La Santa | Oscar Diaz

La Santa - Chapter Nine

Oscar sat at the familiar poker table, trying his hardest to not look at the deep burgundy stain in the carpet. His heart burned just thinking about that dreadful day. Being back at the scene made him nauseous.

"Why are you here?" He looked up at Alaric, raising his eyebrow. "Did you want to know how hard it was to get my father and my baby sisters body out of here after not seeing them for eighteen months?" He pulled a lighter from his pocket, lighting a cigarette that was recently tucked behind his ear.

"Father?" His eyebrows pulled together, "sister?"

Alaric nodded, sitting up on the poker table. "Son of Lucifer, brother of the Angel of Death. Those titles kinda drown out the whole 'step brother from the Dominican' title."

"You were in the—"

"We're not here to talk about me." He said, "obviously you're here for a reason and I'm hoping it's a really good one cause I swore I'd only pull the trigger if it was for a good reason."

Oscar squinted his eyes, "you don't want this life, do you?"

Alaric groaned, standing up. "I want nothing more than to put a damn hole through your obnoxious ass eyebrows, so I suggest you hurry the hell up and speak."

"My eyebrows are obnoxious?" He chuckled softly, confused.

"Listen Santo." Alaric set his hands on either side of the chair Oscar was sitting in, his face mildly close to his. "Your little sarcastic-douche act might have worked on my dad. But I'm not him." He said, "Lucifer was nice as fuck compared to me, I suggest you stop wasting my time—"

"Alright, damn." Oscar huffed, sitting up straight. "Your open-ended threats finally got to me. Happy?"

Alaric stood straight, looking down at Oscar as he tilted his head to the side. "Speak."

"I came to offer a truce."

He laughed deeply, shaking his head. "Are you stupid?"

Oscar inhaled through his nose, ignoring the fact he kept offending him. He was trying to get him to snap so he could have a good reason to kill him. "Your people rolled up on my people."

Alaric scoffed, "and what? You want me to tell them not to?"

Oscar shook his head, "your ratas ain't even suppose to be in Freeridge. Menos, if they're a threat. Are you trynna get your men killed?"

"Who's gonna kill them?" He laughed, "as far as I know; Santos are underground, and they have been since your soft ass—"

Oscar stood, his chair flying back. "Oh so you think you're hard cause you got your daddies spot? Some of us actually had to put in work to get to where we are."

Alaric smirked, stepping toward him. "Give me a reason to shoot you, homie. Cause I'll do it."

"You know what?" He stepped closer as well, looking him up and down with disgust. "Fuck a truce."

Alaric clapped his hands, his thick Dominican accent flowing out like venom. "Eso, campion."

"Stay away from my brother and his friends. You and your rats." He spat, the anger radiating off of him at this point. He walked towards the door, reaching for the knob as he spoke again. "I mean it."

"Hoping to see you real soon, Spooky." Alaric chuckled, watching him walk out. He followed after slowly, standing in the middle of his men as he drove away.

"You're just gonna let him leave jefe?"

He nodded, "I have something special planned for that Santo. This is only the beginning."