The sun was beginning to fall when the call came in.
Caleb was in the west wing, speaking with one of the guards about security shifts when his phone buzzed. The number flashing across the screen was one he recognized easily . It was one of their route informants but the voice on the other end made him still instantly.
"We've seen him," the voice said, hurried, low. "Ortega. Out near the northern road to Tepic. He's not alone."
Caleb's pulse kicked hard. "You're sure?"
"Positive. Cassimo's trucks. Unmarked, tinted. They're meeting by the old quarry,the one El Diablo's men used to move the shipments."
Caleb didn't wait for more. He ended the call, turned sharply to the guard beside him.
"Get my rifle and tell the driver to fuel the trucks. We move in five minutes."
By the time he reached Rafael's office, the air in the mansion already felt heavy with purpose. Rafael was standing near the window, a glass of whiskey untouched on the table beside him, his expression as unreadable as ever.
Caleb didn't bother knocking.
"He's been spotted," he said. "Julio Ortega. North of Tepic. He's with Cassimo's men."
Rafael turned slowly, eyes sharp, almost too calm. "How many?"
"Three vehicles," Caleb replied. "Could be ten, twelve men. Maybe more."
Rafael nodded once. "Get me eight men." He said as he brought out his gun from his drawer
Caleb frowned. "Don't worry about it, I got it covered"
"Caleb,you don't need to prove anything"
"I want to get you Ortega myself "
"Alive Caleb"
Caleb's jaw clenched, but he understood. He turned, the sound of his boots echoing across the marble floor as he strode away.
....
The road to Tepic was long and winding, carved between dense groves of trees that swayed under the wind. The last rays of sunlight turned the world a dull gold, bleeding into the horizon as Caleb's convoy approached the quarry.
They killed the headlights before the final bend.
"Positions," Caleb murmured. The eight men split into two teams, moving low, weapons drawn, eyes sharp. The air smelled like oil and dirt, and the faint hum of engines drifted through the trees ahead.
Cassimo's trucks were already there,two SUVs and a pickup backed against the slope of the quarry. A group of men stood outside, weapons slung lazily, smoking. Too serious.Too sure of themselves.
Caleb crouched low, peering through the scope of his rifle. And then he saw him.
Julio Ortega.
The man was pacing near one of the vehicles, head darting around like a trapped animal. Even from this distance, Caleb could see the nervous twitch of his hands, the tension in his shoulders. He was scared but he was there. Alive.
Caleb's lip curled. "You son of a bitch," he muttered.
He signaled with two fingers.
Then the world exploded.
The first shots cracked through the quiet like thunder. One of Cassimo's men dropped instantly, his cigarette tumbling from his lips. The rest scrambled for cover, shooting, bullets slicing through the air.
Caleb's men fanned out, their rifles barking in unison. Sparks flew as bullets struck metal. A grenade rolled under one of the trucks, a moment later, fire erupted, throwing a man into the air, his scream cut short by the blast.
"Push forward!" Caleb shouted, his voice hard over the chaos.
The air filled with smoke and the sharp metallic scent of gunfire. Bullets littered the ground, boots slipping in mud and blood. Cassimo's men retaliated fast better trained than expected. They used the vehicles as shields, spraying bullets wildly toward the tree line.
Caleb ducked behind a rock, reloading quickly, his heart pounding against his ribs. He looked up just in time to see Ortega diving into the passenger seat of one of the trucks, yelling something to the driver.
"Ortega's running!" one of Caleb's men shouted.
Caleb didn't hesitate. He broke from cover, firing as he ran. "Take the tires! Don't let them move!"
Two shots fired, the windshield shattered but the engine roared anyway. The truck wheels spinning in the gravel before jerking toward the main road.
Caleb fired again, but the vehicle vanished into a cloud of dust.
The rest of Cassimo's men were falling back, dragging their wounded, shouting orders. The last of them threw another grenade before retreating, the explosion sent one of Caleb's men flying backward.
Then there was silence.
Broken, ragged silence.
Caleb dropped to one knee, panting, the smell of burned rubber and cordite thick in the air. Around him, the scene was carnage. Six of his men lay dead or dying. Two were still standing, barely, their faces pale, clothes splattered with dirt and blood.
He slammed his fist into the side of a burned-out truck, jaw tightening. "Damn it!"
He'd seen Ortega's face. The look of pure panic.
The bastard had looked at him before running.
And he'd run.
....
By the time Caleb returned to base, it was night. The courtyard lights glowed dimly, reflecting off the rain-soaked tiles. The vehicles rolled in slow and silent. The guards stepped aside, their eyes hollow.
Behind them, another team were already driving out, the cleanup crew. They didn't ask questions anymore.
Caleb went straight to Rafael's office, his clothes still smeared with dirt and gunpowder.
Rafael was seated behind his desk, the dim light from a single lamp cutting across his face. He didn't look up when Caleb entered.
"How many?" he asked.
"Six dead," Caleb said quietly. "Two wounded. Cassimo's men lost more. Maybe ten, maybe more. But Ortega got away."
That made Rafael look up. His eyes were calm..... too calm. "You saw him?"
Caleb nodded slowly. "I saw him. And I swear, Raf, I'll kill him myself next time. He looked scared, but I don't give a damn. He sold us out."
Rafael leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose. The veins in his forearm flexed against the desk. "Cassimo's using him as bait," he said, his tone like ice. "And Ortega's too weak to resist."
"He's not weak," Caleb snapped. "He's a coward. And because of him, six of our men are dead."
Silence fell between them,the kind that made even the ticking clock sound loud.
Then, a knock at the door.
"Come in," Rafael said flatly.
One of the cleanup crew stepped in, mud still on his boots, hat in hand. He looked uneasy, holding a small folded paper sealed with dirt and blood.
"Señor," he said. "We found this… in one of the pockets of the dead. It's addressed to you."
Caleb's brow furrowed. "To Rafael?"
The man nodded and stepped forward, placing the letter on the desk. Rafael waited until the door shut again before unfolding it slowly.
The handwriting was shaky. Smudged with sweat and rain.
He read silently, jaw tightening with every line.
Señor,
If you're reading this, it means I couldn't fix it myself.
He has my wife. She's pregnant. He took her before the M deal.
He said if I don't give him what he wants, she dies. I tried to warn your men without him finding out, but I couldn't. He tracks everything. He watches everything.
I never meant to betray you. I swear it.
I don't expect forgiveness. Just… Save her pls.
— O
Rafael's hand stayed frozen on the paper. The words sank into the air like oil, thick and black.
"O as in Ortega?" Caleb asked almost clueless.
He's voice was low, almost disbelieving. "His wife… Cassimo has her?"
Rafael didn't answer. He stood, turning toward the window. Outside, lightning flashed across the night sky, illuminating his reflection in the glass, his face carved in stone.
"Cassimo's not just hitting our operations," he said finally, his voice low, deliberate. "He's breaking our people."
Caleb stepped closer. "What do we do now?, it obvious Cassimo is blackmailing Ortega to do all these things"
Rafael looked down at the letter again, his fingers curling slightly around the edge.
"Find out whether Ortega actually has a wife and her whereabouts,if he is actually saying the truth,then we need to do something" he said quietly. "Before Cassimo does anything worse."
"And Ortega?" Caleb asked.
Rafael's eyes hardened. "He made his choice."
Caleb nodded grimly. "Then I'll finish it."
Rafael didn't answer at first. His jaw flexed once, the muscle ticking just under the surface.
"Not yet," he said finally. "Let him run. Let Cassimo think he still owns him."
Caleb frowned. "You're planning something."
Rafael's gaze didn't move from the rain-smeared window. "Cassimo wants to play with lives," he murmured. "Fine. We'll show him what it means to lose everything he touches."
He turned, his voice colder than the storm outside.
"Ortega bought himself a few days. But when I'm done, not even Cassimo's shadow will protect him."
Lightning flashed again, and for a brief moment, the reflection in the glass didn't look like Rafael Navarro.
It looked like El Diablo.