His men stood around, clearly nervous. Nobody liked it when dad was mad. He’d built his empire from scratch, ruling the streets with iron fists. For years, no one dared challenge him, but now, this new gang was trying to break him, make him look weak.
But if there was one thing my dad wasn’t, it was weak.
“I want everyone on this!” he ordered, his voice cutting through the room. “Find out who they are, where they live, what they eat. I want them all dead by the end of the week.”
One of his men, Rafael, hesitated before stepping forward. “Boss, we found another body last night. Same as the others. This one was dumped at the docks.”
My dad's jaw clenched. “One of ours?”
Rafael nodded. “Yeah. Same mutilations—hands cut off, body trashed. Whoever’s doing this isn’t just killing—they’re making it personal.”
My dad leaned back, thinking. This wasn’t about the usual things—territory, money. This gang wanted something bigger. With each new body, it was clear—they were coming straight for him.
“We hit them tonight,” Martinez said, his voice low. “No more waiting. I want blood.”