"Put the meeting on hold and get us the next available flight back to Knuk." Alejandro Mendoza yelled, his voice filled with panic and urgency.
His heart pounded in his chest, its rapid beats echoing his rising anxiety. The call from his men back home had shaken him to the core. The news was devastating.
Their rival, Carlos Morales, had brazenly sent his men to attack the Mendoza Villa. The audacity of it all left Alejandro seething with anger and a deep, unsettling fear.
"How dare he enter the Mendoza Villa and cause trouble?" For some reason, he was dead scared that he'd go home and meet a lot of dead bodies, including his father's.
As Mafias, they had grown up conditioned to fear nothing, not even death. But the desperation in the caller's voice had struck a nerve, hinting at a grave loss. Alejandro knew the weight of that silence. It could mean their leader had fallen.
And though Alejandro was his successor, his father's death would undoubtedly plunge their organization into chaos, with the minor family and Morales Villa vying for more power.
In the whole of Knuk, there were only two acknowledged Lord and Mafia Homes; the Mendoza Villa and the Morales Villa.
They had long maintained an unspoken truce, knowing the sheer brutality that awaited any who dared to cross paths or engage in open conflict.
They were not each other's friends and neither were they enemies. However, now, since they started the war first, Alejandro was willing to not just continue but to end it also.
"Pray I only find a scratch on my papa, Carlos, or else, I'd kill every member of the Morales Villa," Alejandro vowed, his voice laced with a deadly resolve as he stormed out of the hall, his trusted right-hand man at his side.
His vision was tinged with crimson rage, and the throbbing pain in his chest mirrored the intensity of his emotions. A potent mix of fear, anger, and a thirst for vengeance, should it have ended in his father losing his life.
The anticipation gnawed at them cruelly as they sat on the plane. Alejandro couldn't stop fidgeting in his seat, his mind overwhelmed with the need to go to the Villa.
Time appeared to stretch on forever, each minute seeming to last an eternity. He looked out the window, longing to see the familiar Knuk scenery beneath them.
Alejandro exchanged anxious glances with his right-hand man, their shared rage evident in their eyes.
And then, with a gentle jolt and a subtle rumble, the wheels of the aircraft made contact with the runway.
Outside the window, they could see they were finally in Knuk. Immediately, they left the plane, they got into the car that was waiting for them. The driver was quiet, fearing to speak.
Within a mere half-hour, they arrived at the Villa, the wheels of their vehicle carrying them swiftly through familiar streets.
Some of the women cried and wailed. Their sorrow pierced the veil of stoicism maintained by the men, and just a tear fell down their cheeks. They were wearing sunglasses.
Black had always been the color they fancied, so even during happy times, they always wore black suits or dresses. Yet, on this day, the air was heavy with an indescribable shift.
"Where is my papa?" Alejandro didn't want to believe his father was dead. That man was too strong to die from just a bullet.
In response, one of the bodyguards, his voice betraying the weight of sorrow, delivered the devastating truth. "El padrino esta muerto."
The words hung in the air, each syllable carrying the weight of confirming what he was fearing. Alejandro's world shattered, his hopes crushed by the cold reality.
A tear escaped his control, tracing a path down his cheek, a testament to the depth of his loss. How could his father die?
Alejandro then looked around. The eyes of every man fixed upon him, their unwavering gaze awaiting his command. In their eyes, he saw the fiery thirst for vengeance and a burning desire in the eyes of those without glasses.
The very thought of anyone daring to lay claim to their goods, let alone claim the life of their leader, was an affront that stoked the flames of righteous anger within them.
"We mourn today, tomorrow, we shall deliver the head of our father's killer," With every ounce of fury coursing through his veins, he declared, his words dripping with death and determination.
At that moment, the room trembled with the power of their collective purpose. The Morales brought war upon themselves and the country would not be able to contain the two of them.
"Mateo, follow me," Alejandro called, and together they entered the house.
Since they received the devastating call, Mateo had fallen into a deep silence. His brooding silence spoke volumes, carrying a weight of self-blame that threatened to consume him.
Perhaps he carried the burden of guilt, questioning if their decision to leave and investigate the delay in their goods had cost them the chance to stand by their father's side, to fight and protect him.
Suddenly, Mateo's voice pierced the heavy air, brimming with concern and worry. "Where is your Uncle? Where is Uncle Felipe?" The lines of worry etched deeply on their faces, a frown creasing their brows.
The absence of their uncle cast a shadow of fear. Had the ruthless enemy snuffed out his life as well?
YOU ARE READING
Love Under The Gun
Romance"What do I do when you are supposed to be buried deep underground?" Her heart pounded in her chest immediately when she heard those words. Why was he suddenly talking about her being buried? She was suddenly caught in the grip of conflicting emotio...
