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Without another word, Jose turns on his heel, inviting us to follow him. Victor and I exchange a glance, words unnecessary between us, and step in line with Jose. The eyes of every man in the room watches us pass, their silence speaking volumes of the precarious peace we're here to negotiate.
The room's air is thick, and even the occasional clink of glass from the bar area does little to cut the tension. We sit across from Jose and a duo of his most trusted men, our chairs drawn up to a solid, unadorned table that has undoubtedly heard more secrets than I can imagine.
I break the silence first, my voice steady but inflected with regret. "Jose, I'm here to express my sincere apologies for what my brother has done. His actions were rash, and he was not thinking clearly."
Jose’s face is set in stone, every line on it speaking of hard-earned respect and years in command. "Your apologies are fine words, Damien," he begins, his tone controlled and his eyes fire. "But your brother is a reckless idiot. He's gone too far this time."
I feel a surge within me. Anger mixed with familial loyalty. Keeping my voice level commands all the control I have. "Watch how you speak about him, Jose. He's still my brother."
The moment my words hang in the air, the room's temperature seems to drop, and Jose's expression contorts with fury. "Your brother," he hisses, the veneer of respect cracking. "Killed my only son. He's a murderer!"
Victor's hand rests on his weapon, an unconscious motion, and I nod minutely, telling him to stay calm. "I understand your pain, Jose, and I swear to you, we'll make this right. Jackson's actions will not go unpunished by our own code. But let's talk. There has to be a path to keep the peace between our families."
There's a cavernous pause before Jose speaks again, his voice now a low rumble. "Peace? Your family's actions have ripped a hole in the heart of mine, and you expect talk of peace?"
"Without peace, this escalates. More blood. More loss. Neither of us wants that," I keep my eyes locked with his. "Tell me, what does justice look like to you?"
"Justice?" Jose spits the word as if it leaves a bitter taste. "You offer me your brother's life for my son's?"
"I offer compensation and restraint. Jackson will face the consequences, and we will provide reparation in gold and influence. Is there nothing that can balance the scales, at least enough to avoid war?" There's a cold fire in my words. A leader's gambit laid bare.
Jose's eyes narrow, and for a moment, the only sound is the distant clinking from the bar. Then, slowly, he nods. "I'll give you one chance, Damien. For the sake of the peace that's lasted decades between our families. Make this right. But remember, if you fail, it will be war."
I nod, my head a mere tilt of acknowledgment of the gravity that Jose's conditional reprieve carries. Victor and I stand in unison, our chairs scraping sharply against the faded tiles, and we walk out. The heavy air of Casa Valdez releases its grip as the door swings shut behind us, and I curse under my breath. Jackson's impulsive act, murder, there's no other word for it, threatens to dismantle everything our family has built with blood and time.
"He's a damn fool," I mutter, feeling the knot of anger and responsibility tightening in my chest. My brother's actions demand justice. Our code demands it. Though it will tear me apart, I must be the one to mete out that justice.
I turn on my heel to face Victor. "Get Jackson. Take him to the warehouse. Secure him there. I'll meet you shortly."
Victor nods. Not a word passes between us, but his eyes acknowledge the task's severity. He heads to execute the order, leaving me to prepare for what must be done. As I slide into the driver’s seat, the leather creaks under my weight.
My hands are steady as they clutch the steering wheel, but my mind races with the weight of what's to come. As I drive, I play the upcoming scene over and over in my head. Beating Jackson won't just be a reprimand. It's a necessity, a statement that I will not tolerate insubordination or actions that endanger our precarious peace.
I need to make it clear. To Jose, to my family, to every last soul that whispers my name, that my authority is not to be questioned. The approaching violence is distasteful yet unavoidable. A grim act that must be cloaked in the guise of discipline, though every strike will also be an apology to the Valdez family.
I confess to myself, in the dimming light of the car, that a part of me is desperate for it to be enough. Glancing at the fading sun, I sigh. It’s a sound muffled by the confines of the car. I'm ready for this day to be over, for the actions that must unfold, and for the semblance of peace they may bring.
3
CHAPTER 3
Damien
I pull up to the warehouse on Center Street, and there's tension gripping my muscles as I turn off the engine. I take a deep breath to steady the anger coursing through me. I know what I'm about to do, and the weight of it sits heavy in my chest. We operate under a code, and Jackson broke it in the worst way.
It’s not about wanting to hurt him. It's about the message it sends. He crossed the Valdez family. They could've demanded his head on a silver platter, and he should count himself lucky they didn't. Now, I have to make an example out of him.
I step out of the car, and the cool night air bites at my skin as I close the door with a resounding thud. Every step towards the warehouse door is heavy with the weight of what must be done. The door creaks open as an eerie prelude to the scene inside.
Jackson is there, suspended in the air with his hands bound securely above him. He hangs in a cruel limbo, a marionette awaiting the pull of strings. His eyes flash with a mix of fear and defiance as they lock onto mine. The dim light casts shadows across his face, painting a picture of a man who knows the gravity of his situation. There's a bitter taste in my mouth as I take in the sight.
"Finally, you're here," Jackson spits out, with a strain in his voice that gives away his attempt at bravado. "You've put on your show. Now let me go."
I close the distance between us, my footsteps hollow against the concrete. "I can't do that, Jackson," I say, my irritation simmering below the surface. "You put me in a tight spot. Now, I'm forced to do something about it."
His eyes widen, and the façade of toughness wavers for an instant. "You can't be serious?" he questions with a tremor of panic in his tone.
"I'm dead serious," I reply, my voice low and resolute. "You killed the only son of one of my clients because of your fragile fucking ego. Your behavior alone is enough to warrant an ass-kicking, but I've been letting it slide. I can't let your latest stunt go unpunished."
