Chapter 1 - Into the Beast's Belly
The heavy door of the armored SUV slammed shut, cutting off the ocean wind and the murmurs of the gathered crowd. Inside, the air smelled of expensive leather, antiseptic, and the distinct, metallic tang of canal water radiating from Gabriel Morales. I sat pressed against the far window, my muddy bare feet sinking into carpet thicker than any mattress I had slept on in my entire life.
Morales sat opposite me. A lieutenant handed him a thick, dark towel, which he draped over his broad shoulders without breaking his gaze from my face. Up close, the crime lord looked less like a king and more like a weathered gladiator. A jagged scar ran from below his right ear down into the collar of his ruined shirt, a testament to a life spent surviving violence.
"You're shivering," Morales said. His voice was a low rumble, stripped of the coughing fits that had seized him on the boat ramp.
"I’m fine," I lied, my teeth chattering so hard I could barely form the consonants. The adrenaline that had fueled my jump into the freezing canal was evaporating, leaving behind a profound, aching cold that seemed to settle directly into my bones.
Morales gestured to the gray-haired man sitting in the front passenger seat. "Marcus. Turn the heat up. And get the boy a jacket."
Marcus reached back without turning around, tossing a heavy woolen coat onto my lap. I hesitated, my grandmother’s voice whispering in my ear that favors from dangerous men always carried an unseen price tag. But the cold won. I pulled the coat over my trembling shoulders, the sleeves hanging past my fingertips, enveloping me in warmth.
"Why did you say my grandmother didn't die in an accident?" I demanded, finding my courage as the heat began to circulate through the cabin. "The police told me she slipped on the harbor stairs in the rain. They said she drowned before the harbor patrol could pull her out."
Morales leaned back against the leather seat, his dark eyes narrowing. "The police in Ciudad San Marcos say whatever they are paid to say, Julian. Your grandmother was many things, but she was never clumsy. And she certainly never walked near the harbor docks after midnight unless she was running from someone."
"Running from who?"
"From the same people who tried to hold me under that canal today," Morales replied coldly. "Someone cut the guardrails on the private pier before I arrived. I was pushed from behind." He leaned forward, his massive hands resting on his knees. "Elena Navarro was my eyes and ears for fifteen years before you were even born. When she disappeared from the syndicate, she took something that belonged to me—and something that would destroy half the men in this city if it ever saw the light of day."
The SUV banked sharply, turning through a set of towering wrought-iron gates guarded by men with assault rifles slung over their shoulders. We were entering the Morales estate—a sprawling fortress built on the highest cliffs overlooking the city.
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"I don't know anything about any syndicate," I said, my voice rising in panic. "We were poor! She cleaned houses and mended clothes! We ate leftover bread from the bakery!"
"Because she was hiding you," Morales said softly as the vehicle rolled to a stop before a massive limestone mansion. "She traded her power for your safety. But she is gone now, Julian. Which means whoever killed her will eventually realize that whatever secrets she carried were left behind with her only surviving blood."
