,” Nuno concedes. “In this particular situation, I advise caution. Now, what I am—”
“What you are about to suggest is based on the past. Now, we have the present. Things have changed.”
“They haven’t, Matilde. The 30 operates differently,” he reminds her.
“No! I am the leader. I can think. You are not the only one, Nuno.”
Wes pipes up. “I think he’s trying to help and—”
“What do you know, Wes, huh?” she rips at him.
“Um…” He gulps. “Trying to help.”
Isadora stops the video. Backs it up. Plays again. Backs it up again. Finds that spot. She plays it anew, stopping it at an unflattering frame of Matilde, mid-yell. With a smile, Isadora concludes. “She said it once, then twice.”
“That is?”
“I am the leader. Normally a leader doesn’t have to say that, right? Everyone knows. Ergo, in this case, she’s not trying to convince them but herself.”
“She’s an accidental leader,” says Luger.
“Well put,” concludes Isadora. “Fear can mask itself as arrogance. She challenges Nuno, pushing his good console away.”
“Because she thinks she’s a genius?” asks Victoria. “Although the joke is on her. She is ever the idiot.”
“In a way, Victoria, every generation has the arrogance of youth. That thinking that we, at such and such age, are smarter than our elders.”
“Ah...yes,” agrees Luger. “And Rui? He wanted—and still yearns for the position as leader—what is your take? Friend or foe? I ask that because he is under my tutelage.”
“Rui is different, true.”
Luger confesses: “He’s in Asia now, but kind of getting on my nerves.”
“Everyone can be motivated, Luger, you know this.”
“True. But how?”
“I noticed other things from the video.”
“Tell.”
Isadora does, cheerily summing up a person in no time flat. “The strain in her voice, the choice of words, the positioning of her between Wes and Nuno all lead me to think that she is still a good person. By extension, she has a fantastical view of her parents as reformers, somehow floating way above all the dirty things we on earth call business.”
“The 30 deals with trafficking and prostitution.”
“As she has a deep need to view herself and her parents as white knights or reformers of a corrupt system, imagine she’s easily manipulated.”
“Excellent, Isadora. So glad we are talking.”
Victoria suggests something: “I don’t get it. Just kill her. Gun to head, knife to neck.”
“Victoria,” retorts Isadora, ever growing in confidence. “Picture this—”
“Okay.”
“Imagine Matilde goes around, gets whatever other ledgers there are—because she is open to manipulation—and brings them to us.”
Victoria offers this: “But if you kill her, it’s over.”
“True, but here’s the other thing she does.”
“What?”
“In the process of being manipulated—”
Luger finishes the thought: “She discredits herself.”
“Exactly.”
“Hence, stepping down from leadership of The 30 in tears.”
“Now, you get it,” agrees Isadora.
“Ah, humiliated!” squeals Victoria. “I get it.”
“Plan,” interjects Luger. “Matilde’s out. Then what?”
“What about your guy, Tiago Alexandre?”
Luger tosses his head back. “They got him.”
“I know.” Isadora allows this to settle in.
“You are serious?”
“Why not? We break him out of jail. He’ll do our beck and call as the reinstalled leader. Remember, fortunes were made because he loosened the rules.”
“I don’t know anymore,” confesses Luger.
“You better know,” she counters. “Because my friends in Brazil had it good during Tiago’s reign. Now that their fortunes have waned some are blaming you for installing him. You for not protecting him.”
“Fine.”
“The plan,” says Isadora. “We get Tiago out of prison.”
End of sample from Villains' Reunion - Trikkster by Gary Smiley. Copyright 2026 by Gary Smiley. All rights reserved.