The tires on the black truck hit another bump on the road, causing all our bodies to jolt upward. Limon rolls down the window, letting his head hang out to revel in the crisp air. His green cheeks slowly regain their color as he takes short, steady breaths. Limon gets carsick on hectic rides like tonight.

My nerves spike to the highest point of the mountain, causing my hands to tremble. I don't fully understand why I'm anxious. Compared to what Mika and Mateo have to do, my job is a piece of cake. I'm driving to Luka's mansion with four trucks filled with my most trustful soldiers. The estate is bound to be protected by at least a dozen of Velazquez men, but we can take them.

The busy, vibrant streets shift to silent rural lands as we drive closer to Luka's mansion. Any sign of interference is miles away. Perfect. We don't need a civilian wandering to Luka's house when we attack. Limon grips the car handle, his knuckles turning white as he covers his mouth, releasing a burp.

"How much longer?" Limon forces out.

Julian gives him a blank look through the car mirror. "Ten minutes. Suck it up."

Limon slams his head on the cushion and closes his eyes. "Jesus, give me strength."

A small smirk creeps onto my lips.

For once, I'm not the one about to throw up. Pacho removes his Airpods and nudges his elbow into my chest to get my attention. With taut brows, I follow Pacho's gaze to his lit computer screen and watch him scroll through the cameras in Luka's estate. On the screen, a few soldiers are caught in their straight stance with guns in their arms.

"The cameras pinpoint about twenty of Luka's men," Pacho explains, tapping his pointer finger on the laptop. "His family is away on vacation. We will not have to worry about fighting any of them, except Enzo. But I assume he's going to be next to Luka."

"Good."

"Right now, I'm recording all the footage, so I can play it back while you guys attack," Pacho says, showing the looping footage on his laptop. "It will give Luka a sense of false security. But not for long. I'm sure once he realizes you aren't there, and the footage hasn't changed, that something is wrong."

"About how long we have?" I ask, gnawing at my lip.

Pacho blinks, calculating the math silently in his head. "Thirty to forty minutes after the fake ambush starts. Give or take." My throat dries up like a shriveled fruit as Mika invades my mind. It's like Pacho can read my thoughts and switch the screen to the cameras at the warehouse, zooming in on Mika.

An average person wouldn't be all dolled up for a showdown, but Mika is different. She is sporting a black leather jumpsuit, giving her unearthly curves even more dimension. Mika has a gun strap on her shoulder, hovering over the railing with Mateo beside her. They're observing the soldiers unloading the materials from the trucks.

Mika walks with friction, with vigor, with certainty. It's like she is in her element. Something she was born to do, to lead. It's funny how the world works. A weak, spineless person like me gets the ability to take the lead when there are a dozen better candidates. Maybe I'm given this position to learn a lesson or find my true self.

It's all a mystery until it's too late.

My chest swells with delight as I gain an enormous dose of confidence from seeing Mika. She's my personal charger. Mika always knows how to make the world an easy pill to swallow. Her hugs, words, and smile cure any of the glooming shadows hovering over me. I hope I do the same for her.

Mika shifts her attention away from the soldiers and takes out her phone from her waist pocket. Her fingers drum along the keyboard of her phone and quickly shove it back into her pocket. My phone lights up, revealing a message from her.

From: Princesa

Be careful. Don't compromise your morals to be a show-off. You're strong, regardless. I can't wait to see you tonight... I miss you.

A boyish grin stretches across my face, and I'm overflowing with passion. Mika truly understands me. Gosh, I love her. I love her so fucking much. The truck halts at the end of the street to keep us covered. Pacho flips the cameras back to the mansion, focusing on the front gate guarded by six soldiers.

The gate is connected to two stark white and tan cobblestone pillars, reaching the light post. Once past those gates, its journey through his mother's famous garden with flowers obscuring our faces. That might be the trickiest part. It's hard to fight enemies when you can't separate them from your crew.

Pacho swings the laptop around to face the driver and says, "Fabian, you round up ten soldiers from the other trucks and head in first. Take out as many of Luka's men as you can, then the next crew will follow in for backup. Julian, you will guard Asiel and be the last group inside. I'll come too."

Confusion washes over me. "Wait, but what about the cameras? How do we know where to guide the team?"

Using his hand, Pacho slams his laptop shut, pulling his cell phone from his jean pocket. With one click, the display of all two-hundred cameras flickers on his phone like a photo album. My hands grow sweaty. The bubbling nausea rumbles in my stomach, but I'm fucking determined to survive the night without vomiting.

"Go ahead, Fabian," I say, giving my approval to the plan.

Fabian nods, his brown, fluffy, curly hair bobbing on his head as he jumps down from the truck. He whistles, collecting the ten men and checking their guns. They disappeared into the darkness; the area growing silent enough to hear the crickets. I wipe my sweaty palms up and down my thighs, never removing my eyes from the roadway they vanished on.

My body slightly jolts as gun firing fills the silence like gray clouds blurring the sun. Julian is relaxed, laying his head on the car rest and banging his finger on the steering wheel. I'm praying everyone going down is a part of Luka's crew. But like anyone else, I have doubts. Soldiers feel unified when their leader is fighting alongside them. Should I go in? Or keep with the plan?

"Next group, you're up," Pacho announces through the mic.

From the rearview mirror, I see another group of Morterero hop down from the truck, pulling back their firearms. They glance in my direction with their cold, brooding expression, and I return with a friendly smile. Hopefully, it's enough to motivate them that their leader isn't completely hopeless.

My eyes flicker to the cameras, catching a few corpses bleeding on the ground with their guns stolen. Guilt sinks into my stomach, and the vomit burns my throat. But I swallow it. I fucking meant it when I said I wasn't vomiting. It's the eye. They're so stony, deattach, all darkness. No light as they follow whichever path God has chosen for them.

The truck gets suffocating.

I've always been afraid of fighting a battle, but this is my chance to show I can roll with the big dogs. Shocking everyone, including myself, I open the door and jump down from the truck. Julian's neck almost snaps in half from his quick reaction time and follows suit, gripping his firearm as he observes the shady streets.

"What are you doing, Jefe?" Pacho asks, concern radiating in his irises. "There are still two more groups before you."

My rapid breaths fall from my lips, swirling in the air. "Send the next group in. I'll go in with the last. It doesn't feel right to wait for everyone else to get things done."

Pacho steps down, grabs my shoulder, and whispers, "Right now isn't the time to play Superhero. Your men knew what they signed up for. To protect you at all costs. Don't overestimate yourself."

My finger rubs my bottom lip as I focus on his words, but my mind is all set. "Just do as I say. Send the next group in and get ready to go in."

He grinds his teeth but mumbles into his mic. "Everyone else, go ahead and join your brothers in battle." He lifts his brows with a smug look. "If you want to go in, might as well go big."

The rest of the crew heads down the street to the estate while Limon opens the trunk, tossing handguns to us. The steel object weighs down my palm, clinking as I move my hand back and forth. It's surprisingly smooth for a weapon meant to take out people. Unlike others, the gun has no positive effect on me.

I don't feel more powerful.

I don't feel like I can take on the world.

I feel like this very weapon can be the reason the demons consume my soul, like a zombie gnawing at a corpse.

Swallowing the sickening taste in my mouth, I cram the pistol into the back of my pants underneath my blazer. Julian and Limon walk on opposite sides of me, keeping their eyes locked for anything treacherous. I'm behind Pacho, who focuses his awareness mainly on the cameras in his hand.

"Everything looks clear until we reach the house," Pacho reveals, his adam's apple bobbing. "The conditions of the house are unclear. We must be on high alert as we approach."

A crack of a branch smears the air, causing all of us to halt and observe. We shift our necks inch by inch only to see a kitten dwindling on the street. Its fur looks like a leopard or lion. Light brown mix with black splotches, sporting the brightest blue eyes. What is an innocent animal doing out here?

"Limon, bring the kitty to the car. I don't want to risk the kitten getting inside the mansion," I say as the kitten licks their paw.

He arches his brow. "It's a fucking cat. We have more important things to worry about than a cat."

"Just do it," I demand through gritted teeth.

Animals are like children. They're pure souls. Unscratched. Treading aimlessly through the world without even a thought of darkness. It takes one event to ruin a childhood and alter the route the child would go in. Maybe someone could've saved Mika from experiencing all the horrendous things.

Maybe in a parallel universe.

Would we have needed each other to survive now without our journey of hardships?

Limon groans, ruffling the back of his mullet as he lowers to grab the kitten. Like an instinct, the kitten flashes their fangs and scratches Limon's hand. The kitty can sense the energy Limon is putting off, and it's not trustworthy. Stepping forward, I push Limon in the chest and cautiously squat down to pet the kitten.

The kitten's blue eyes narrow, hissing, causing my hand to retreat. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." Slowly, I trace my finger down the slope of the kitten's moist nose, and it snuggles into my touch. So cutely. "Good kitty."

When I give the kitten several minutes of comfort, I carry the kitten in my arms and run over to the car. I lay the feline on Limon's neck pillow and crack open the window for the air to dance on its fur. It's always on the glum, morbid nights that a hint of righteousness, passing through like a storm.

My nerves tingle in my fingertips like pins and needles creeping closer to the front gate. The steel-white gates are open, spattered with blood. Three bodies slump against the wall with lifeless, dull eyes that will haunt my nightmares. The grass crumbles underneath my feet.

The garden was ruined. Flowers tear from their flowerbeds. Petals sprinkle the floor like crumble-up balls of paper. Crush tomatoes gushing under my feet, forming a resemblance of blood. Lead fill bodies spread through the garden, turning it into a graveyard. Something once beautiful is now revolting.

"Let's head inside," Pacho says, dipping his finger into the puddle on the floor. "We can help the rest of them fight."

The knots tighten in my abdomen as a few of my men are facedown, drowning in their pool of blood. It's only two, but every person mattered here. Julian, Limon, and Pacho are unphased, tip-toeing into the house. One day, I'll be like them. I won't tremble at the sight of any corpse. The floorboard creaks under our feet, and someone jumps from the corner of my eye.

One of Luka's men is reloading his gun, repeatedly dropping it until Julian strikes him in the head. His eyes roll back, and he slumps to the ground with a thud. A breath of relief leaves me. Bullet fires in the distance, sparking a gleam in the dim hallways. Julian leads up the staircase while Limon treks behind me. We never know when someone can pop out like a groundhog.

"Two of Luka's men on the right-wing," Pacho informs Julian as Julian slithers his body against the walls. His gun is up-right, his muscles tense as he sticks his face past the barrier of the wall. Julian's jaw clenches as he fires his gun away, his body pushing slightly back with every trigger.

"I'll head down the hallway," Julian says, feeding new bullets in his pistol. "Your time to shine, Limon. Keep Jefe safe."

Limon replies, "Don't worry. I got this!" Before he trips down the stairs. "I still got this."

Pacho tries to conceal his laughter by coughing, but fails horribly. It's quite embarrassing, really. Limon jolts to his feet, and rushes up the stairs to take Julian's spot. The left-wing looks vacant, spiraling to the second staircase. Portraits of Luka's familia hang on the walls, ranging from their youngest sibling to Luka in a crown right outside his office.

Rapid fire bullets attack us, splitting holes into the walls as we take cover. Limon hisses, gripping onto his arm as blood coats his fingertips. He places the gun between his legs and rips a piece of his silk shirt, tightening a knot over his wound.

"Stay still," Limon groans, checking the ammo in his pistol. "I'm going to get that motherfucker and show him who the fuck he messed with!"

Limon leaves, and my eyes float to the door. Luka's office. His whole life is in there. If I want to find a way to destroy him, the answers are in there. Maybe there's a way to get him to step down. No more bloodbaths. Two familias can be stronger than one, but envy and greed are powerful emotions.

Throwing caution at the wind, I run to the office door. "Wait, Jefe! It's no-." Pacho screams, but it's too late. Dozen of cartridges blaze through upon opening, and I crumple to my feet, crawling like a weak man. Taking shelter under a table, I cover my ears, trying to drown out the bullets firing in the room.   

Bullet comes from the entrance of the office, combating against the half of dozens of soldiers in the room. My throat clogs up like hair in a drain when one of Luka's men lifts the table in the air and exposes my terrible hiding spot. His ruthless gaze pierces through mine, and he grips me by the collar, slamming me into the wall.

I'm a bit disoriented, but he releases me.

That's his big mistake.

I channel every disrespectful comment. All my men that lost their lives, and all the innocent people Luka is going after. It sets the bomb in my chest. A stormy red haze falls over my gaze as I charge forward, snatching him by the shoulder. Swinging him around, I cock my fist back before punching him square in the jaw, and he falls back.

Just like power, anger is a dangerous emotion to let control you, but I'm drowning in it. I'm on top of him before I realize what I'm doing, one hand keeping him on the ground while the other delivers blow after blow. My mind transports to another planet as the smoldering flames burn me from the inside out.

When his eyes roll back, it's like a cue for me to come to reality. My fist is covered in blood, his and mine. The bone of his nose bend in the opposite direction, along with a few missing teeth. I'm breathing hectically, slowly getting up as Pacho shoots Luka's soldier in the head. For extra insurance.

"I'll guard the door until Limon comes back," Pacho says, reloading the chamber, clicking back as he takes post by the door.

Luka's office is in shambles, with bullet holes engraved throughout every survival. I reach for an olive-green dense book, weighing my palm down with bullet holes decorating it. The mini flat-screen tv has cracks and hangs on the last thread. Broken glass vases, mugs, and cups are scattered on the floor.

Ignoring the bookcase for now, I hunt through his cabinets and drawers for anything. Their next plans. Location of the drugs they stole from me. But everything turns out useless. All the pages are negotiations with other familias, and companies. The contracts go back decades to when his father held the reign of the familia.

In his drawer is an empty spiral planner with the only note on today's date. It's a circle made in black marker with my initials written underneath the day. Thursday. Nice to know my death is important enough for him to leave a little note. Why does he have such a hard-on for me? Is it really related to my papa murdering his?

Julian appears by the door, his face smudged with blood streaks but trekking like a terminator. He clenches his chin and rolls his neck back to crack it. Pacho pulls out his cell phone, swiping through the cameras as he leans on the sofa.

"The building is clear," Pacho reveals, his stern eyes flickering to mine. "But Mateo and Mika are under attack. The footage is blurry in all the cameras because of profuse smoke. We might have twenty more minutes before everything goes down and Luka comes back here."

Worry spills into my chest like water out of a drain. "Should we go help them? I don't want to risk Mika getting hurt." Before getting a response, I charge to the exit, but Pacho grips my shoulder, holding me back. "What?"

Pacho's expression grows taut. "They're sacrificing themselves for you to find some leverage over Luka. You haven't searched anywhere besides the desk and I'm sorry, Jefe, but we aren't leaving until you search every quarter of this room."

"What's the fucking point?" An irritated breath leaves my lips as I swing back around to kick the frustration out on the bookshelf. "There's nothing here!" My force causes a few books to fall. Squatting down, I grab the open black leather book, facing the grounds.

This looks familiar.

It looks like Ander's journal.

I flip the journal over to see a dozen pictures rush out like leaves in the wind. Using my thumb, I skim through the journal to see every single page filled with an entry. The last page was written over thirteen years ago on the last vacation we took with the Velazquez. My stomach plummets to the floor.

Why does Luka have this? Why would he take my brother's journal? Is he trying to hide something?

On the back of the photos is cursive black writing with sentences that say, 'first date, first kiss, first anniversary, first vacation as a couple.' The reels in my brain churn over time as I flip the photos over to see Luka and Ander being close. Intimate. Cuddling each other, hugging each other, kissing each other.

Did they have a relationship this whole time?

What the fuck?

Why would Ander keep this hidden from me? I loved him. Nothing would change that. Even if it involved the very man that spent his youth hating and shitting on me. Dust coats the photo, and I follow the dusty, muggy trail leading to the wooden antique box. My hand knocks the antique box down, causing the envelopes and a feather to appear like magic in thin air.

The feather.

The long, white feather is crinkle with a hair sprawling in all directions unlike the perfect one stranded on Ander's body. I cover my mouth with my palm, swallowing the acidic vomit crawling up my throat. He fucking killed him, didn't he? Luka didn't want his dirty little secret to come out.

But why?

Why was killing him the only option?

Tears blur my red, hazy vision as I crush the photos in my hand.

Luka Velazquez is a dead man.

Step three has taken root... let's see where this goes now 😝🙊!!! Do you guys think it's okay for Mika to basically use Luka to cover herself? Or should she woman up and admit the truth?

Also, a few of you guys were right! Ander and Luka were in a relationship. ☺️how everything went down and ended is a mystery but 🍪 when it's due...

Here you go🍪🍪🍪🍪

I like to think teenager Luka and Ander were kinda cute but in hindsight they're both horrible, flawed characters! I think I just think since I know the full story which doesn't make it better like they're fucked up individuals but they did care about each other.

Sometimes they just forget about the rest of the world.

I really love making complicated, flawed characters.

I think the most simplistic one is Asiel... as of now 🥹😜... hehe don't kill me!

Hope you guys enjoy this chapter and I can't wait to read your comments! Guys, I miss you so spam me for when I wake up in the morning lol!

Love ya ❤️❤️❤️💜💜💜