CROSS

Prologue

San Diego, California
Several years ago,

A mirage of orange and yellow peaked over the horizon, casting a dull shadow over the surface of the ocean. The early morning breeze swept through the open windows of the master bedroom.

The waves were quiet and calm, and the sound of them crashing into the shoreline should have been peaceful and tranquil. But it wasn't. Nothing felt calm or at peace anymore.

There was a storm raging in his head. A battle between good and evil, and it seemed that evil triumphed. For the first time in his life, Roman felt like he had the world in the palm of his hand. With one single movement, he could crash it. With one word, he would have everyone fall at his feet.

Was this what it was like being the new Drug Lord? Was this the kind of power his predecessor had?

Roman pivoted to face the mess behind him.

The very man who once sat atop an untouchable organization lay lifeless on his king-size bed in all his glory. Among blood-stained sheets, among his faeces, his semen, and his limbs.

Fucked in the arse by his most trusted soldiers and finished with a bullet to the head.

Diego Rivera was a sorry excuse of a man let alone a Cartel Leader. He was a plump fucking pig, the thought echoes in Roman's head as he takes in Diego's silhouette. The bald head, the round belly and the tiny penis dangling from large uneven ball sacks.

Roman twists his face in disgust. This man had been haunting him for years. The memories of what he did to his family etched into his mind. This very man, now lifeless and small, had raped his mother before murdering her. Then he raped his sisters and he had them sold to highest bidders.

Repayments that's what he considered them. Punishment for actions they never took.

He raped them, he let his business partners raped them before selling them like cattle. All the while, he made his father watch - he made Roman watch.

But Diego Rivera didn't do this alone. He had help; he knew people. Roman remembered each and every one of them, their faces imprinted in his mind as they walked in and out of the cells that held them prisoner.

He hunted most of them down. Tearing them apart limb by limb. Severing their cock, toes and fingers but he knew that the pain would not compare to what his family went through.

The only mercy he showed was towards the women and children whom he gave a quick death.

The bedroom door creaked open, and his younger brother, Arthur, lazily strolled into the room, hands shoved in his pockets and an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He stopped in front of the four-poster bed and squinted his eyes.

"I love you hermano," he deadpanned, "But I'd rather saw off my own cock then fuck you in the arse." He ran a hand through his mop of brown curls and twitched his nose at the stench. "It fucking reeks in here, fuck."

Roman took a seat in the velvet armchair, legs spread, and poured himself one of Diego's finest liquors. Diego may have been a pig, but his liquor collection was immaculate.

The bitter taste went down his throat in one gulp. Each time he drank, he hoped the alcohol would burn away the pain and the memories of the day his parents died. But it didn't.

The emotions were still raw, and the wrath still burned. Because there was still one person standing—one he hadn't been able to locate. Boris Balandin.

One of the Bratva's most infamous flesh peddlers.

He had been on Diego's payroll. Roman recalled seeing his name appearing on bank statements he used to review with his father, who at the time was the Cartel's head of finances. Because of that position, they were a well-respected family.

Until someone sent Diego falsified records that painted them as the enemy. And foolishly, Diego fell for it.

Absolute loyalty, that was what his father had shown Diego during his reign. The fat fuck decided that it wasn't enough to give them a chance to prove the records wrong.

Now he and his partners laid dead in this room with the false hope that he would show them mercy. Where was the mercy on that very day everything fell apart for him? None, so why would he show them any. Laughable, pathetic.

"Boris Balandin." Roman uttered his name with pure disgust.

The memories of Boris shoving his cock in his mother's mouth resurfaces. It comes so violently, he tasted bile in the back of his throat.

He fucked his mother and fucked his sisters until they bled out. Roman begged for mercy, cried for it but his pleads fell on deaf ears.

Boris sold them under Diego's order, had them shipped across the globe and auction them to the highest bidder. That's what he does for man like Diego - make people disappear whether it be a man or a woman or children.

And the cherry on top? He fathered a child with his youngest sister, Carmen. She was fourteen and pregnant. Now she's dead because a fourteen year old couldn't cope with being pregnant whilst the rest of her friends continued on with their lives.

Carmen knew she couldn't be a teenager again and with the trauma of being kidnapped and raped, she had nothing in this life she would miss. So she threw herself off her bedroom balcony nine months pregnant. She landed head first, breaking her own neck.

Her body was so frail, so broken but her face was so peaceful. Was she happy in that moment?

The images of her lying dead in a pool of her own blood replayed again and again as if they had been burned into his irises. Guilt and regret swallowed the last bit of humanity in his body.

No mercy, he promised. He was going to kill Boris Balandin and his entire family, erasing them from existence.
Roman swung the entire bottle of liquor down his throat, wanting the alcohol to ease the pain. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "What information do we have on him?"

"Nothing," Arthur responded. "There was absolutely nothing about him in Diego's files. The man was like a fucking ghost."

It made sense. A man like him probably had all the world's intelligence organizations after him. It wouldn't be surprising if he had several aliases.

"I want him found," he stated firmly. "I don't care how we do it. I don't care how many people we have to pay off or kill. I want him found."

Roman stood and didn't spare a fleeting glance at the bodies on the bed and the bodies on the floor. He had only one goal, and that was to end Boris Balandin and his lineage. He owed that much to his family.

"Get this shit cleaned up, we have work to do."

Edited