Chapter 16 Cortez
Chapter sixteen
Cortez
Losing is a word I’m not familiar with—a term I despise with every bone in my body. When I assumed power as the don, I reshaped the mafia. I fortified the systems, elevated its name. Just like Don Ezra and Don Elio had done in their own time as don. And I learned from them—the best in the mafia.
Methods. Strategies. Men. Structures—I built all the forces of power that guaranteed victory despite opposition. And it has thrived…for seven good years.
Every attack on the mafia fell before it hit, every threat buried before it lived. I walked the pinnacle of success like I owned it—like I was born into it. I made success—my throne and authority—my cudgel.
And now they want to take that away. They want to crush my legacy, squeeze defeat out of my mafia. They want to watch the ripple effect of their strategy tear down the fortress I’ve built. They want to take my crown.
But there’s one thing they failed to consider. I’m not wearing the crown. I am the crown.
“The boy looks trained, Boss,” Alej’s voice from the earpiece brings me back to the moment. I nod, clenching my fists.
I watch the young boy strap his backpack like his life depends on it, and trudge even faster, cautiously, down the empty road. Most children are usually innocent, naive, reckless…unaware. But this one is different.
He’s tall, looks to be around eleven…should be a kid, but his eyes tell a different story. They’re sharp, jittery, cautious, and they constantly glance over his shoulders.
The constant clench of his fist and smacking of his lips are all I need to tell that his demeanor isn’t out of fear. It’s out of awareness.
He’s obviously trained, which means he’s a tool for important missions. Missions where they need the innocent facade of a child but the wisdom of a trained soldier.
A soft night wind rustles the dead leaves on the road just as he turns a corner. I should move, but I don’t. Instead, I stay crouched behind the wall that hides me from sight and count down the seconds. Ten. Nine. Eight.
Once I get to five, the boy rears his head from the corner and glances back at the road. His eyes bounce off every angle, then he nods and disappears into the corner. I grit, look twice and make sure no one is on his tail.
Instantly, I peel myself out of the corner, crouching silently until I get to the edge of the wall, lined by canisters that extend in a U shape. My ears perk up as I strain to listen for any sound. Nothing. But I’m not deceived.
I stay plastered against the wall until I start to hear very faint whispers that seem to be coming from a distance. I finally sneak a peek to see the boy and another tall, buff dark-skinned man with a cigarette pinched between his lips. He’s standing beside a dull lamppost.
After one of our men spotted the boy and reported to Alej, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I can’t afford another fucking slip-up.
The duo’s hushed conversation stretches for a while. I can’t make out the words being said as the man pats the boy on the back and the boy hands over a heavy wad of cash to him.
“Alej, can you see that?” I whisper. There’s a tiny, almost unnoticeable camera attached to my chest where Alej and other team members are watching.
“Yes, Capo. The boy is handing cash to him. The man must be someone high up in the chain of command if money is being remitted to him.”
My jaw tightens as I watch the man shove the cash in his pocket and roll the sleeve of his suit to reveal a black wristwatch. He glances at the watch, light from the lamppost illuminating his hand, and I immediately catch a marking just above the strap, on his inner wrist.
“Boss,” Alej starts.
“The brand logo,” I finish.
The man has the brand logo, two Rs with the same pattern as Reform’s logo, on his inner wrist. Seems we’re onto someone tangible this time around.
He nods at the boy, who turns back and starts walking in the direction he came, towards me. I curse under my breath, crouching behind the canisters as he passes.
This boy is too damn cautious for my liking.
I count down the numbers in my head, hearing his footsteps until they falter to a stop. He seems to shuffle for a while in that spot. Then he continues walking.
When I’m sure he’s gone, I jump out and peep around the corner, but the man is gone. Damn!
“The only place he could have gone is inside the apartment,” I grit into the earpiece.
Adrenaline spikes through my veins as I draw my gun, walking briskly to the entrance. This is the only building around; otherwise, it’s a dead end. He’s gotta be here.
With a slight push of my hand, the door opens, and darkness blinds my vision. A pungent smell fills my nostrils as I step in, empty bottles and organic waste littering every corner I manage to see.
“Boss,” Alej’s voice cuts through the silence.
“I’m good,” I cock my gun.
It takes no time to find the stairs that lead upward. Aiming my gun, I tread lightly, the horrible stench and dirt increasing with each step I take. I count the floors, going past the second and third.
I finally reach the top floor and almost slam my fist into the wall when I make out a vast array of similar doors that stretch through the long hallway. Fuck.
It’ll take forever to find his room. My steps are light as I walk, attuning my senses to the slightest thing when I see a ray of light filter through the space below the door.
Anticipation coils in my gut, and I square my shoulders. In no time, I’m before the door, hands gripping the knob. I try to hear any sounds and burst open the door immediately after. He starts to run, but I beat him to it.
“Stay the fuck right where you are.” My voice drips venom as I aim my gun at his head.
His eyes widen, and he pauses midway, slowly receding back into the couch.
“Who do you work for?” I growl, moving towards him, gun still aimed.
“I-I don’t…know what you’re talking about.”
The anger in my chest finds its way to my fingers, and I cock the gun. “I won’t ask again.”
His bald head catches the dim fluorescent light as he shakes his head abruptly. “I-I swear, I’m just. I took over this place from my cousin. I’ve been homeless and he hel—”
Fuck this. I fire one clean shot at his kneecap.
“Aaargh,” he screams, clenching his knee. The sound of his short, sharp pants fills the room, and I rush to him, landing a heavy blow on his face.
They’re pussies. All of them. Fucking pussies!
“Start talking,” I let out through gritted teeth, pushing the barrel of the gun to the side of his head. I hear him swallow.
“The mark on your wrist. Why do you have it?”
“W-We all have it.”
Fisting the collar of his shirt, I lean until we’re almost face-to-face and sneer. “That’s not what I asked.”
Sweat trickles down his temples. “It’s part of the brand’s initiation.”
I furrow my brow. “Initiation?”
He nods, squirming slightly from the pain in his knees. “Y-Yes. Every new member is initiated through branding.”
New members? Confusion circles my brain. There’s a lot I want to ask, but I know better than to ask secondary questions.
“Who’s in charge of this…organization? What do they aim to achieve by doing this?”
“One question at a time man, I’m losing blood here,” he spits.
“You’ll lose more than blood if you don’t keep talking.” I aim my gun at his shot kneecap. He jerks backwards.
“Fuck! Okay, okay!” He grunts, breathing heavily. “I don’t know who’s in charge.”
With brute force, I dig my gun into his knee and watch as he hunches over, guttural screams tearing his throat.
“I swear I don’t know,” he wheezes. I slam his body back into the chair, assessing his eyes. “I don’t know what they aim to achieve. All I know is it’s a reform.”
My teeth grind together.
“The next shipment. When and where’s it coming from?”
There’s a pause followed by silence. I can already tell his next move as he looks me dead in the eye and spits. Bastard. I dodge it, wiping my cheeks and channeling my anger into the slap I land on his face.
A satisfying crack rips through the room.
He sucks his cheeks, a mocking smile on his face. “My buyer will be here any minute. I suggest you run while you still can.”
I dig into his wound again, growling in anger. “My backup team has probably killed your buyer. It’s just you and me.”
“White Dove!” he yells. “White Dove. Fuck!”
“When does the shipment arrive?”
“In eight hours,” he rasps thickly when the door bursts open and shots splash through the air. I quickly dive into the room, taking cover behind the wall.
“Backup! Go now!” Alej yells into the earpiece.
“Show your face, Cortez! Can’t be a coward and a woman stealer at the same time.” A loud crash of what I assume to be a table follows his words.
Irritation coils through me and I fist my gun when I hear him again.
“Is he dead?” I peek around the corner of the wall. He’s talking to one of his men. “You guys killed my fucking supplier! I said shoot the fucking don not the man. Damn.”
The idiot is still talking when the door bursts open and shots ring through the air.
Alej.