Turf.
I don’t tolerate large-scale drug operations in my city.Never have.Never will.
To keep the tourists high and happy, I allow a small, tightly run Irish family to move modest product.Keeps things contained.Clean.Controlled.
It took years of crackdowns to get the chaos out.Years of blood and force to build the order we have now.Big drug business means big crime.Gang wars.Blood-soaked turf wars.Dead bodies on the strip.That shit scares tourists.And without tourism, the city dies.
Bad for business.Period.
But the cartels don’t quit.They’re relentless.My shutdowns and hard nos are never enough.They keep coming.Keep trying.
My rejections only make them hungrier.
What Hernandez doesn’t know is that my adversary promised him something they can’t deliver.They think taking me out means they inherit the keys to the kingdom.That they can just move in and start calling the shots.
That’s not strategy.That’s delusion.The kind that gets you killed.
Hell, it’s a delusionIhad in the beginning.
Self-made?No such fucking thing.There arelevelsto this game.Approval that goes beyond me.Powers that pull the strings and call the shots.
Those same shot-callers are the reason I’m not plunging a rusty blade into Cutter’s liver right now.Or giving the sniper parked outside Hernandez’s place in Anaheim the green light to fire a bullet through his bedroom window.
Every king answers to a god.Took me years to swallow that particular humility pill.Leaning too hard into ego this past year, and forgetting that truth, is exactly why I’m here now, standing in front of a bottom-feeder like Cutter.
This is me being humbled.Again.
A reminder that the power I have isn’t just earned.It’sallowed.And if I want to keep it, I play by the rules.
Be smart, live long.Ride ego, die young.
Cutter whines, “But I don’t know h-how—”
With a snap of my fingers, one of my Soldati steps forward and tosses a duffel bag at his feet.
“That’s two hundred large,” I say.“An added incentive.”I step closer, my voice low.“Drop a few bodies in gory, cartel fashion.I know you’re nothing but a crew of half-brained killers-for-hire, but put some effort into being creative on this one.Make sure nothing traces back to you.Hire some thousand-dollar thugs off the street if you have to.Doesn’t matter how you do it, the end result should be mayhem among them.All-outwar.”
Cutter stares greedily at the duffel bag.No doubt he’s never had that much money tossed his way for anything.
“And to be clear,” I say, “if you fuck this up, nothing andno onewill be able to save you.This is youronlyshot with me.”
“I—okay.”He nods hard, eyes still glued to the cash.“Okay.I’ll get it done.I won’t disappoint.I’ll get it done.”
“Good.”I turn to leave, then pause to add, “As added incentive, we’ll be holding your men from the other safe house.I’m aware they’re your expendable bunch, buttheyare not.Their knowledge of that fact depends on you getting the job done right.Efficiently.”
Halfway up the stairs, I stop, rethink…fuck it.
“You know what…” I turn and head back down the stairs.“I change my mind.”
Cutters eyes widen.“What?What do you mean.”
“Eh.I don’t like that you lied to my face when I first walked in.Or that you’re such a sellout to your own men.”I pull my gun.“So, I guess Iamhere to kill you after all.”
“Wait, no!PLEASE, I—”
“Be honored,” I tell him, then put a silent bullet through his forehead.
As he slumps over at my feet, eyes wide, mouth agape, I turn to the Vice President of the club.Bowie.Point my gun at his head and arch a brow.
