Taking The Mantle

Chapter 33

TW: violence

Rocco pulls the car to a stop outside the front doors. It's a modern mansion with walls of windows and bright blue accents. Sinaloa's men pace the perimeter of the large house with guns at their hips. The duo at the door exchange words before approaching the vehicle.

"You ready for this?" Rocco hesitantly asks.

"Don't worry about me," I reply, "just make sure that the men are in position and ready to kill."

"This is pretty risky," he says as he looks at the men outside.

"It's no fun if there's no risk," I retort. We lock eyes in the rear view mirror and I nod once.

He climbs out of the car and opens my door. I hop out and he immediately gets back inside and drives off. I stride towards the house only to be stopped by two of the men.

"Need to frisk you first," the one mutters.

I roll my eyes but extend my arms anyway. He pats me down looking for any knives or guns but finds none. I have exactly one weapon on me and he's not going to find it.

"He's clean," he informs his partner.

"Let's go," the other nods towards the front doors.

I walk inside and immediately look around. It's a pretty nice place with shiny floors and neutral walls. Flashy decor adorns the building, as though Pedro doesn't know how to spend his money correctly. It doesn't matter really; he'll be dead before sun down.

"This way," the first man nudges me with the tip of his gun.

I follow him through the halls to a large office. It's more modern than my own with a glass top desk and obscure sculptures. Pedro Sinaloa sits behind the desk with a cocky grin.

"Have a seat," he gestures to the plastic chairs in front of his desk.

The man who escorted me here leaves and I take a seat. Pedro is wearing a linen shirt that's darkened around his armpits. I watch him carefully as he organizes papers into a stack.

My heart is beating rapidly, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I flip the blade around in my mouth passively. I'm starting to understand why Antonio got so excited about setting fires; the same giddiness is spreading throughout my body at the prospect of watching this man bleed.

"I'm happy to hear that you've agreed to my terms," he slides the pages to me.

"It was a dirty move using a kid as leverage," I say as I begin to look over the papers, "smart but still dirty."

"All is fair in love and war," he grins, extending his arms out.

I glance at him before looking over the pages again. I'm not even reading the words as I leaf through the stack. I just need to stall him, buy a little bit of time for my men to get inside.

"How did you get him to change sides?" I ask. It's something I've been trying to figure out for days.

"Did you really think that all of your men would be supportive of you taking over?" he chuckles, "and when was the last time you reviewed salaries? The boy was broke and bored."

"That's it?" I question, "he worked for the family for nearly a decade."

"And yet he was barely promoted," Pedro says, "at least with me, my men move up the ladder."

"I wonder why that is," I muse with a grin. His men are known for taking unnecessary risks and dying in the process. These men don't advance in the organization because they deserve it; it's because their superiors die at an alarming rate.