Page 140 of Jagger's Remorse
Even Jagger, who loves me, sees the monster first.
But Eduardo—Eduardo sees possibility.
Legacy. Future.
It's almost fatherly, this recognition, and I hate how much I crave it.
How much I still want someone to be proud of what I've built from my ruins.
I open the folder, scanning the contents.
Supply routes through seven states.
Connections in twelve countries.
Bank accounts with numbers that make my head spin.
An empire built on blood and product.
"There must be conditions."
"One. Prove the Iron Veins can handle expanded territory. Show me they're worthy of being Sinaloa's primary partner."
"And if they can't?"
"Then you find a club that can." His eyes bore into mine. "Family first. Always. The club is a tool. Useful, perhaps beloved, but still a tool. Never forget that."
"Understood."
"Good. Now, there's something else." He slides another folder across. "FBI. They're building cases against every MC in California. Task force specifically targeting organized crime connections."
I flip through the documents. Surveillance photos of various clubs. Witness lists with names I recognize. Financial tracking that's gotten frighteningly close to some of our operations. And one name that keeps appearing—Assistant U.S. Attorney Yuki Nakajima.
"She's ambitious," Eduardo notes. "Young. UC Berkeley law, top of her class. Thinks she can take down our entire network."
My stomach drops. Berkeley. My school. "When did she graduate?"
"Two years after you would have. Had you stayed that course."
The life I could have had. Should have had, if Papa had lived. Now twisted into this.
"What do you want me to do?"
"What you do best. Protect family interests." He leans back. "How is the queen's choice."
"You're already calling me queen?"
"What else would I call my heir?" He stands again, moves to a hidden safe. "There's one more thing. Something I've saved for the right moment."
He withdraws a small box, hands it to me with surprising reverence.
Inside, a ring. Not flashy—a simple band with an inscription:Familia sobre todo.
"This was your grandmother's. My mother's. She built the foundations of what we became." He takes the ring, slides it onto my right hand. "She'd approve of you, I think. She always said the women in our family were stronger than the men."
The weight of it—of legacy, of expectation—settles on my hand like destiny.
The jet back to Redding takes a couple of hours. Hours to plan. To process. To accept that in months, maybe weeks, I'll control one of the largest cartel operations in North America.
