His Territory

22

- Cristian

I pace back and forth in the living room, feeling a tightness coil in my chest. Gian had texted that he'd heard from the Benditos, and we needed everyone here, fast. My foot taps a steady rhythm on the floor as the guys start filing in, Gian leading the way with Carlos trailing behind him. Los deliberately picks the farthest seat from me, his eyes fixed on the wall.

"You good? You're pale as fuck," Gian says, giving me a concerned look.

"Yeah, I'm alright," I reply, glancing at Los, hoping to catch his attention. He doesn't budge. "Just want to get this over with so we can set ourselves up for a better future, tú sabes?"

More bodies shuffle into the house until the living room is packed with thirty of us, shoulder to shoulder. I rise from my seat and stand in the center of the room. The chatter dies down, every eye on me.

"Alright, listen up," I say, my voice echoing off the walls. "You know the drill. We're not playing fucking games. We're in and out—no complications. Keep it clean, keep it tight. Don't make this more of a mess than it needs to be."

I walk up to Gian and jab a finger into his chest, pushing him back slightly. "No unnecessary bodies. We're not here to start a damn war. Our hands stay clean. ¿Claro?"

Gian chuckles, brushing my hand away. "Squeaky clean. Now chill out, would ya?" He steps into the center, addressing the crowd. "You know the deal, mi sangre!" he shouts. "Lucia is blood if Cristian says so. She's one of us. This swap is going to be quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid." He glances at me, and I nod for him to continue.

"Here's the plan. Los will drop Lucia with those dogs on Tuesday evening," he says, pulling a Sharpie from his pocket and drawing a rough map on the wall.

"Bro, what the hell are you doing?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"It's called drawing, hermano. Like it matters—look at all the other crap on these walls." He rolls his eyes, then continues sketching the neighborhood.

"Myself, Antony, Roman, and Lucas will be posted up two blocks north to block their way out of Freeridge. Cristian, David, and José will cover three blocks south to keep them from making it to L.A." Gian's focus intensifies as he points to the map, each mark a small indication of our position.

"When the money drops and they have Lu, Carlos is going to take off like a bat out of hell and not come back for three days. No Carlos means no way they'll get their money back," he says, his voice dropping with the weight of the plan.

"Each team will stop them before they get far with Lucia. We grab her, knock them out if we can, and we all flee south to Tijuana. Everyone needs their passports, ready to go, by Tuesday."

"What if I don't have mine?" José calls from the back.

"Dig under la cama de tu mamá," Gian retorts, a grin spreading across his face. "I felt it there the other night." Laughter erupts, filling the room as the guys shove each other, joking about our "vacation" to Mexico.

Then, Los's phone rings, and the room falls silent. He answers, his voice steady but wary. "Dígame, Lucia. ¿Qué tú haces?" He glances at me, his eyes widening, his hand beginning to tremble.

Without a word, he throws the phone at me. I catch it and hold it to my ear. "Díga." The line is silent, and I look down, seeing Lucia's name on the caller ID.

"Lu? Why'd you call Los and not me?" I say softly, trying not to sound alarmed.

"Lu?" A deep voice answers, and I feel a chill crawl down my spine. "Tú no eres Lu." The voice chuckles dryly. "You've got a weak name for her. I call her mía."

A Puerto Rican accent drenches the words, and rage simmers in my veins. "¿Dónde está mi mujer? Why do you have her phone?"

"Porque ella me lo dio. We're taking a trip, and she wanted me to keep it safe." His laugh snakes through the line, taunting me. "Did you really think I'd pay you one-fifty for what's already mine? Use your brain. This isn't complicated, bro—it's elementary."

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to? You're the biggest coward in the hemisphere. I'm coming for you, and when I get there, you'll beg."

"Buena suerte con eso," he sneers. "Like I said, we're taking a trip. California's a little too hot right now anyway." The line clicks, and I stare at the phone, the realization hitting me like a blow to the gut.

I hurl Los's phone into the coffee table, my whole body trembling. "Pack your fucking bags," I growl, my voice low and dangerous. "Get your passports. Meet me back here in fifteen."

Gian approaches, his face tense. "Bro, who the fuck was that?"

I clench my fists, my voice barely a whisper. "It's Adrián. He has Lu."