The streets of Miami trembled that night.
Felix was bleeding—his shirt soaked in deep crimson, breathing shallow but conscious. Ivan had laid him across the worn leather couch at Rico's garage, their hidden spot nestled behind a rusting chain-link fence and a neon-lit sign that barely flickered anymore. Rico, their loyal mechanic and occasional arms dealer, ran around like a headless chicken, trying to patch Felix up while Ivan paced like a storm waiting to break.
"He needs a goddamn doctor, not duct tape and whiskey, Rico!" Ivan barked, wiping the blood off his trembling fingers.
Rico flinched. "You show up with bullet wounds and expect me to work miracles? I'm a grease monkey, not a surgeon!"
Ivan slammed his fist on the metal worktable, bolts and tools clattering. "Then pray the miracle finds you before I lose him."
Felix coughed weakly, raising a hand. "I'm fine… shit, Ivan… don't go off like a damn lunatic again."
Ivan kneeled beside him, gripping his hand. His voice cracked under the fury boiling inside. "You got hit. Because I didn't see the second wave coming. Because I was too focused on the envelope. That's on me."
Felix shook his head. "That's not how we work. We win together. We bleed together. Don't go ghost on me."
---
But it was already too late.
Ivan had left before sunrise.
He rode his bike through the empty alleys of Little Havana, the wind slicing his face like razors. He wore his rage like a crown. Blood on his hands. Smoke in his eyes. The envelope had been a decoy. Marlo knew. The ambush wasn't just a scare tactic—it was a message.
He pulled up outside Marlo's building—a rundown warehouse with fake export signs and guards on every post. Two men with AKs stood at the gate.
Ivan didn't slow.
He pulled a Glock from his belt and fired three rounds. One guard fell with a scream. The second reached for his radio, but a bullet kissed his throat before he could call it in.
Ivan dropped the bike at the door, kicked it open, and walked through smoke and silence like a god of war.
Inside, chaos broke out. Marlo's men scrambled. But Ivan wasn't a shadow anymore. He was a storm.
He shot two more in the hallway. Another tried to swing a bat—he ducked and slammed the man's head into the wall, cracking his skull.
He kicked open Marlo's office door.
Marlo stood behind a desk stacked with cash and pills. Cigar in hand. Gold rings on every finger.
"The hell do you think you're doing, kid?" he asked, barely blinking.
Ivan aimed the Glock at his head.
"You put a hit on us. My cousin almost died."
Marlo smirked. "You think I became king of Little Havana by catching flies? You think you two fucking rookies are gonna climb the food chain without me noticing?"
Ivan's trigger finger twitched. "You better say something worth dying for."
Marlo leaned forward. "You kill me, the whole city burns. I'm not the end, Ivan. I'm the goddamn gatekeeper. You want into the kingdom? You come through me."
Ivan clenched his jaw, eyes wild. Then—he lowered the gun.
"Next time you touch Felix, I'll bury you in your own coke."
He turned and walked out, leaving Marlo frozen. One man stood in his path. Ivan glared. The man stepped aside.
---
Back at the garage, Felix was sitting up, patched and furious.
"Tell me you didn't kill him."
Ivan didn't answer.
"Goddammit, Ivan! We don't make moves like that without talking!"
"He put you in a body bag, Felix! I'm not gonna sit around making peace treaties while you bleed out in my arms."
Felix grabbed him by the jacket, blood still soaking through his bandage.
"You wanna play boss? Then start acting like one. You don't win a war by shooting the first general you see. You plan. You wait. And then you crush everyone."
Ivan stared at him… then nodded.
"Fine. Then let's start planning."
---
That night, the cousins—Felix "The Fortress" and Ivan "The Fiend"—sat in the dark, a city of enemies around them and only one rule left:
Kill or be killed.