Book #1 of the Santos series
Ana Wright is an incredible doctor; a surgeon, who spent her life helping people, making her one of the most famous surgeons in Vancouver. But after an incident at the hospital, she was working at, she decided to quit an...
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It is the week after my birthday party. I am still wearing the bracelet Ana gave me. It feels illegal to take it off and I don't want to.
I am at the warehouse, working with my men to find Storm. He doesn't even deserve to be called uncle anymore. This warehouse is 30 minutes away from the house. This is the place where all of my men reside and work. The house, however, is where we live and get healed in. My mother made sure that the infirmary remains at the house, but we made sure to have a small one at the warehouse just in case we couldn't reach the villa.
"Boss! Someone left a package at the door!" One of my men, Angel, yells. I quickly stand up and run downstairs to make sure it isn't a bomb. Jeremy, our bomb analyzer, comes with me to check the package.
It's a square brown box, taped from all the holes. No one touches the box as Jeremy and I walk toward it and analyze it.
"Everybody move back!" I yell.
The men listen and step away from the package. The atmosphere suddenly shifts as Jeremy opens the package, but no one was ready for what we're about to see.
A head.
Not just any head. The mafia's hacker's head, Justin.
Jeremy steps back and vomits on the floor. Everyone starts gagging at the scene, but I only stared at the head of the nineteen-year-old boy. He was just a boy, who was doing his job. The one I ordered him to do.
Today was his off day. His day to spend with his family.
Guilt fills my body as I continue to stare at his face. He died because of me, because I couldn't protect him and because I employed a young boy for his talents.
What am I going to tell his parents?
"Rafa..."
"Rafa!"
"Rafael!" Cash's voice pulls me out of my depressing thoughts.
I look at him, he looks very concerned.
"Are you okay, brother?" he asks, kneeling to my level and grabbing my shoulder with his right hand.
I don't answer because I am not.
"It's not your fault, Rafa."
I look at him this time and say, "It is."
"It isn't. Don't let his death convince you that you killed him. We are the mafia, things like this are bound to happen," he explains, trying to convince me.
"I promised that I'd protect him."
"And you did, this whole year, you did. But you can't protect him forever."
"His parents...what am I going to tell them?" I ask, standing up.
"I don't know, man, but I will be there with you."
