Page 144 of Jagger's Remorse
Silence except for Ramirez's whimpering.
"Good. Because I'd hate to ruinTío'sbeautiful floors with more blood." I yank the knife free, wipe it clean on Ramirez's jacket. "Though I will if necessary."
Eduardo laughs, though it turns into coughing that he can't quite control.
When he recovers, there's blood on his handkerchief.
"You see? She isexactlywhat we need. Not just strength, but a spectacle. Not just violence, but sends a message."
The ceremony continues. Oaths are sworn. Territories confirmed. Alliances cemented with blood and tequila.
"A toast," Eduardo announces, struggling to his feet. "To the future. To family. To?—"
He collapses mid-word.
"Tío!" I catch him before he hits the ground, his weight surprising in its absence. He's wasted away to nothing beneath his suits.
"Perfect... timing," he whispers, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Always... theatrical... to the end."
"Don't—"
"Listen." His hand grips mine with surprising strength. "Trust... no one... completely. Not even... him." His eyes flick to Jagger. "Love... makes us... weak."
"Eduardo—"
"Your mother... would be... proud." His grip loosens. "The dragon... becomes... the crown."
And then Eduardo Vasquez, who built an empire on blood and ambition, dies in my arms.
The room erupts in chaos.
Some calling for doctors.
Some already plotting succession challenges.
Voices raised in multiple languages, hands drifting to weapons.
I stand, Eduardo's blood on my hands, and pull my gun.
The shot into the ceiling silences everyone.
"Eduardo Vasquez is dead," I announce, voice carrying over the crowd. "His territories, his operations, his alliances, pass to me. As he decreed. As you all witnessed."
"You think we'll just accept—" Another Tijuana soldier starts.
Jagger puts a bullet in his head before he can finish.
The body drops, adding to the evening's tally.
"Yes," I continue calmly, stepping over the corpse. "You'll accept. Because the alternative is war. And as this weekend proved, Iexcelat war, as does my man’s club."
They look at the two bodies. At my blood-soaked hands. At the Iron Veins members strategically placed around the room.
One by one, they kneel, knowing their fucking place.
First the younger ones, smart enough to see which way the wind blows.
Then the veterans, pragmatic enough to know when they're outgunned.
