Antonio, a twenty-seven-year-old scion, hailed from a long and feared line of the Mexican mafia.
The Castello family's name was synonymous with power and wealth across all of Mexico, their influence a pervasive shadow.
From an age when most children were learning nursery rhymes, he and his sister, Alejandra, were being schooled in the brutal lexicon of the family business.
They worked relentlessly to reach their current standing.
Now, Antonio bore the weight of leadership—a heavy, unforgiving mantle of responsibility.
Their Abuelita, the formidable matriarch, had mandated a strange decompression method for the heir apparent: get a "normal" skill as a distraction.
It's why Alejandra operated a high-end restaurant, and why Antonio had taken over a legitimate corporate enterprise.
The life of a mafia boss was not fun and games; it was a constant state of high alert.
Trust was a liability, and everywhere he went, Antonio knew a bullet with his name on it might be waiting.
This pervasive paranoia was why he remained single. The thought of losing someone he loved, of giving his enemies a target, scared him more than any rival gang could.
"Dick head, where are you?" Roberto's voice boomed as he strode into the opulent living room of Antonio's mansion.
"Nigga, what the hell are you doing in my house?" Antonio shot back.
"I came looking for your dumb ass, dumb ass."
"What for?" Antonio asked, unamused.
"I'm worried about you, motherfucker."
Roberto Gonzalez also came from a formidable mafia lineage—well-known, but not as powerful as the Castellos.
He and Antonio were friends from birth, having shared secrets, blood, and territory for decades.
"Yo, homie, where's the secretary I hired? What's her name again? Melissa? Right?" Roberto asked, flopping onto a white sofa.
"I don't know," was all Antonio would give him.
"What do you mean, you don't know? Did you fire her?"
"I didn't fire her. She's just gone. I came back to the office, and she vanished."
"Have you tried looking for her?"
"I have, but I didn't find her. She's not in any system. Her name doesn't appear when I search online. I don't know what the hell is going on."
Sebastian, Antonio's ever-present bodyguard and logistics expert, stood silently near the door.
"Could she be working for the bounty hunters?" Roberto theorized.
"Those guys? Nah," Sebastian interjected.
"I think it's more of the one eleven gang's style."
"What if she isn't a spy?" Antonio asked, leaning against the fireplace.
"What if she's an ordinary civilian who just walked away?"
"What? Her name can't be located in the system, bro," Roberto countered.
"If she was sent to kill me, she wouldn't have helped me when I had my episode," Antonio reasoned.
"She stayed by my side."
"What if that was all part of the plan? A long game?" Sebastian posed the question with typical caution.
Antonio stood, adjusting his cufflinks. "We're forgetting that I'm the leader of the Castello family. I can handle myself."
"Fine," Roberto grinned. "I'll help you find your Cinderella, Prince Charming." He teased.
"Fuck you," Antonio replied, a genuine smile touching his lips for the first time that day.
"So, what are you up to tonight?" Roberto asked.
"I was thinking of going to the club and having some fun with some bitches. You wanna join?"
"Sure thing"
An hour later, the roar of high-end engines announced their arrival at one of the city's most exclusive clubs.
As soon as they stepped out of their cars, they were swarmed by a sea of women, all vying for the attention of the two most dangerous men in the room.
Antonio and Roberto exchanged a quick, approving glance before disappearing into the neon haze.
Inside, the VIP table was a spread of excess: top-shelf liquor, white powder, and beautiful women draped over the furniture.
After dropping a small fortune, they retreated to private suites.
In the dim light of the hotel room, the woman with Antonio didn't hesitate. She stepped out of her dress, her eyes locked on his.
Antonio offered a cold, satisfied smile. He moved to the bed, his kiss hard and possessive.
He traced the lines of her body, his hands wandering with a practiced, predatory grace as he kissed the hollow of her throat.
His touch moved lower, finding the heat between her legs. As he worked his fingers, a sharp moan escaped her lips.
He gripped her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the bed to look at her.
"You want me to put my tongue in you?" Antonio's voice was a dark rasp.
"Yes... please," she breathed.
"Be a good girl and beg for it."
"Please, daddy," she whispered, her eyes clouded with lust.
"Put your tongue all up in me."
He obliged, his movements slow and deliberate. When she arched her back, squeezing her legs around his head, he gave her thighs a sharp slap, asserting his control.
But when he slid his fingers inside and she let out a piercing scream, Antonio stiffened.
"Shh," he hissed. "You're disturbing the entire hotel."
"I want you now," she pleaded, reaching for him.
Antonio's eyes went cold. He pulled away, standing up and straightening his shirt.
"Leave"
The woman blinked, confused and half-naked on the sheets.
"W... what? Why?"
"Get dressed," Antonio commanded, the fire in his eyes replaced by ice. "I'm not in the mood."
"But... but—"
"Your money will be sent to your account," he interrupted, his voice final. "Now leave my room."
Frustrated and humiliated, she gathered her clothes and fled.
In his suite, Antonio found himself alone, the energy of today draining away.
He took a shower, the cool water doing nothing to calm the strange frustration humming under his skin, and went to bed alone.
The next morning, his phone shrieked on the nightstand.
"Hello," he answered, his voice thick with sleep.
"Yo dude, where you at?" Roberto's voice was too loud for the hour.
"On the bed."
"Are you still at that hotel?"
Antonio frowned, sitting up.
"Mmmm... wait, you aren't here?"
"Yeah," Roberto laughed. "I thought you had left already."
Antonio rubbed his eyes, looking out the window toward the parking lot.
"Nigga, our cars are parked right next to each other. Tell me how the hell you pulled out of the parking lot and didn't notice my car?"
"I mean, I figured you had a good time with the lady, so I didn't want to ruin your groove," Roberto said.
"Fuck you." Antonio hung up. "Dick head."
He tossed his phone onto the nightstand, staring at the ceiling. I couldn't even do it last night.
What the hell is wrong with me? The face of a missing secretary flickered in his mind's eye.
That same morning, in the main family house, the Abuelita held court at the dining table.
"Alejandra, were you able to retrieve the file from the Guzmans?"
"Abuela, I'm working on it," Alejandra replied.
"I want to know where the next shipment for the cocaine would take place."
Antonio walked in, kissing his grandmother's head.
"Good morning, Abuela."
"You've finally decided to join us for breakfast," she said, her voice laced with an old-world charm that belied her power.
"It was two days ago I sent you an invitation, but you felt I wasn't important."
"I'm so sorry, Abuela. I was handling some situations."
"I was informed that the warehouse on the East Coast had been vandalized," Alejandra mentioned, passing the butter knife.
"Yes, we were able to identify them through the CCTV footage," Abuela confirmed.
"Who did it?" Antonio asked, his appetite suddenly gone.
"Jose," Alejandra replied.
"What did they take?"
"Our ammunitions and explosives."
"Those motherfuckers," Antonio whispered.
"What do you want to do about it, Antonio?" Abuela asked, the grandmotherly mask dropping to reveal the syndicate boss beneath.
Antonio stood up.
"Where are you going?" Alejandra asked.
"I'm going for a drink," Antonio said.
"But it's eleven in the morning."
Antonio ignored her, walking out to his car where Sebastian was waiting.
"I want to know Jose's current location."
They both climbed into the BMW.
"I found him. He's currently in his club that's opposite the old antique store," Sebastian said, pulling into traffic.
"Let's go."
Security was tight outside Jose's club, but the guards recognized the Castello Boss and waved him through.
Inside, music pounded the walls.
"Where's Jose?" Sebastian asked a waitress.
"He's in his lounge," she replied, eyes wide.
They made their way to the lounge. Sebastian kicked the door open with a crash, causing everyone inside to be on high alert.
"Antonio, what brings you to my territory?" Jose asked, standing up.
"You have balls to steal from me. Isn't that right?" Antonio asked, stepping fully into the room.
"Steal from you? What do you mean?"
"You sent your men to do your dirty work, didn't you?" Sebastian said, stepping up to Jose.
Antonio sat on an empty chair, crossing his legs.
"Now I'm here for what rightfully belongs to me."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Jose insisted.
Antonio gave Sebastian a signal. Sebastian walked up to Jose and punched him hard in the jaw.
Jose's men immediately drew their guns.
"It seems to me they don't value your life very much, Jose," Antonio said, his voice terrifyingly calm amidst the sudden forest of gun barrels.
Jose's eyes darted between his men and the cold, unwavering expression on Antonio's face.
He knew his guards were fast, but he knew Antonio was a ghost who didn't fear the grave.
"Put the fucking guns down, goddamnit!" Jose screamed, his voice cracking.
Reluctantly, the guards lowered their weapons, the tension in the room remaining thick enough to choke on.
"Where is my shit, Jose?" Antonio asked, leaning forward.
"I told you before," Jose wheezed, clutching his bruised jaw, "I don't know."
The movement was a blur. Sebastian brought the butt of his pistol down across Jose's face with a sickening crack.
Jose slumped against the table, blood blooming across his white shirt.
"I'll give you until the count of three to tell me where it is," Antonio said, his tone conversational. "One… two…"
"Fine! Fine!" Jose shrieked, reaching out a trembling hand.
"Don has it! Don took the shipment!"
"That motherfucker?" Sebastian spat, his grip tightening on his weapon.
Antonio stood up, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket with meticulous care.
"I guess we shall pay Don a visit. But we can't exactly leave you like this, Jose—not after you've caused such a mess for my family. Sebastian, how about we compensate him for all his trouble?"
"Sounds good to me, Boss," Sebastian replied with a wolfish grin.
Before Jose could even draw breath to protest, Sebastian moved with lethal, effortless precision.
The room echoed with the muffled thwips of a suppressed firearm as Jose's men fell one by one, their bodies hitting the floor like discarded rags.
"Please," Jose sobbed, sliding off his chair to grovel at Antonio's feet.
"Please don't kill me."
"Kill you?" Antonio looked down at him, his eyes devoid of any human warmth.
"No, no, no. This is more like a reminder. A warning to never, ever mess with the Castellos."
Antonio drew his own piece, the gold plating catching the dim lounge light. Without a second thought, he fired.
The warning was delivered in lead, leaving Jose screaming in the wreckage of his own ambition.
Antonio turned his back on the carnage, already focused on the next shadow he had to erase.