Spike nods once, shoulders squared, and steps forward to greet our uninvited… but now very necessary… guests.
Two men in full bomb-squad gear jog past us, visors down, movements precise. Spike points them toward the table where the package sits like a live snake.
Less than two minutes later, they’re back with their helmets off and suits unlatched.
“Clear,” one announces to Maverick, holding out the small package.
Maverick’s jaw tightens. “Did you check for release valves? Air-borne poison vents?”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “That’s a possibility?”
“A very deadly one,” the tech replies, tone flat and American. So, not all of the Don’s men are Italian.
“And yes… we checked. Nothing. No gas mechanisms, no chemical triggers, no pressure plates. It appears to be a paper envelope inside. Nothing more.”
Maverick nods, accepting the package, jaw tight. He turns and hands it to Spike.
The box is small.
Spike opens it, pulls out a plain white envelope, and slides the paper free.
His face doesn’t change… but the temperature in the air fucking plummets as he reads.
“I’m done playing games, Shadows. I know about the deal between you and the Italians, and I was willing to ignore it. I had no quarrel with them… until they started digging into my business. They’ve received their warning, and here is yours. Getting past the Italians’ security was as simple as pie. Young guard. End of the shift. Tired.
Getting past yours… let’s just say that’s already been accomplished.”
A ripple of quiet rage moves through the men.
“You should teach your snipers not to nap on the job. Climbing over your wall while your precious family slept? A simple task for one of my lowest soldiers.”
“No fucking way,” Max mutters.
Spike keeps reading.
“Los Fantasmas will be setting up shop in the Valley very soon. I suggest you pack your things and vacate that compound… because I’ll be taking it. Palm Springs belongs to me now. However… if you’d like an incentive to stay in my territory as my loyal guests, I will allow it. On one condition. Tu hermana…That sister of yours will do nicely. I heard we’ve played with her before, though I wasn’t in Mexicali at the time to enjoy the opportunity. A pity you rescued her when you did.”
Spike’s knuckles turn white around the paper.
“I must marry to maintain my position…a tedious requirement. But her porcelain skin and snow-white hair will look beautiful kneeling at my feet… as my queen...dripping blood.
Talk soon,
Cortéz.”
Silence.
A thick, vibrating, unnatural silence.
The kind that settles right before a bomb goes off.
No one breathes.
No one blinks.
No onemoves
Then…
