The local boss didn't waste time.
By morning, word had spread about the duo who tore up a nightclub and walked out unfazed. Ivan and Felix were summoned to a downtown bar fronting as a pool club, but behind the velvet curtain and Cuban cigars, it was a known hangout of one of Miami's mid-level bosses—Marlo"
The door opened to cigar smoke, old-school jazz playing low, and eyes that knew death too well. Felix walked in first, scanning. Ivan lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as if it were just another Tuesday.
Marlo sat behind a table, rings on every finger, his shirt open just enough to reveal the glint of a gold chain and a pistol holster.
"So... you're the street lions everyone's whisperin' about?" Marlo smirked, tapping ash into a golden tray.
Ivan stepped forward, leaned on the table.
"We ain't lions, Marlo. Lions don't crave chaos. We're something worse."
Marlo nodded, amused. "I like worse. Worse is useful."
Felix didn't smile. His eyes locked onto Marlo. "What's the job?"
Marlo looked between them. "There's a shipment coming in tonight. Cocaine. Pure. It was supposed to be protected by my guys, but someone's been cutting deals with the Colombians behind my back. I want it stopped."
Ivan scoffed. "How many bodies are we talkin'?"
Marlo leaned in. "All of them. And I want the traitor's head in this ashtray by morning."
Felix cracked his knuckles. "Names?"
marlo smiled and slid a small paper over. "You figure out the rest. Consider this your audition. You pull this off, you're not just errand boys anymore. You'll have a seat."
They left the bar without a word.
---
Midnight. Dockyard #17.
Felix and Ivan stood overlooking the warehouse from the rooftop of a shipping container. It was quiet, too quiet. Felix checked his Glock, whispering,
"Two guards, both smoking. Third pacing. One behind the door. I count five."
Ivan smiled, cigarette dangling.
"So we kill six, just to be safe."
Felix shook his head. "Just disable one. We need answers."
Ivan leapt off the container like a cat from hell.
Crack. One down. Bang. Another shot rang through the silence. Chaos erupted.
Felix followed, sliding over crates, dropping one guard with a knee to the throat, another with a silenced shot to the leg.
One guy tried to run. Ivan tackled him, gun to his mouth.
"You working with the Colombians? You got ten seconds before I redecorate this dock in your brain matter."
"It... it was Sanchez... he made a deal..."
Ivan shot him anyway.
Felix sighed. "I needed more."
Ivan stood, flicking blood off his hand. "He was lying. His eyes twitched. I hate liars."
They found the stash. Hidden under fish crates—bricks of cocaine sealed tight. Felix looked at Ivan.
"You good with this? We hand it back?"
Ivan's smile faded. "This much power... and we're supposed to be delivery boys?"
"We're not ready to hold it ourselves. Not yet."
"I know," Ivan whispered. "But one day, this city's gonna bleed our name."
---
Back at Richie's
Felix tossed a bloodied bag on the table. Ivan followed, dropped a severed head wrapped in plastic onto Richie's ashtray.
"Told you," Ivan muttered. "Worse."
Richie leaned back, genuinely impressed. "You crazy sons of bitches... welcome to the family."
They left, not saying a word.
Outside, Felix leaned on the wall, breathing deep. "You enjoyed that too much."
Ivan shrugged, lighting another smoke. "I only enjoy the right violence. That guy disrespected your name. That's enough for me."
Felix looked at him, a flicker of brotherly affection behind his calm eyes. "You ever get tired of leaving a trail of blood?"
Ivan smiled. "Only when the trail stops leading to something worth it."
They walked into the night, the distant sound of bikes echoing through the Miami alleys.
The city wasn't ready. But it was watching.