The Miami docks were quiet again, too quiet.
The scent of salt hung thick in the night air, stained now with the memory of blood. The massacre Felix and Ivan left behind during their last job had not faded from the concrete — and neither had the consequences.
Marlo's warehouse office wasn't far from the mess. But tonight, it felt like a damn universe away.
Felix leaned against his bike, arms folded, eyes scanning the shadows like he was reading a code. Ivan paced beside him, cigarette dangling from his lips, fingers twitching.
"They're late," Felix said, voice low.
Ivan spat on the ground. "Or they're setting the stage."
Felix nodded once. He felt it in his bones too. Something was off.
The envelope. That damn envelope. The one Marlo had them retrieve from a locked steel box under the watch of two cartel guards. They had gunned those guys down like it was war — Ivan made sure one of them bled out slow, just for trying to raise a pistol at Felix.
Inside the envelope had been something more than orders — a list, names, codes… shit that didn't belong in a street-level hustle. Felix had taken one glance and knew they had walked into something way bigger than them.
Now Marlo wanted a meeting? Out here?
Ivan flicked his cigarette and stepped forward, eyes sharp. "You think he knows?"
Felix didn't answer. He pulled back his jacket, revealing the cold steel tucked against his waist.
The creak of a door.
Three men stepped out of the shadows from the warehouse — not Marlo. Not even his usual crew. These were hitters. The kind who don't ask questions, only count bullets.
Ivan's jaw tightened. "I fucking knew it."
"Felix. Ivan," one of the men said, voice flat. "Boss says thanks, but you boys made too much noise. Time to cut ties."
Ivan chuckled. "Is that right?"
Felix's hand hovered near his pistol. "Tell Marlo he should've sent more than three."
"You talk too much," the thug growled and pulled.
Gunfire lit up the night.
The dock turned into a fucking war zone.
Ivan moved first, quick and savage. He ducked low, two shots ringing out from his revolver — one hit, one miss. Felix flanked left, smooth and calculating, taking down the second shooter with a clean shot through the neck.
The third man clipped Felix in the arm.
"Shit!" Felix growled, blood staining his sleeve.
Ivan roared and charged, tackling the shooter into the rusted hull of a shipping container. He didn't stop until his fists were red and the man wasn't breathing.
They stood in silence for a moment, panting, the night echoing with the last ghost of gunfire.
Felix leaned against the container, gritting his teeth. "He tried to fucking kill us."
Ivan lit another cigarette with bloody fingers. "Yeah. And he failed."
"Why, though? Because we saw what was in the envelope?"
Ivan's eyes burned in the darkness. "No. Because he saw what we are. And he's scared."
They both looked out toward the dark ocean.
Felix winced as he moved. "We can't go back to Marlo now."
"We ain't going back," Ivan said. "We're going up."
He turned to Felix, voice rough, words bold.
"From here on out, we stop doing favors. We start making moves. One way or another, this city's gonna belong to us."
Felix gave a weak smirk. "Always knew you had a death wish."
"And I always knew you'd be the one to drag my sorry ass back from it."
They both laughed, pain and defiance crackling between them like the static before a storm.
In the shadows, far away on a rooftop, a silhouette watched them through binoculars.
"Cousins," he said with a grin, handing the scope to someone behind him. "Let's see how long they survive without Marlo's leash."