I take a slow breath and steady myself in the dim light of my office, the city humming just beyond the windows. The game continues, and I’m already three moves ahead.
Rafael Cortez is preparing for war.
I’ve already begun writing how it ends.
I’m still mulling it all over when the creak of the office door distracts me.
Ardaleon enters without knocking, which means it’s important. My younger brother moves like a shadow: silent, sharp-eyed, and too smart for his age. He closes the door behind him and drops a thin folder onto my desk.
“They’re targeting one of your legitimate fronts,” he says. “Rafael’s men. They’re planning to hit the freight office on Fourteenth.”
I flip the folder open. Surveillance stills, intercepted messages, time stamps. The freight office is clean—one of the oldest businesses in our network, untouched by anything illegal. Hitting it isn’t about product. It’s about pride. A strike aimed at reputation. A declaration.
Rafael wants to provoke me.
Ardaleon moves to my side, leaning over the desk. “They’ve been scouting for days. Same car circling. Same man pretending to check package drop-offs every morning. They want you to react.”
“They want a war,” I correct. “They’re too stupid to understand they’re already losing one.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “So what’s the move?”
I study the map pinned on the wall—every line, every intersection, every territory marked in ink. The freight office sitsat a key point. If Rafael hits it, he’ll think he’s dealt a humiliating blow. He doesn’t realize humiliation is a weapon I wield better than anyone.
I tap my finger on a name in the folder. Andres Molina—one of Rafael’s key operatives. Loyal. Brutal. Ambitious enough to overreach. He’s been gaining influence inside the cartel.
If he dies on my terms—publicly enough to be unmistakable, quietly enough to avoid police involvement—it won’t just slow Rafael down. It’ll topple the internal hierarchy. Create paranoia. Force Rafael to suspect his own people. Distract him. Weaken him.
“Remove Molina,” I say.
Ardaleon’s mouth lifts in a sharp, approving smile. “How do you want it done?”
“Make it precise,” I answer. “Send a message, not a spectacle.”
He nods. “Two birds, one stone. We defend the front, and we cripple their chain of command.”
I sit back, letting the plan solidify. My mind moves through each layer—who to send, how to stage it, how to keep my name out of it while letting Rafael know exactly who pulled the strings. Control is my currency. Retaliation is my signature.
Ardaleon crosses his arms, studying the board of names and lines behind me. “You’re playing this like a chess match.”
“It is one.”
“And Rafael’s still stuck on checkers.”
“He’s impulsive. Emotional. It makes him loud.” I mark another point on the map. “We’re not loud.”
“No,” Ardaleon agrees. “We’re effective.”
Silence settles for a moment as we refine the logistics. Routes. Timing. Cover stories. Disposal.
My thoughts run fast, each conclusion snapping cleanly into place. I don’t miss details. I don’t leave room for chance. I built my empire by turning unpredictability into a weapon I alone control.
Ardaleon glances at me sideways. I know that look. Curious. A question brewing.
“Speaking of unpredictability…” he starts, “I heard something interesting.”
I don’t look up. “What?”
“A girl.” His tone is casual, but his eyes sharpen. “Someone witnessed Hector’s execution.”
