ALESSIO #5
"Money," he spits. "Guns. Product. They move their shit through our territory. They pay well. Razor got greedy. Flea saw an opportunity. Simple as that."
I keep shuffling the cards. "And Javier?"
Sweat pours down Lenny's temples. "What about him? He's the boss."
For a moment I let the cards rest and stare at my old man. The man who terrorized me throughout my entire childhood. The man I couldn't wait to get away from. He doesn't look that scary any longer. Hasn't for a long time.
"What about the Collector?" I ask, keeping my voice deceptively calm.
Lenny blinks as sweat drips into his eyes. "Who?"
"The Collector," I repeat, watching his face. "El Recaudador."
He shakes his head, genuinely confused. "Never heard of him before. Should I?"
I study him for a long second. Lenny's a drunk. He's calculating. He's mean as a cornered rattlesnake. But he's never been a good actor. Even if he were trying to lie right now, the name alone should've made him piss himself. I've seen bigger, harder men crumble at the mere mention of it.
He has no clue.
That's… interesting. The Reapers have been in bed with Los Hijos del Desierto for years.
Cesar has been running that cartel from the shadows.
And yet this pathetic piece of shit sitting in front of me—a man who's been with the MC long enough to know the major players—has never even heard the name.
Cesar has been playing a longer game than any of us realized.
Keeping his two identities completely separate. Even from his own allies.
But he hasn't told me everything he knows yet about Los Hijos del Desierto. I can see it in the way his eyes keep darting, the way his mouth twitches like he's still holding something back. I slide a card across the felt. Jack of Spades.
I tsk softly. "Bad luck, old man."
Lenny turns a shade paler, sweat pouring down his face. "Hey, I told you—"
"What else are the Los Hijos del Desierto selling that they need the MC for?" I ask in an ice-cold voice, fingers hovering over the next card.
He breaks. "People," he sobs, the words spilling out in a desperate rush. "Okay? Fucking people."
I arch an eyebrow, keeping my face blank even as disgust coils in my gut like poison. "People?"
"Women. Children…" His voice cracks. "Girls, mostly. Young ones. They move them through Reaper territory. Sometimes we snag some pussy and sell it to them. They use our safe houses. Our routes. We get a cut. Protection money. Sometimes we help load the trucks."
I flip the next card anyway. Seven of Hearts. He flinches hard, but no nail fires. Not yet. I want him to feel the threat hanging over him.
"Why?" I ask quietly.
He sniffs, snot and tears mixing with the blood on his face. "Money. Power. The Mexicans pay fucking top dollar. Razor got greedy. Said it was easier than moving product and twice as profitable."
I lean forward, staring straight into his bloodshot eyes, daring him to lie. "And who is running this part of the operation?"
Lenny hesitates half a second too long. I reach for the deck again.
"Your mother," he blurts out. "Luciana. She's the one running the whole fucking thing on this side.
Has been for years. She's not just moving girls for the Mexicans, she's organizing the routes, the safe houses, the buyers.
She's the head of the entire pipeline through the Southwest. Javier's and Razor's right hand.
Or maybe they're hers. I don't fucking know anymore. "
Each word hits me like the blow of a sledgehammer to the chest. My mother. I knew she was involved. But running it? More than just complicit.
The woman who left me with this piece of shit—the woman who let me grow up believing I was the reason she walked away—is now trafficking women and children like cattle.
She built an empire on the broken lives of other people's daughters while her own son was learning how to survive beatings and neglect.
Something inside me snaps clean in two.
I stand up slowly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. My hands are steady as I button my jacket, but inside I'm burning alive. Rage. Disgust. A deep, ugly betrayal that tastes like acid on my tongue.
Lenny watches me, breathing hard. "That's all I know. I swear to God, Alessio. That's everything."
I look down at him—this pathetic, bleeding drunk who raised me with fists and threats—and for the first time in my life, I feel something close to pity.
Not for him. For the boy I used to be. The boy who waited every night for a mother who never came home.
The boy who believed he wasn't worth staying for.
The boy who grew up thinking love was something you had to earn with blood and silence.
I lean down until we're eye to eye. "You're not my father," I whisper. "You never were. And the woman who left me with you? She's going to wish she'd never been born when I find her."
Lenny's face crumples. "Alessio—"
I straighten up and button my cuff. "Rossi."
My second steps forward. "Keep him breathing," I order. "I might have more questions later."
I turn toward the door without another glance. Lenny's broken screams follow me into the hallway. I don't look back.
I go back upstairs to feast my eyes on the only sight that might calm my churning mind.
I find her splayed out like a starfish on the bed. I don't know how long I stand there and just stare, letting the sight of her beautiful form soothe the aches from my body and mind.