Morning sunlight filtered through the expansive windows of El Mayo's office, casting a golden hue over the opulent setting.
The room was a testament to his ill-gotten wealth, adorned with a gleaming mahogany desk and a plush leather chair, each piece meticulously chosen to convey power and authority.
Beyond the glass, the city stretched out like a conquered kingdom, its heartbeat pulsing under the iron fist of its ruler.
El Mayo sat in his chair, arms folded, his gaze steely and unyielding as he listened to the reports from his lieutenants.
The room buzzed with tension, the air thick with the unspoken threat that accompanied each of his words.
News of the previous night's events reached him, a single operative dismantling his operations with surgical precision.
His eyes narrowed, a dark fury simmering beneath his calm exterior.
"Find this... 'Leo'. I want him," he barked, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.
The lieutenants exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of his command settling heavily upon them.
In the cozy embrace of the Francisca home, the morning unfolded with the comforting sounds of pots clanging and the rich aroma of coffee mingling with the scent of frying eggs.
The kitchen was alive with warmth and the promise of a new day, dispelling the shadows of the night before.
Leo awoke, stretching his arms above his head with a sense of relaxation that was rare for him.
"Geez, I don't know why but I slept so well," he murmured, his voice thick with the remnants of sleep, eyes still half-closed as he marveled at the unexpected comfort he found here, more soothing than any hotel bed.
Inés, her cheeks tinged with a soft pink, was acutely aware of how she had fallen asleep on his lap.
Embarrassment mingled with a flutter of something deeper, something she couldn't quite name.
She quickly stood and made her way to the kitchen, where her mother was busy preparing breakfast.
"Mama, Leo is awake!" she called out, her voice bright with the excitement of a new beginning.
Leo entered the kitchen, his Titan's Edge by his side, a silent companion that rarely left him.
The arsenal he carried was a constant reminder of the life he led—a sword on his left hip, a custom Jackal on his right, an MP4 with a silencer strapped to his back, and an assortment of blades and explosives hidden beneath his clothes.
Mrs. Francisca's eyes lingered on the weapons, a mix of worry and hope stirring within her.
"Uhh... Leo dear, can you do me a favor and put your weapons away? We just don't usually eat with weapons near the table, please." Her request was gentle, yet firm, her eyes reflecting the concern she felt for her family.
Not wanting to disrespect their hospitality, Leo placed his weapons on a nearby counter, knowing he could easily retrieve them if needed. "My apologies," he murmured, taking a seat at the table.
Mrs. Francisca smiled warmly as she served him a plate of steaming eggs and tortillas.
"No need to apologize, Leo. We know you mean well." Her voice was kind, though it couldn't completely hide the underlying concern for her daughter's safety.
Leo began to eat, his initial urgency giving way to a more measured pace as he noticed Inés's pouty expression.
Her silent reprimand was clear, and he slowed down, taking the time to savor each bite. "Thank you, Mrs. Francisca," he said, glancing at Inés and back, mindful of the kindness that surrounded him.
"You're very much welcome, dear, but you're safe here, so there's no need to rush. Besides, you're going to need all the strength you can get," Mrs. Francisca advised gently, her voice filled with genuine concern.
"So just relax, Leo. You really need to learn how to relax more." Inés giggled at her mother's remark, her laughter a light, comforting melody.
Leo's expression grew serious, his tone matter-of-fact. "It's hard to do that since all I've ever known was killing. It's a part of me," he admitted, the spicy salsa adding a brief spark to his eyes as he took another bite.
Mrs. Francisca's heart ached for Leo, a young man who had known too much of death.
"I know it's hard, Leo. But you can still find peace in moments like this. Eating a warm meal, in a safe place, surrounded by people who care about you." Her hand rested gently on his shoulder, a gesture of compassion and understanding.
Despite what I said back at the fraternity, Leo thought, it's actually... a pretty similar feeling here. Memories of faces he'd known and mourned surfaced—his colleagues, his family.
Though he'd never allowed himself to grieve, the weight of their loss was a constant companion.
Mrs. Francisca, overhearing their conversation, spoke thoughtfully. "But you know, Leo, there's a quote from a philosopher named Friedrich Nietzsche. In 'Beyond Good and Evil', he warned about the danger of fighting monsters, that you might become one yourself."
Leo nodded slowly, the words resonating with him. "Yeah, I know the book. It's like... I'm fighting these monsters, the cartel, because of what they did to someone who was like a mother to me. But the more I fight, the more it feels like I'm turning into what I despise." He sipped his orange juice, the sweetness a counterpoint to his introspection. "Does that make me a monster, Mrs. Francisca?"
Mrs. Francisca considered his question, her eyes thoughtful.
"It's not about what you do, Leo, it's about why you do it. If you're fighting to protect, to make a difference, then you're not a monster. You're a necessary evil, perhaps. But you have a choice," she paused, meeting his gaze. "You can choose to be the one who brings light to the darkness, not just more shadows."
Leo nodded, the weight of her words settling heavily in his chest.
He knew she was right, but the path ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty.
Yet, surrounded by the warmth of the Francisca family, he felt a flicker of something long absent—hope.
As the conversation grew quieter, Nietzsche's words lingered in the air, a reminder of the fine line between justice and vengeance.
Inés watched Leo, her heart torn between admiration for his bravery and fear for what his path might do to him.
She hoped, with all her might, that he would find a way to emerge from the abyss without losing himself.
Inés reached for his hand, causing Leo to look into her eyes. "Just because you do bad things doesn't make you a bad person, Leo. It's what you do after that counts," she said with a gentle squeeze, her voice filled with determination.
Her words resonated deeply, and for a moment, he felt warmth in his heart he thought was long buried.
"Thank you, Inés," he murmured, holding her gaze a moment longer than necessary.
He knew she was right—his fight was not just about vengeance but about redemption and hope.
Inés pulled Leo to his feet. "Come on outside with me, Leo. You need some fresh air." Her hand in his, she led him towards the courtyard, the morning sun casting long shadows across the ground.
The air was crisp, a refreshing contrast to the tension indoors.
Mrs. Francisca giggled as she watched them leave, her amusement turning into a sigh.
She knew her daughter had a crush on this mysterious young man.
But as they stepped outside, Leo winced, his head throbbing with a familiar pain.
Damn it... It's the same feeling again? Why does it hurt so much? he wondered.
Inés noticed his discomfort. "Leo, are you okay?" she asked, concern etching her features.
Leo looked at her, the gold in his eyes flashing with an intensity that betrayed his internal struggle. "It's nothing," he lied, forcing a smile.
"Just a headache." But as they continued to walk around the small town, the feeling persisted, his chest tightening with the sensation of impending danger, his eyes scanning for any signs of trouble.
The sun's rays filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow in the Francisca living room, a stark contrast to the tension that filled the air.
Mr. Francisca, Armando, entered the room, his face a portrait of tension and urgency.
The weight of his decision loomed heavily over him, threatening to crush his resolve.
"Estrella," he called, his voice low and urgent as if fearing the walls themselves might betray him. "I need to talk to you. Now."
Estrella emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern.
"What's going on, honey? You seem stressed." Her voice was gentle, yet tinged with apprehension.
"It's Leo," Armando replied, the tightness in his voice betraying his inner turmoil. "I had to make a call to some old connections. I think by making a call, I can gain favor with the cartel for my corporation. We're going to have to leave Juárez. Tonight."
Estrella's eyes widened, her expression shifting to one of disbelief. "What?! Armando, how could you do this to Leo!? He saved us from the Sinaloa Cartel, and this is how you repay him?" Her voice rose slightly, but she quickly composed herself, mindful that Inés was outside with Leo.
"Damn it, woman, don't you know I'm trying to save us from the crossfire!?" Armando's voice was a mixture of anger and desperation, his words spilling out in a torrent. "Even if he could take out the Sinaloa Cartel, we'll be caught in the massive war from the power vacuum! And I don't want that to happen to us or our daughter!"
Estrella stepped closer, her eyes blazing with defiance. "We wouldn't have been in this deep with them if you hadn't borrowed money and gambled it away! Now we're going to leave Leo out there alone to deal with the mess you made!"
Armando's facade cracked as he slammed his fist onto the table, anger giving way to raw emotion.
"I know I messed up, Estrella!" he shouted, his voice breaking as he started to sob. "You don't know how hard it was trying to find a legit job in this economy. Everything is run by the cartel, controlling the businesses and the cops. But if I can do this, get in good favor with them, I'll keep us safe. I know, okay?"
He paused, dropping to one knee, his eyes pleading as he took her hand. "I know what I'm doing is wrong, and I should be grateful to him, but it's the best I can do for us. Please, you have to understand..."
Estrella sighed deeply, her heart aching with the weight of his words.
She sat next to him, the warmth of his hand grounding her in the storm of emotions swirling around them.
"But what about him, Armando? He's just a kid! What will happen to him?" Her voice softened, the concern for Leo threading through her question.
Armando met her gaze, eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and determination. "We've seen what he can do. I wouldn't have just turned him in for nothing. We'll leave his weapons here at the house, and once Inés comes back with him, we can start leaving. But we have to pack the essentials."
The room fell silent, the gravity of their decision pressing heavily upon them both.
Armando stood, his mind racing with the implications, aware of the dangerous game he was playing.
He had to protect his family, even if it meant making choices that weighed heavily on his conscience.
Estrella watched him, the earlier conversation with Leo replaying in her mind.
The thought of betraying the young man who had risked everything for them was a burden she couldn't easily shake.
Yet, in the face of their reality, the harshness of survival left little room for sentiment.
As they began to pack, the tension in the house was palpable, each movement a reminder of the choices they had made and the uncertain future they faced.
The sound of their packing seemed to echo in the silence, a somber chorus to the desperate symphony of their lives.
In the bustling heart of downtown Juárez, the local fair was alive with vibrant colors and infectious energy.
The air was filled with the sounds of laughter and music, a jubilant symphony that danced in harmony with the tantalizing aromas of cotton candy and fried dough.
For Leo, it was a rare moment of respite, a fleeting escape from the chaos of his mission.
He watched as Inés's eyes sparkled with delight, her competitive spirit shining brightly as she attempted to win a stuffed animal at the ring toss game.
"Hey, let me try, Inés. Seems simple enough," Leo said, a playful challenge in his voice as he stepped up to the ring toss game.
Yet, beneath his calm exterior, his mind remained vigilant, the feeling of danger lurking at the edges of his consciousness.
The Carny, with a knowing smirk, handed Leo three rings. "There's no way he can make it," the Carny thought, confident in the game's rigged nature. "The rings are just barely bigger than the bottle, and made of plastic. But what do I know, I just love the cash grab."
Leo tossed the rings lightly in his hands, gauging their weight and balance.
His focus sharpened, the lively sounds of the fair fading into the background as he centered himself.
With a swift, practiced motion, he launched the first ring, watching as it sailed through the air and landed perfectly around the neck of a bottle.
The second and third rings followed suit, each one encircling their targets with a satisfying clink.
The Carny's jaw dropped in disbelief, and the crowd erupted in cheers, Inés's face lighting up with excitement.
"That means I can get the best prize, right?" Leo asked the Carny, his gaze fixed on the prize shelf where a large, fluffy teddy bear caught his eye.
Inés giggled, her eyes shining with joy. Leo took the bear and handed it to her. "Here, I have no need for this. Besides, you always wanted it."
Inés's eyes widened in surprise. "For me?" she asked, cradling the bear in her arms, hugging it close to her chest.
"Thank you, Leo," she whispered, her voice brimming with genuine appreciation. "You know, Leo, I've always loved coming to the fair—eating the food, enjoying the rides—but I never actually won anything here before," she confessed, a shy smile gracing her lips.
"Well, that just means you can't say that anymore, right? Now you have something to remember today by," Leo replied, trying to shake off the persistent feeling of unease that crept back into his mind.
Inés looked at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You know, Leo, for someone with such a serious and often blank face, you have the strangest way of showing you care." She poked his side lightly, teasing him with a playful grin.
Leo's smile grew slightly, a rare expression that made her heart flutter. "It's not strange, Inés. It's just not something I've had much practice with," he admitted, his voice a blend of vulnerability and amusement.
"But I have to say, you make my worries go away... at least for a while. But you do know that I can't stay, right?" He looked into her eyes, searching for understanding.
Inés nodded, her grip on the teddy bear tightening. "I know," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "You have a job to do, and I'm just... a part of the scenery."
Leo's expression softened, a warmth in his eyes that spoke volumes.
"You're not just scenery, Inés. You're... a light in the dark, a reason to keep fighting." His words hung in the air, laden with meaning that transcended their immediate circumstances.
For the briefest of moments, Inés allowed herself to believe she could be more than just a temporary distraction for him.
Blushing, Inés asked softly, "Leo... can you close your eyes for me?" He raised an eyebrow but obliged, closing his eyes with a faint smile.
She reached into her pocket, pulling out a tiny silver necklace with a small, intricate cross.
"This is St. Jude's medallion, the patron saint of lost causes. It's been with me since... well, for a long time. It's brought me luck, and I want you to have it. For protection," she whispered, placing it gently around his neck.
Leo opened his eyes, gazing at the medallion that glinted in the sunlight.
He felt the weight of her belief and hope resting against his chest.
"Thank you, Inés. I'll wear it proudly," he said, his voice sincere as he met her gaze.
He understood the significance of her gesture; it was more than a good luck charm—it symbolized her trust and faith in him.
"Also, I have one more thing for you," Inés added, reaching into her pocket once more.
She pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, scribbling something quickly before folding it and pressing it into his hand. "It's my phone number. If... if you ever need anything, call me. I'll help you as much as I can."
Leo placed the paper in his pocket, his heart warmed by her kindness. "I will, Inés," he promised, his eyes never leaving hers. "And you guys, you're not just some random people I met. You're... you're important to me now."
"Really, Leo..?" she asked, scooting closer to him, her voice tinged with hope. "We're important to you?"
"Yeah, you guys are now. I have to say, I've never seen such a random act of kindness before," Leo said with a genuine smile, his eyes searching hers.
The fair's vibrant sounds grew softer, a gentle backdrop to the sincerity of their exchange.
Before Leo could say anything else, Inés leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, her eyes shimmering with hope.
It was a gentle, innocent kiss, filled with the promise of a future she dared to hope for.
Leo looked momentarily confused, rubbing his cheek. "What was that for?" he asked, bemused by the unexpected gesture.
Inés blushed even harder, looking away as she played with the strings of her hoodie.
"It's... it's just to thank you, for everything you've done for us. And... I just wanted to," she trailed off, her voice a soft whisper.
Leo didn't know how to process the unfamiliar warmth spreading through him, but he didn't mind it.
It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. Despite the dangers and deceit that filled his world, as they stood there amidst the fair's lively chaos, he found himself smiling genuinely, a rare moment of peace and connection.
After hours of laughter and joy at the fair, Leo and Inés returned to the Francisca home, a place that had briefly become a haven from the chaos of his life.
The experience had stirred something deep within Leo, a rekindling of the humanity he often questioned in himself.
As they approached the house, however, the sight of Mr. and Mrs. Francisca waiting outside, their expressions drawn and tense, sent a chill through him.
"Leo, we need to talk," Armando said, his eyes darting around nervously, betraying the gravity of the situation.
Before Leo could fully process the change in atmosphere, he felt the cold metal of a gun pressed against his temple.
"You're coming with us," a gruff voice commanded from behind, his heart rate spiking as the world around him blurred, the laughter and warmth of the fair fading into a distant memory.
"Inés!" he heard her cry out as one of the men seized her, dragging her back towards her parents.
Yet, amidst the chaos, Leo's mind remained eerily calm.
The sight of gunmen emerging from their hiding spots only confirmed the nagging sense of foreboding he'd felt all day.
I see, so my feelings I felt this whole time... Was something bad about to happen, Leo mused, resigned to the inevitability of the moment as he was led towards a waiting van.
The cold steel against his neck was uncomfortable, yet familiar—a sensation he'd come to associate with the moments before a mission or a kill.
A fancy car rolled up to the house, its presence commanding attention.
The vehicle stopped, and from it emerged El Mayo himself, accompanied by a cadre of armed men.
Armando forced a smile, his hand gripping Inés's shoulder tightly. "Welcome to our humble abode," he said, his voice strained with the weight of his actions.
El Mayo's gaze swept over Leo, assessing him with a predatory interest. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice a low, sinister growl.
Approaching Leo in the armored van, he looked him over as if inspecting a prize. "You're the one who's been causing all the trouble?"
Leo's eyes locked onto El Mayo's, and in that fleeting, nightmarish instant, a visceral vision seized him.
El Mayo saw himself reduced to a grotesque marionette, his limbs wrenched from their sockets with sickening pops.
Sinew tore, bones splintered, and his flesh peeled away in ribbons.
The metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils as his body was systematically dismantled, joint by excruciating joint.
As quickly as it came, the gruesome tableau vanished. El Mayo's chest heaved, his lungs burning as he gulped air in ragged gasps.
Cold sweat beaded on his brow, the phantom pain of dismemberment still tingling in his nerves.
In that moment of clarity, a chilling realization dawned upon him: This was no mere flight of imagination.
He had glimpsed the depths of Leo's savage bloodlust, a primal hunger that radiated from him like a palpable force.
El Mayo trembled, knowing he had stared into the abyss of a predator's soul, and it had stared back with unfathomable hunger.
"Yeah, that's me," Leo replied, his voice calm and unwavering, though rage simmered beneath his composed exterior. "And you made a very big mistake coming to meet me personally; you just made killing you a lot easier."
El Mayo's eyes narrowed, the challenge in Leo's words sparking a flicker of intrigue. "Take him to the warehouse," he ordered, dismissing Leo's threat with a wave as he turned away.
The van door slammed shut, the engine roaring to life as it sped through the streets of Juárez, carrying Leo further into the heart of danger.
As El Mayo approached Armando, a wicked smile curled his lips. "Thanks for your tip. Normally, we would kill people who owe us money, but you've earned yourself some good favor with the cartel today. He cost us a lot of money yesterday."
Inés looked at her father, disbelief and disgust etched across her face.
The betrayal cut deeper than she could express. "What have you done, Dad?" she whispered, tears welling in her eyes, her voice trembling with the weight of his actions.
Armando's gaze faltered, the reality of his choices crashing down upon him.
As the van disappeared into the distance, carrying Leo towards an uncertain fate, the Francisca family stood in the shadow of their decision, the once-warm household now a battleground of conflicting emotions and regret.
The tension between father and daughter was palpable as Inés stood frozen, tears brimming in her eyes.
Armando, burdened by the weight of his actions, sank to his knees before her, wrapping her in a tight embrace.
He whispered softly into her ear, his voice carrying a thread of urgency and hope.
"Don't worry, Inés, I have a plan," he assured, his words meant to comfort but tinged with the desperation of a man grasping at straws.
"They haven't gone inside the house, so Leo's weapons are still there. Being in good favor with the cartel allows us to leave the city safely. And if my guess is correct, Leo will return looking for me, and he'll find his tools."
Inés pulled back slightly, searching her father's eyes for the truth behind his words.
Her heart ached with conflicting emotions—betrayal, fear, and a flicker of hope that her father might still have a way to make things right.
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"Papa, are you sure about this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The enormity of the situation weighed heavily on her young shoulders, and she needed to believe that her father could guide them through the storm.
Armando nodded, determination etched into his features.
"Yes, mija, I am. I know it doesn't seem like it, but everything I've done is to protect you and your mother. Leo is resourceful. If anyone can find a way out of this, it's him. We just need to hold on and be ready to act when the time comes."
Inés clung to her father, her heart conflicted between the love she felt for him and the growing realization of the dangerous game he was playing.
The uncertainty of their future loomed large, but for now, she took solace in the embrace, hoping against hope that Armando's plan would lead them all to safety.
The air was thick with tension as El Mayo approached Armando, a calculating gleam in his eyes.
With a flourish, he pulled out a briefcase filled with money—a staggering sum of 20,469,119.50 Mexican pesos, equivalent to one million US dollars.
The sight of such wealth was both dazzling and damning, a testament to the price of betrayal.
"This should help you and your family for turning in the... boy who destroyed our warehouse," El Mayo said, his voice dripping with disdain.
The word "boy" left a bitter taste in his mouth, a reminder of the humiliation that a mere youth had wreaked havoc on his operations.
The very thought fueled his anger, simmering beneath the surface of his composed exterior.
Armando accepted the briefcase, the weight of it heavy not just in his hands but on his conscience.
The money represented a lifeline for his family, a means to escape the stranglehold of the cartel and secure a future away from the violence that had ensnared them.
Yet, it also symbolized the betrayal of the young man who had risked so much to protect them.
"You have chosen wisely," El Mayo continued, his gaze piercing as he assessed Armando.
There was a sick satisfaction in the transaction, a twisted sense of justice served by the exchange of loyalty for currency.
Armando nodded, his expression carefully neutral, though inside he felt the sting of moral compromise.
"Thank you," he replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.
As El Mayo turned away, Armando clutched the briefcase tightly, the reality of his choice settling over him like a shroud.
He had gambled everything on the hope that Leo's resilience and resourcefulness would see him through the ordeal.
Deep down, he knew there was no undoing what had been set into motion, but he prayed that somehow, amidst the chaos, a path to redemption could be found.
In the fading light of the evening, the Francisca family stood at a crossroads, their future forged in the crucible of difficult decisions and costly alliances.
As the cartel's vehicles disappeared into the night, Armando resolved to protect his family at all costs, even if it meant waiting for the day when Leo would return to challenge the darkness that had momentarily eclipsed their lives.
Few minutes later inside the Cartel's Warehouse, the dimly lit warehouse echoed with the low hum of fluorescent lights, casting an eerie glow over the scene unfolding within.
Leo sat tied to a chair, his posture relaxed, almost nonchalant, despite the circumstances.
His face bore only minor bruises, a testament to the ordeal he had endured.
Around him, several of El Mayo's men clutched their hands in pain, their expressions a mix of disbelief and fear.
El Mayo stormed into the room, his impatience evident in every step. "What the hell is going on here? Didn't you guys interrogate him?" he barked, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of his injured men.
"This kid is a goddamn monster! He's not human at all!" one of the men yelled, his voice tinged with a mixture of awe and terror.
El Mayo's skepticism was palpable as he approached the scene.
"The hell are you talking about? He's just a boy." But when the men revealed their tools, his confidence wavered.
His jaw dropped as he surveyed the damage—every metal tool bent and twisted, every sharp knife dulled and broken.
Even chainsaws lay in pieces, their blades shattered and useless.
"We tried punching him to get the information out, but just doing that felt like hitting a steel wall," one lackey explained, his voice trembling slightly.
"Then we tried using a bat, both wood and metal, but they just dented or snapped. Hell, we even used a machete and a chainsaw to try to cut off his limbs, but all it did was break apart on his muscles—like it was nothing! Who the hell is this kid?"
The man's voice carried a note of disbelief, and the room fell silent as the weight of his words sank in.
Leo, despite his predicament, remained calm, his eyes steady as they met El Mayo's gaze.
It was as if he was daring him to make the next move, unperturbed by the chaos that surrounded him.
El Mayo's mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation.
Here was a young man who defied explanation, whose very presence challenged the natural order of things.
The fear that had gripped his men was not just a reaction to physical strength, but to an unknown force that seemed beyond their comprehension.
As El Mayo pondered his next steps, Leo sat quietly, his mind focused and clear.
He knew that whatever happened next, he would face it head-on, drawing strength from the knowledge that he was more than what anyone in this room could understand.
In the dimly lit warehouse, shadows stretched across the floor like dark tendrils, intertwining with the tension that hung thick in the air.
The oppressive silence was punctuated only by the distant hum of machinery, a low, ominous drone that seemed to echo the foreboding atmosphere.
El Mayo, a seasoned figure in the cartel world, took a deep breath, trying to steady the tumult within him.
His eyes, sharp and calculating, fixated on the boy before him—a boy whose mere presence had already begun to unravel the fabric of his reality.
He pulled a chair from the side, its legs scraping against the concrete with a grating sound that seemed to pierce the silence.
Placing it deliberately before Leo, El Mayo settled himself, curiosity mingling with a sense of impending doom.
"Who are you?" he repeated, his voice now softer, almost coaxing. "What are you?"
Leo, seated calmly in his chair, exuded an aura of unsettling calmness, his eyes meeting El Mayo's with a gaze as steady as a machine's.
"I'm just a kid with a vendetta," he replied, his tone casual yet carrying an undercurrent of unyielding conviction. "And what I am is irrelevant to you and me. What matters is that I'm going to kill El Chapo."
The mention of El Chapo's name seemed to hang in the air, weighty and charged.
El Mayo leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight as he stroked his chin thoughtfully.
His keen eyes narrowed, trying to discern the truth behind Leo's bold declaration.
"El Chapo," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "You're after the big fish, I see. But why? What could you possibly want with him?"
As Leo spoke, his expression darkened, shadowed by memories of horror and injustice.
He recounted the atrocities of the cartel's reign, the lives shattered and the communities decimated in the relentless pursuit of power and greed.
"Everyone wants El Chapo, don't they?" he said, his voice even, cold. "The cops, the military, an entire country... and even other cartels. They've all got their reasons—money, power, justice, revenge. But you know what?"
He leaned in closer, the dim light casting angular shadows that danced across his face, lending him an almost otherworldly presence.
"You couldn't possibly know or remember why I'm after him specifically. For every person he's hurt, for every motherless child, for every destroyed community, there's a reason. And that's what makes me different from you, from everyone else. To me, he's not just another target or a way to climb the ladder. He's the embodiment of everything that's wrong in this world, and I've dedicated my life to ending his reign of terror."
For a moment, El Mayo was silent, the weight of Leo's words settling over him like a shroud.
The room was so still that the distant buzz of a fly could have been mistaken for the tick of a time bomb.
Then, with a bark of laughter that echoed coldly through the space, he leaned back once more.
"So, you think you're some kind of hero? A John Wick with a vendetta?" His laughter rang hollow against the warehouse's steel and stone. "Kid, this isn't a Hollywood movie. You're not the 'Babayka' of the underworld, you're just a pawn in a much bigger game."
Despite the attempt to undermine him, Leo's expression remained unchanged, his resolve as solid as the concrete beneath them.
He's trying to provoke me, Leo thought, recognizing the tactic. But my purpose is clear. I'm not here to play games.
"You're right, I'm not a hero," Leo stated calmly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "But I'm not here to play games either. I'm here to get what's owed to me—justice."
From his seat, El Mayo studied Leo with newfound scrutiny, searching for any crack in the young man's facade.
He had seen many like Leo—driven by vendettas, consumed by delusions of grandeur—come and go. But there was something different about Leo, something that made El Mayo pause.
This isn't a fight I want to take lightly, he mused, an uncharacteristic flicker of doubt crossing his mind.
Leo looks at El Mayo with a calm but somewhat angry way, his eyes practically burning into his soul."Tell me where Joaquín Archivaldo Guzmán Loera is, do that and I'll spare your miserable life. Or you can either die alongside him."
El Mayo's eyes, unflinching and filled with steely determination, met Leo's. "You think you can just walk in here and demand El Chapo from me?" El Mayo sneered, his bravado faltering as he realized the futility of his threat.
"I'm being patient, very patient with you right now. You truly don't understand," Leo replied, his voice calm yet imbued with an intensity that sent a chill down El Mayo's spine.
"But let me make it clear, I'm not here to negotiate. I'm here for information and nothing else. You either give it to me willingly, or I'll find another way to get it."
The tension in the room reached a fever pitch, the air crackling with the promise of violence.
El Mayo's patience snapped, his anger boiling over. With a snarl, he pushed himself to his feet, the chair scraping violently against the floor.
"Fuck this shit!" he bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth. "I'm not dealing or talking equally with a fucking child! Someone kill his ass right now!"
In the face of El Mayo's outburst, Leo remained motionless, his focus shifting to the two men approaching with guns drawn.
With a swift, fluid motion, he snapped the metal handcuffs binding him to the chair.
The sound of breaking metal reverberated through the warehouse, freezing the men in their tracks, their eyes widening with disbelief.
Without a word, Leo launched himself into the air, using the momentum to drive the chair into the first attacker's skull.
The chair shattered, fragments scattering like shards of ice, and the man crumpled lifelessly to the ground.
El Mayo watched in horror as Leo landed gracefully, seizing two of the chair's sharpened wooden legs.
The warehouse erupted into chaos, the air alive with the sounds of gunfire and the sickening crunch of broken bones.
Leo moved with a dancer's grace and a predator's ferocity, weaving through the fray with lethal precision.
Each strike was a silent declaration of war, each kill a step closer to his ultimate goal.
The wooden chair legs spun like twin swords in his hands, leaving a trail of blood and chaos in their wake.
Amidst the frenzy, El Mayo stumbled backward, his bravado crumbling in the face of the onslaught.
"Holy shit!" he gasped, the words lost in the cacophony of panic as the cartel members realized they were facing a force beyond comprehension.
Leo's eyes were cold, his movements swift and calculated, a storm of vengeance unleashed upon the unsuspecting.
The remaining men grabbed El Mayo, dragging him towards the exit, their survival instincts screaming louder than their loyalty.
They knew better than to underestimate the beast that had been unleashed.
El Mayo was practically thrown into the back of a waiting car, the engine roaring to life as the tires squealed against the concrete, leaving the scent of fear and burning rubber in their wake.
Inside the car, the air was thick with the stench of sweat and panic.
El Mayo's heart hammered against his ribs, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"What the fuck just happened!?" he shouted, his voice cracking with disbelief. "Did anybody know he could do that!?"
The men in the car exchanged looks, their faces mirrors of shock and horror.
They had heard tales of El Chapo's invincibility, stories of miraculous escapes and bloody battles, but none had prepared them for a mere boy turning their world upside down with such ease.
That kid is a fucking monster, one of them thought, his mind reeling from the encounter.
As the car sped through the dark streets of Juárez, the city lights flashing by like strobes in a nightmare, El Mayo's mind raced.
"Find out who he is, where he came from," he ordered, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "And make sure he doesn't leave the city alive."
Just as he was about to call El Chapo, a voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Uh... El Mayo..." One of the goons spoke, his voice trembling with fear. "We got a problem, the boy, he... he's in front of the car!"
El Mayo's face turned pale, a chill running down his spine. "What!?" he exclaimed, scrambling to the passenger seat.
There, standing defiantly in the middle of the road, was Leo, his eyes locked onto the speeding vehicle.
"Run this bitch over!" El Mayo commanded, his voice a mix of fear and rage.
The driver's foot hovered over the gas pedal, his leg shaking with uncertainty.
The tension in the car was palpable, a crescendo building towards the inevitable.
The engine revved, and the car lurched forward.
But Leo moved with preternatural speed, sidestepping the oncoming vehicle and delivering a powerful kick.
The force of the blow sent the car spinning, crashing into a nearby barrier with a deafening screech.
As the occupants scrambled to regain their bearings, Leo approached the wreck, his eyes never leaving El Mayo.
With a powerful yank, he tore the door off its hinges, the metallic screech slicing through the night air.
Reaching in, he grabbed El Mayo by the collar, hauling him from the vehicle and tossing him onto the asphalt like a rag doll.
The goons attempted to draw their weapons, but in the same fluid motion, Leo had already seized the gun from El Mayo's jacket.
With lethal precision, he fired two shots, dispatching the attackers with a chilling efficiency.
The night fell silent once more, the echoes of gunfire fading into the distance.
Leo stood over El Mayo, a testament to the unyielding force of justice he had become.
In the stillness, the cartel leader knew that this was a battle he could not win, a reckoning long overdue.
The night air was still, the only sound the distant hum of city life beyond the darkened streets where Leo and El Mayo stood.
The scene was like a painting of contrasts—Leo, calm and composed amidst the chaos he had wrought, and El Mayo, disheveled, fear etched into every line of his face.
The asphalt beneath them was cool, the scent of burning rubber still lingering in the air from the crashed vehicle nearby.
"Give me your phone," Leo demanded, his voice steady, cutting through the quiet like a blade.
There was no room for negotiation, only the cold inevitability of his request.
El Mayo, his hands trembling, reached into his pocket and handed over his phone.
Leo took it, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen.
He noted with a sardonic twist of his lips that El Mayo hadn’t bothered with a lock screen or a pin—an oversight born from arrogance or perhaps an unearned sense of security.
As Leo scrolled through the contacts, El Mayo's voice quivered with desperation.
"Look, Leo... you don't have to kill me," he pleaded, his bravado shattered, replaced by a naked need for survival. "I can give you anything you want! Money, guns, drugs, whatever you want! I'll quit the cartel, hell, even Mexico! I'll go anywhere!"
The raw edge of panic in his voice was palpable, and for a moment, the air between them seemed to freeze, suspended in the balance of life and death.
Leo, sensing the truth in El Mayo's words, paused. His mind was a quiet storm of calculations and considerations.
Perhaps there's a chance he could still be useful, he thought, weighing the options with the precision of a finely tuned machine.
"Where is El Chapo, and where is his family living?" Leo asked, his voice calm, almost gentle in its insistence. "Tell me the truth, and I'll let you go."
El Mayo's eyes darted around, a flicker of hope igniting as he realized that Leo might actually spare him.
"He's living in the richest part of Sinaloa, in a mansion he built for his family away from the city!" he replied, the words tumbling out in a rush. "There's a GPS reminder in my Google Maps, you should be able to find it!"
The admission hung in the air, a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.
El Mayo's gaze was locked onto Leo's, searching for any sign of mercy, any indication that his life might yet be spared.
Leo nodded, accepting the information with a curt nod.
His fingers moved deftly over the screen, navigating to the location El Mayo had mentioned.
The coordinates glowed on the display, a beacon guiding him toward his ultimate goal.
As he turned his attention back to El Mayo, the cartel leader slumped in relief, the tension in his body dissipating like mist in the morning sun.
Perhaps there is hope after all, he thought, clinging to the fragile thread of life Leo had extended.
But Leo's voice cut through his fragile optimism, cold and unyielding.
"I never want to see your face again," Leo declared, his tone as chilling as the night air.
"The next time I even see you, you don't even have to see me, because by the time you do, you'll be dead." He crouched down to El Mayo's level, locking eyes with him, the intensity of his gaze searing into the cartel leader's soul.
Without a word, El Mayo scrambled to his feet, the promise of death propelling him into a desperate flight.
He ran, not daring to look back, his survival instinct overriding any semblance of pride or defiance.
The darkness swallowed him as he disappeared into the night, leaving Leo standing amidst the echoes of their confrontation.
Turning his attention to the task at hand, Leo dialed El Chapo's number, the phone ringing ominously in the stillness.
When the line connected, El Chapo's voice came through, filled with expectation and impatience. "Oye, ¿finalmente mataste a ese bastardo? Lo que hizo fue un gran revés."
But Leo's voice, steady and resolute, interrupted the cartel kingpin's musings.
"Joaquín Guzmán, quiero que recuerdes mi voz... porque este video significa la muerte y el fin, tu fin. Cuando escuches esta voz en tus sueños o subconsciente... solo debes saber que no vas a morir, tu esposa, tus hijos y tus hijas no podrán escapar de mí. Terminaré con todo tu linaje antes del 2 de noviembre. Así que si yo fuera tú, haría todo lo que pudiera para recordar a tu familia y los buenos momentos que pasaste para conseguirla, a diferencia de los buenos momentos que le robaste a todos los demás. Y cuando el reloj esté listo para funcionar, tu vida llegará a su fin una vez que llegue a cero. Adiós señor Guzmán, cuente con ello."
With those words, Leo severed the connection, the phone slipping from his grasp to shatter against the ground.
It was a symbolic gesture, a declaration of the inevitability of what was to come.
The shattered remnants of the device scattered like dust, mirroring the fate that awaited Guzmán.
On the other end, El Chapo sat frozen, the color draining from his face as the reality of Leo's threat settled in.
His life, once untouchable and secure, now seemed fragile, teetering on the edge of an abyss.
Despite his efforts to maintain composure, a tremor of fear coursed through him.
He clung to the belief that Leo had likely killed El Mayo, buying him time to fortify his defenses and elude capture.
Little did he know, El Mayo was very much alive, a loose end that could unravel everything.
Meanwhile, Leo turned his focus to the Francisca household, his mind a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions.
He understood Armando's motivations, the desperate need to protect his family.
Yet, he deserved answers, and nothing would deter him from seeking the truth.
As he made his way back to the Franciscas, the night air was thick with anticipation, the path ahead illuminated by the flickering streetlights.
Leo's resolve was unwavering, a beacon guiding him through the darkness, towards the answers that awaited him.
The night air was cool and still as Leo approached the Francisca household, the quietness of the street amplifying the sense of solitude that awaited him.
The house stood silent, a shadow of its former vibrancy, with no signs of life stirring within its walls. As Leo stepped through the entrance, he was met with an emptiness that resonated through the space.
The furniture remained, a testament to the life that had once filled these rooms, yet it was clear that the essentials had been taken—a hasty departure driven by the uncertainty of his return.
"So, they decided to leave just in case I came back, not knowing what type of mindset I’d have," Leo mused, acknowledging the practicality of their decision.
Can't say I blame them. Despite the absence of the family, his thoughts lingered on the brief moments he had shared with Inés. Hanging out with her was fun, at least for a little while.
As he wandered into the kitchen, Leo's eyes widened in surprise.
There, neatly arranged, were all his weapons—the Jackal, his Titan's Edge, the MP4 M4 carbine—every piece of his meticulously curated arsenal.
"Huh? They're all here...?" he muttered, perplexed. I thought the cartel would have taken all of my weapons.
His gaze drifted to the dining table, where a plate of food sat covered in aluminum foil.
Next to it, a note simply read, "Sorry." Intrigued, Leo picked it up and unfolded the paper, drawn in by the sincerity of the words scrawled across it.
"Dear Leo, I don't know if you feel like you want to come kill me or that you came to seek answers. I'm legitimately sorry for turning you into the cartel. I know you might find this hard to forgive me for my actions, but my family was in debt because I had a gambling addiction. I knew you were going to take out the Sinaloa cartel, and I wanted us to be out of the city when the power vacuum started. I know we only knew each other for a few hours, but I'm happy that you came into our lives. You made Inés so happy, and I never saw her smile so bright before... I was truly blessed with the honor of meeting you, Leo. I also asked Estrella to cook you a dish."
Curious, Leo paused in his reading and lifted the foil from the plate.
The aroma of freshly prepared Grilled Chicken Street Tacos wafted up, mingling with the rich scent of Mexican Chicken Casserole and the savory allure of Mexican Street Corn.
The sight of the meal, lovingly prepared, stirred something within him—a reminder of the warmth and kindness he'd encountered, albeit briefly.
He returned to the note, drawn back into the heartfelt words. "There's more in the fridge, and if you get there when it's cold, just put it in the microwave. With love, the Francisca family."
As he finished reading, Leo felt the weight of the note shift in his hand.
He turned it over to find a photograph taped to the back.
It was a candid snapshot of Armando, Estrella, and Inés, their faces aglow with genuine smiles, a moment of happiness captured in a fleeting image.
For a moment, Leo stood there, the picture in his hand, the warmth of the Francisca family's gesture enveloping him.
It was a piece of humanity in a world often devoid of it, a reminder that even amidst chaos and betrayal, moments of genuine connection could still exist.
Leo's resolve, forged in the fires of vengeance and justice, was tempered by the realization that not all battles were fought with weapons.
Some were fought in the quiet spaces of the heart, where forgiveness and understanding could hold as much power as any blade.
As he stood in the empty kitchen, he knew that the path ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty, but he carried with him the memory of a family who had, in their own way, offered him a glimpse of what he fought to protect.
The quiet of the Francisca household enveloped Leo like a gentle embrace, a stark contrast to the chaos and violence that had marked his journey thus far.
Standing alone in the kitchen, he felt an unexpected sense of calm wash over him—a tranquility that seemed at odds with the turmoil of his mission.
It was as if the warmth and sincerity of the Francisca family's gesture had momentarily eased the burdens he carried.
Moving with deliberate grace, Leo placed the plate in the microwave, setting the timer for two and a half minutes.
The soft hum of the appliance filled the room, a soothing backdrop to his contemplative mood.
As he waited, his thoughts drifted back to the brief interactions he had shared with Armando, Estrella, and Inés. There was something profoundly human in those moments, he mused, a flicker of warmth igniting within him.
When the microwave dinged, Leo retrieved the plate, the aroma of the meal mingling with the memories of laughter and shared stories.
He carried it to the table, setting it down with a quiet reverence.
Despite the urgency of his mission, he took a moment to follow the manners Estrella had taught him—keeping his weapons away from the table, honoring the sanctity of the shared meal.
Before he began eating, Leo bowed his head in a silent prayer, a ritual of gratitude that felt deeply personal amidst the solitude.
In his mind, the words formed with clarity and conviction, Dear Lord, I am grateful for the food before me, the friends they were beside me, and the love between us. As he finished, he whispered softly, "Amen," the sound a gentle ripple in the stillness.
With each bite, Leo savored the flavors, the care and love infused in the meal.
It was more than sustenance—it was a connection to a moment of peace, a reminder of the humanity that persisted even in the darkest of times.
As he ate, he allowed himself to be fully present, cherishing the taste and texture of each dish, the simple pleasure of nourishment.
In that quiet kitchen, time seemed to stretch, each second a gift that he held close.
Leo knew that once he stepped back into the world beyond these walls, the weight of his mission would return, the path ahead fraught with challenges and danger.
But for now, he allowed himself to linger in this moment, to feel the warmth of the Francisca family's gesture, and to hold onto the peace it brought him for as long as he could.
Having finished his meal, Leo stood up and disposed of the paper plate, the remnants of a momentary reprieve.
He felt the weight of his mission settle back onto his shoulders as he re-equipped his weapons, the familiar heft of each piece a comforting reminder of his purpose.
The arsenal was an extension of himself, honed for the precise execution of his goals.
As the night deepened, Juárez lay cloaked in shadows, a city teetering on the edge of upheaval.
Leo moved with purpose through its darkened streets, a specter of justice and vengeance.
His first targets were the cartel's warehouses, the lifeblood of their operations.
In a series of calculated strikes, he left them in ruins, flames licking at the sky as the structures crumbled.
The explosions shattered the night, a symphony of destruction that reverberated through the city, crippling the cartel's financial foundation.
With the warehouses reduced to smoldering rubble, Leo turned his gaze towards Sinaloa.
The journey ahead was daunting, a distance of 654.3 miles that stretched across the Mexican landscape.
But for Leo, distance was no barrier.
He moved with an inhuman speed, a blur across the countryside, the world around him a rushing tapestry of colors and motion.
In just 11 minutes, he arrived at his destination, standing at the edge of El Chapo's domain.
The mansion loomed before him, an edifice of power and opulence nestled amidst the lush greenery of Sinaloa.
Leo perched high in a tree, its branches swaying gently in the night breeze, offering him a vantage point over the estate.
From his vantage point, he surveyed the scene below, his mind a cauldron of anticipation and resolve.
Finally, this all will end... finally, he thought, the words a mantra that resonated within him.
This was the culmination of his quest, the moment he had trained for, the reckoning that would bring justice to those who had suffered under the cartel's reign.
The night was still, the world holding its breath as Leo prepared for the confrontation that would echo through the annals of history.
In the silence, he gathered his courage and steeled his resolve, ready to face the storm that awaited him in the heart of Sinaloa.
The night was a silent witness as Leo sat on the porch of the mansion, the echoes of violence still reverberating through the opulent halls behind him.
The once-grand estate now bore the marks of his relentless pursuit of justice, the walls painted with the grim testament to a crime family brought to its knees.
Yet, as he sat there, the air heavy with the scent of gunpowder and death, Leo felt an unsettling emptiness within.
He had avenged Elara, his mentor, fulfilling the promise he had made to himself long ago.
But the satisfaction he had anticipated was absent, replaced by a hollow void that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.
I should feel something after I killed him, like it should have finally given me some joy, Leo mused, his thoughts swirling in the darkness. But... I feel... nothing. Like I'm hollow.
His golden eyes, once bright with determination, now reflected a void, a black hole where humanity had once resided.
In seeking revenge, he had lost a part of himself, a piece of his soul sacrificed on the altar of justice.
The realization settled over him like a shroud, a stark reminder that even the most righteous of acts could leave one feeling unfulfilled.
Meanwhile, miles away, Inés sat in her room, her gaze fixed on her phone.
The clock read 8:00 PM on November 2nd, a date now etched into her memory as the day the cartel's shadow was lifted.
Leo has my number, she thought, her heart aching with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. I hope he's okay now that the cartel was destroyed.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of a call. The number was unfamiliar, but her heart recognized the possibility.
She answered quickly, her voice tinged with anticipation. "Hello?"
"Hello Inés," came Leo's voice, casual yet distant.
"Leo! You're okay! I'm glad to hear from you, I was worried about you," she exclaimed, relief flooding her senses.
"I would never be killed by weaklings. But it's pleasant to hear your voice again," Leo replied, his tone flat and devoid of warmth.
Inés felt a prickle of unease at his demeanor. Something's wrong, she realized. "Say... Are you okay, Leo? You sound different," she asked, her concern deepening.
"Inés, there's something you should know. I won't be contacting you again after this," Leo stated coldly, the words striking her like a physical blow.
"Wait... hold on... What did you just say?" Her voice wavered with disbelief.
"Oh, did the line cut out? I'm just saying that this will be my first and last time calling you," he reiterated, his voice unwavering.
Inés could only gasp, her mind reeling at the sudden shift. "Your family is safe and sound, so there's no point," Leo continued.
"Wait! Leo, if this is about what my dad did, I had no—" she began, desperation creeping into her voice.
"It's not about that. Armando already explained everything in a note where I found my equipment," Leo interrupted matter-of-factly.
"But just hold on a second! Why are you acting like this doesn't even matter to you!? Like all that time we spent together was nothing?! I know we didn't spend that much time together but..." Inés's voice cracked as she fought to hold back tears.
"Our relationship was merely temporary. It's not like we could come see each other or anything. I'm from the US, and you're from Mexico; it wouldn't last," Leo stated, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Yes, it could! We could just keep talking, texting, and other stuff! Leo, I don't know what happened to you, but this is not you! Please don't just give up on me... on us," she pleaded, her heart aching with the weight of his indifference.
"Tell me, what would you do if you fell in love with me? Would you give up literally everything just to be with me, to be with an assassin and know that you could die in even worse ways than the cartel could ever imagine?" Leo's question hung heavy in the air, the reality of his words undeniable.
Inés faltered, unable to voice an answer. She knew he was right, that the life he led was fraught with danger beyond her comprehension.
"Then I don't know what the problem is. I put all of El Chapo's fortune into your father's bank account; do with that as you wish. Goodbye." With that, Leo severed the connection, the finality of his words leaving a void in their wake.
As the line went dead, Inés's composure shattered. She sank to the floor, her body wracked with sobs, the tears flowing freely as she mourned the loss of something that had barely begun.
Her cries echoed in the stillness, a poignant reminder that not all battles were fought and won on the battlefield. Some, she realized, were lost in the quiet spaces of the heart.