The night was sticky, thick with Miami's humid breath, and Felix could feel it settling into his bones like a warning. The city never slept, but it often whispered secrets when the streets were drenched in neon and blood.
They met at the usual spot, an abandoned garage lit only by a flickering bulb and the occasional siren in the distance. Felix was already there, cleaning his Glock with methodical calm, when Ivan strolled in, cigarette dangling from his lips, a devilish grin playing on his face.
"Another day, another body count," Ivan said, tossing a crumpled envelope onto the table. "Richie's got another job. Bigger this time."
Felix raised an eyebrow. "Bigger how?"
Ivan shrugged, exhaling a plume of smoke. "We're hitting the Montez shipment. Rumor is, it's loaded with both cash and product. If we pull this off, we're not just enforcers—we're movers. Boss wants us to make a statement."
Felix's eyes narrowed. "Montezes don't play around. They're dangerous, calculated. This isn't just muscle work."
Ivan's grin widened. "That's why it's perfect. You think I'm afraid of them?"
Felix smirked. "You're hot-headed, not fearless."
They shared a glance—one born from years of trust and battles fought side by side.
---
The plan was brutal and precise. Felix's calm intelligence meshed with Ivan's chaos like a well-oiled machine fueled by adrenaline and vengeance.
Under the cover of darkness, they approached the Montez warehouse—a fortress guarded by armed men with eyes sharp enough to shoot first and ask questions later.
Ivan lit a cigarette. "Ready to burn this motherfucker down?"
Felix cocked his head. "Let's be surgical, not stupid."
Gunfire erupted like thunder. Felix moved through shadows, silent and deadly, while Ivan tore through their defenses with a ruthless grin, cutting a path soaked in blood and fury.
When the smoke cleared, the Montez shipment was theirs. Cash and cocaine seized. The message sent loud and clear: Felix and Ivan weren't just players—they were rewriting the rules.
---
Later, in the dim light of their safehouse, Felix counted the stacks while Ivan cleaned his guns, hands steady despite the rush.
Felix broke the silence. "You ever think about what comes after this? The endgame?"
Ivan looked up, eyes burning. "Endgame? I'm too busy making sure we survive the game first."
Felix chuckled. "Yeah, but every king falls. Just hope we don't go down in flames."
Ivan snorted. "With you watching my back? Not a chance."
Suddenly, Felix's phone buzzed. A message appeared—no sender, just a cryptic line: "Your shadows are longer than you think."
Felix and Ivan exchanged a look—unease creeping beneath their usual bravado.
The city was watching, and the game was far from over.