La Reina del Pacifico (The Queen of The Pacific) - GxG

Prologue

Translations:

Malditos idiotas: Fucking idiots.
Incluso si es un idiota: Even if he is an idiot.
Y un abismo a la billetera: And an abyss for your wallet.
Pero espera: But wait
Lo sé papá: I know dad

A strong wind blew the crisp ocean air over the balcony of the large building. The waves audibly crashed onto the shores of the Guadalupe Island.

Cruz stood in the background of the meeting, her arms crossed over her chest, just listening as she was always instructed to. Her father was a businessman of the sort; owner of countless nightclubs, businesses, and casinos. That's what it looked like to the government anyway.

Behind closed doors, he was one of the most notorious and successful drug lords in the world. Larger than Pablo Escobar most would say. He was old though, nearing his late sixties and ready to give up all he had to his daughter.

But what would one last deal be? It was a brilliant opportunity to buy into the oil trade. Dangerous, of course, but the potential of a large income was far too tempting. Men like him could never believe that there was such a thing as too much money.

Around the meeting table were a few bodyguards, some with automatic rifles, handguns, and then of course there were the falcons. The falcons were spotters, binoculars in hand as they scanned the surroundings for any imminent danger.

Being a drug lord automatically placed thousands of targets on the back of Enrique Gonzalo Manuelos.

"Seventy-five million dollars and all of the crude oil is yours. You can refine most of it to lower-grade petroleum and make a fortune." Asmar Amrohi says, sitting backward satisfied as he straightens out his suit. "Hell, you could make all of it higher-grade if you'd like but that would be a waste."

Enrique looked at the man in front of him skeptically. He had very little experience in the oil trade, but there was always somebody he could hire who could take care of the entire operation for him. "I don't like that price tag. It leaves too little margin for profit. I would have to get it out of Syria and that can become quite expensive."

Asmar smiled, carefully considering what he would say next. "I could assist you with that. We can take it to Turkey, refine it there. All I need is your money. I'll do all the work, but of course that would mean that you won't get so much profit."

The man shook his head. "I don't think I'm interested, Mr Amrohi, but thank you for the offer." Enrique lifted a hand, inviting his guests to leave. Asmar took a deep breath, a fake smile presenting itself. "Very well. How about refugees then? 20? 25? You need workers in your warehouses, don't you? Or maybe ... your strip clubs? We have beautiful women for you."

"I think you're speaking to the wrong man, Asmar." Enrique says firmly. "My family doesn't deal in those matters. You know what we do, and I feel insulted that you would attempt to sell me people."

The man next to Asmar shrugged, not once having spoken before. He had clear aging lines on his forehead, silver chains around his neck, and a receding hairline paired with an excuse of a ponytail. "Come on, Enrique. Some of them are barely fourteen years old. They too can make you a fortune. You can even keep one for yourself."

"You're wasting my time, gentleman. I'm not interested." Enrique says louder, this time a warning in his eye. He had a daughter of his own, behind him even, and these poor excuses of men thought it a good idea to offer him a deal of human trafficking young girls.

It was deplorable.

Asmar bowed his head. "I see. But perhaps you can think about it? About either deal, or both?"

Enrique turned in his seat, looking at his daughter who sported a curled lip. She wasn't all that impressed either. There were lines in business, and human trafficking was crossing it. Beside Cruz was Enrique's right-hand man, one he trusted with his life. "Armando."

Armando took the seat Enrique stood from knowing that his boss was no longer interested in the conversation.

Cruz was at the edge of the balcony by then, looking out over the waters until she felt the presence of her father next to her. "Malditos idiotas." She mutters, leaning her elbows on the railing.

"He's still a potential partner for the oil as soon as I've learned more about it. We should respect him. Incluso si es un idiota."

Cruz chuckled, leaving only a grin behind. She looked back at the table where Asmar gave a cheer as a hostess brought out drinks and coke. Her eyes scanned up and down the woman, admiring how toned her legs were in heels. And perhaps the top button of her blouse threatening to burst open as she leaned over to place the drink on the table didn't help either.

"Careful now," Her father warns. "Beautiful women are heaven for the eyes but hell for your life."

"Y un abismo a la billetera." Cruz finishes with a laugh, placing a hand on her father's shoulder. "Want a drink?"

Enrique nodded as his daughter turned to leave. "Pero espera," Cruz turned back, eyes attentive and curious. "It's time that you stop thinking about partying and pleasure." He turned to look again at the hostess as she rushed a hand over Asmar's shoulder, throwing her head back in laughter. "You should start taking responsibility. The day will come when all of this will be yours."

"Lo sé papá." She answers earnestly, squeezing her father's hand. "Now come."

The first loud clap of a gun took Cruz by surprise as blood splattered on her face; her father's blood. She went blank for a couple of seconds, not quite comprehending the situation. With military training in her back pocket, her reaction didn't quite make sense.

The next few shots rang out from a different direction; from Asmar's direction. One of his men had wrestled an assault rifle from Enrique's men and began firing in the direction of him and his daughter.

Cruz felt a bullet pierce through her shoulder as she tried to catch her father, and another entered and exited through the side of her abdomen. She fell next to her father, choking on her own blood. She spared a glance in her father's direction, seeing no rise and fall of his chest. The blood pooling on his chest immediately indicated that he was shot through the heart.

The ringing in her ears muted all the bullets flying through the air, along with the shouting and yells. Not before long Armando was at her side, touching her cheek before pressing down on the wound on her abdomen. He was shouting, she could see as much, but the sound just wasn't there.

Next to her was another man crouching over her father, feeling for a pulse on his neck. But he soon shook his head at Armando.

Enrique Gonzalo Manuelos was murdered.

And his unforgettable empire was in the balance.