Fausto Villena had never intended to become a drug lord.
He grew up on the streets of Sierra de Oro, the son of a fisherman who struggled to make ends meet. The slums were all Fausto had known in his early years—hungry nights, endless days of labor, and the bitter sting of watching the rich thrive while his family barely survived. His father, a man beaten down by poverty, drowned in alcohol when the fish stopped coming in, leaving young Fausto to fend for his family. By the age of thirteen, Fausto had become the man of the house, scrounging for food and money to keep his siblings fed.
The slums of Sierra de Oro were dangerous, rife with crime, corruption, and vice. The drug trade had begun to fester within the heart of the city, attracting those willing to do anything to escape poverty. Fausto saw it firsthand—men who had once been nobodies, now driving shiny cars, buying new clothes, and walking with a confidence Fausto envied. It was tempting, but he had always resisted.
Until his father died.
With no other choice, Fausto began to make deals, first small ones—running packages for low-level dealers, offering protection to the local black-market traders. He was smart, ambitious, and ruthless when necessary. By his twenties, Fausto had fought, clawed, and killed his way up the ranks of the Sierra de Oro underworld. The slums no longer controlled him—he controlled them. The hunger of his youth had transformed into a hunger for power.
But Sierra de Oro's criminal empire had a ceiling. At that time, the Marino family, led by Tarcisio Marino, reigned over the city. Tarcisio was the embodiment of control and subtlety, a man who operated with a code that straddled the line between business and brutality. Fausto admired him—at first.
Fausto saw an opportunity to expand his influence beyond Sierra de Oro, and he made a deal with Tarcisio. They would expand the drug routes into the southern provinces, splitting profits. Fausto would control the street-level operations, while Tarcisio would manage the logistics and distribution. It seemed perfect: Fausto would finally rise to the heights he dreamed of.
But Tarcisio Marino was a man of quiet ambition, and his loyalty was always to the Marino family.
It didn't take long before things started to unravel. Unbeknownst to Fausto, Tarcisio had made a secret alliance with another rising power—Leonard Fontierra. While Fausto handled the dirty work, Tarcisio began funneling more resources and routes to the Fontierra family, gradually phasing Fausto out of the equation. It was a calculated move, one designed to ensure the Marinos' dominance without the bloodshed of a full-out war.
The betrayal came to a head when one of Fausto's biggest shipments—a massive drug haul that would have solidified his control over the southern territories—was intercepted by the authorities. Fausto knew immediately that it was an inside job. His men weren't careless, and the operation had been planned with precision. He pieced together the truth: Tarcisio had sold him out. The police raid had been tipped off, but not before the Fontierras had conveniently taken control of the territory Fausto was about to secure.
From that moment on, Fausto Villena's admiration for Tarcisio Marino turned to hatred. He swore vengeance, but vengeance required power. And so, Fausto forged an alliance with the very people Tarcisio had conspired with—the Fontierras. Leonard Fontierra, young and ambitious, saw value in Fausto's rage and his ruthlessness. They made a pact: together, they would build a new criminal empire, one that could challenge the Marino family and expand far beyond Sierra de Oro.
It wasn't a partnership built on trust, but on necessity. Fausto needed allies, and Leonard needed muscle. Over the years, their combined efforts turned Sierra de Oro into a battleground of influence. With the death of Tarcisio, Fausto saw his chance to finally dominate the territory he had once dreamed of controlling. But Karl Marino, Tarcisio's son, had risen to power far quicker than Fausto had anticipated, and the threat Karl posed was undeniable.
------
Across town, in a dimly lit warehouse that Karl Marino used for private meetings, the atmosphere was tense. The low hum of an overhead fan was the only sound in the room as Karl, Arjan, and Gustav Ojeda sat around a wooden table, deep in conversation. They had met several times before, but tonight, the stakes were higher. General Guinto—the police general who had long been in the Fontierras' pocket—needed to be eliminated. His presence was a roadblock to their plan to cripple the Fontierra-Villena alliance.
"General Guinto is the key," Karl said, his voice steady as he leaned forward, locking eyes with Gustav. "He's been protecting the Fontierras for years, making sure none of their operations are touched by the authorities. If we take him out, we remove their safety net."
Gustav, sitting across from Karl, nodded thoughtfully. His father, Paquito Ojeda, had already made it clear that he supported the alliance with the Marinos. Gustav, sharp and calculating like his father, was equally invested in seeing the Fontierras brought to their knees. But his approach was more direct.
"Guinto's not untouchable," Gustav said, his voice low and confident. "We've got his routines, his weaknesses. The man's greedy and sloppy—he makes a show of being untouchable, but he's been taking bribes from low-level crooks for years. His arrogance is his blind spot."
Arjan, standing by the table with his arms crossed, cut in. "The trick is making it look clean. If Guinto goes down and the Fontierras suspect we had a hand in it, they'll retaliate hard. We can't afford an open war—yet."
Karl nodded. "We won't rush it. Chuck will handle the job. He's reliable, and he knows how to disappear once it's done. It'll be quiet."
Chuck, Karl's enforcer, had been a shadow in the underworld for years. Known for his ruthlessness and precision, he had carried out some of the most dangerous hits for the Marino family. He was the kind of man who left no trace, someone who could get close to his target and disappear into the night without raising an alarm.
Gustav leaned back in his chair, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Guinto's weakness is his greed. He's got a meeting in a couple of days with one of his drug contacts. It's low-profile, but it's our best shot at getting him alone."
Karl considered the plan for a moment, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. "Good. Chuck will take him out during the meeting. No witnesses, no complications."
Arjan nodded. "I'll coordinate with Chuck, make sure he has the details. This needs to be flawless."
"Guinto's death will send a message," Karl added, his voice firm. "The Fontierras will know their protection is gone, and when they start scrambling, that's when we'll move in."
Gustav stood, his gaze serious. "It's time to remind them that no one is untouchable."
With the plan set in motion, they left the warehouse. The night was still, but beneath the calm surface, the first ripples of chaos were beginning to stir.
-----
Two days later, Chuck sat in a parked sedan just outside the run-down bar on the outskirts of Sierra de Oro where General Guinto was scheduled to meet his contact. The bar, a forgotten relic from a better time, was a perfect place for shady deals—off the beaten path, with few prying eyes. The surrounding area was mostly abandoned warehouses and empty streets, giving Chuck the isolation he needed for what was about to happen.
He checked his watch—Guinto was late, but that wasn't unusual. Chuck's eyes scanned the street, his instincts always on high alert. His pistol sat in the passenger seat beside him, a silenced 9mm that had served him well on countless jobs. Tonight would be no different.
A few minutes later, a black SUV pulled up to the bar. Chuck tensed slightly as General Guinto stepped out, flanked by two of his bodyguards. The general wore a cheap suit, his face slick with sweat despite the cool evening air. He was a heavy-set man, his eyes darting nervously as he walked toward the bar's entrance. Chuck knew that Guinto lived his life in fear—fear of the criminals he worked for, fear of the people he betrayed, and now, fear of dying.
Chuck exited his car, moving with the practiced ease of a man who had done this many times before. He slipped into the alley beside the bar, finding the back entrance just as Guinto and his men went inside. Chuck's movements were quick, methodical. He entered through the back door, making his way to the bar's poorly lit hallway.
He spotted Guinto immediately. The general was sitting at a table near the back, speaking in hushed tones with a man Chuck recognized as one of the Fontierras' low-level dealers. The two bodyguards stood nearby, but they weren't paying attention—Guinto's arrogance had infected them too. They thought no one would dare come for a police general in a place like this.
Chuck watched, waited. Timing was everything. He slipped his pistol from his jacket, his heart rate steady as he moved closer. The bodyguards were positioned perfectly—distracted, with their backs to him. Chuck approached them, quick and silent. Before either man could react, he pressed the silencer to the back of the first guard's head and squeezed the trigger. A quiet pop filled the air, and the guard slumped forward, dead.
The second guard barely had time to register what had happened before Chuck shot him in the chest, his body collapsing into a nearby chair. It was over in seconds.
Guinto froze, his eyes wide with terror as he turned to see Chuck standing over him, gun in hand. The Fontierra contact was smart enough to bolt, scrambling for the door, but Chuck didn't care. The contact was nobody—Guinto was the target.
"Wait—wait!" Guinto stammered, his hands shaking as he reached for something—money, a bribe, anything that might save him. "We can work this out!"
Chuck said nothing. He raised the pistol and fired once, the silenced shot striking Guinto in the head. The general's body slumped in the chair, lifeless, his blood pooling on the table.
Chuck calmly holstered his gun, glancing around the room to ensure there were no other witnesses. The job was clean, quick, and efficient—just the way Karl had wanted it.
As Chuck exited through the back door and disappeared into the night, the message had been sent. General Guinto was dead, and with him, the Fontierras' protection within the police force.
The game was changing, and Karl Marino had just made the first move.
----
The morning air was cool and still, but inside the grand estate of Fausto Villena, a storm was brewing. Fausto sat in his sprawling study, a room adorned with expensive art, polished mahogany furniture, and the faint scent of cigars lingering in the air. His fingers drummed against the arm of his leather chair as he scanned the message on his phone, a growing unease darkening his already sullen expression.
Leonard Fontierra, the young, brash head of the Fontierra family, sat across from him, his eyes narrowing as he read the same message on his own phone. They had gathered for what was meant to be a routine meeting—a discussion about expanding their operations—but the news they had just received shifted the tone dramatically.
Fausto clenched his jaw, his voice coming out low and dangerous. "Guinto's dead."
Leonard's head snapped up, his eyes widening in disbelief. "What do you mean dead?"
Fausto's eyes bore into him. "Shot. Last night, during a meeting. Quiet hit, no witnesses."
Leonard slammed his fist down on the table. "What the hell happened? He was our insurance! The police are in chaos without him."
Fausto rose from his chair and began pacing, the sharp taps of his shoes on the marble floor the only sound in the room. He had relied on General Guinto for years. The man had protected their interests, ensured that their operations went smoothly, and kept the police off their backs. Without Guinto, their entire network within law enforcement would unravel.
"Do we know who did it?" Leonard asked, his voice carrying an edge of panic beneath his bluster.
Fausto paused, his expression hardening. He knew Karl Marino was capable of bold moves, but this—this was a declaration of war. "No," Fausto growled, though his suspicions were already taking shape. "But I have a feeling we're going to find out soon enough. This wasn't random. Someone took him out to weaken us."
Leonard's face twisted into a sneer. "Marino. It's him, isn't it? The timing's too perfect."
Fausto didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned and stared out of the large window overlooking his estate, his thoughts racing. He had underestimated Karl Marino, thinking that the young upstart would stick to more traditional moves, but Guinto's assassination had been precise, calculated—a blow that would destabilize their entire operation.
"If it's Marino," Fausto said quietly, "then he's more dangerous than I gave him credit for."
Leonard's face flushed with anger. "We need to hit back. Now. We can't let him think he can kill one of our men and get away with it."
Fausto turned to face Leonard, his voice cold. "Not yet. We don't know the full picture. Guinto was a key piece, but if we rush into this, we'll be the ones left scrambling."
Leonard leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "We can't sit back and do nothing, Fausto. The longer we wait, the more ground he gains. We need to send a message."
Fausto's eyes darkened. "We will. But we'll do it on my terms, not yours."
The room fell into tense silence, the weight of Guinto's death pressing down on them both. Fausto's mind churned with thoughts of betrayal, alliances, and the coming war. The delicate balance he had spent years building was unraveling, and if Karl Marino had made the first move, then Fausto would have to make sure his next one was devastating.
"We'll find out who did this," Fausto finally said, his voice firm. "And when we do, we'll strike harder than they ever expected."
----
At the edge of the city, in a small, nondescript warehouse that served as Karl Marino's temporary headquarters, the atmosphere was tense but focused. Karl sat at the head of a long metal table, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the surface as he waited for Chuck's arrival. Arjan stood near the far wall, his arms crossed, his sharp eyes following every movement in the room. Gustav Ojeda, the son of Paquito Ojeda, leaned back in his chair across from Karl, his expression calm but alert.
The plan to kill General Guinto had been months in the making, and now that it had been executed, they awaited confirmation from Chuck.
The door to the warehouse creaked open, and Chuck entered with his usual calm demeanor. Dressed in his typical dark attire, his face was a mask of composure, though there was a slight tension in his shoulders, the kind that came after a successful but dangerous mission. He walked over to the table, his steps quiet, and nodded to Karl.
"It's done," Chuck said, his voice low but steady.
Karl leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Chuck's. "Details."
Chuck didn't waste time. He had been in the business long enough to know that when Karl asked for details, he wanted precision. "Guinto showed up to the meeting late. He brought two bodyguards, but they were careless—thought they were untouchable. I took them out first, clean shots. Guinto tried to talk his way out, but I didn't give him the chance. One bullet, right between the eyes. No witnesses."
Arjan's lips curled into a satisfied smile as he pushed off the wall. "Good. And no loose ends?"
Chuck shook his head. "None. The contact he was meeting with ran, but he's nobody. Guinto was the only target that mattered."
Karl allowed himself a small smile, though his eyes remained hard. "Perfect."
Gustav, who had been listening quietly, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "The Fontierras will know it was us. They won't have proof, but they'll know. How long before they retaliate?"
Karl turned his gaze to Gustav. "They'll react soon, but Fausto's smart. He won't rush into this. He knows Guinto's death is a message, and he'll take his time to figure out how to respond. We have time, but not much."
Arjan nodded, moving to stand beside Karl. "They'll be off-balance for now. Guinto was their shield in the police force, and without him, the Fontierras will struggle to keep their operations clean. We need to exploit that."
Karl's eyes gleamed with cold calculation. "That's the plan. We hit them where they're weakest. The police will be in disarray, and we'll push to take control of the routes Guinto was protecting. Once we have those, the Fontierras will have no choice but to fight us on our terms."
Gustav smiled faintly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "And when they do, they'll realize just how outmatched they are."
Chuck, having delivered his report, took a step back, his posture relaxed but ready for whatever came next. Karl gave him a nod of approval.
"You did good, Chuck," Karl said. "Now, get some rest. There's more to come, and I'll need you sharp."
Chuck nodded once, then turned and left the warehouse as silently as he had arrived.
As the door closed behind him, Karl looked around the table at his two allies—Arjan, his oldest friend and most trusted confidante, and Gustav, the calculating son of Paquito Ojeda, a man whose alliance had proven invaluable. Together, they had set in motion a plan that would destabilize the Fontierras and, eventually, crush them.
"We move fast from here," Karl said, his voice steady but filled with resolve. "Fausto and Leonard will strike back, but we'll be ready. When they do, we make sure they have nowhere left to run."
Arjan's eyes gleamed with anticipation, while Gustav nodded, his mind already racing through their next moves.
"The war has begun," Karl added, his voice quiet but full of certainty. "And we're going to win."
Outside, the night had fallen over Sierra de Oro, and the city lay under a blanket of uneasy calm. But in the shadows, the wheels of power were turning, and the first blood of the coming war had already been spilled.
And Karl Marino, with Arjan and Gustav at his side, was ready to claim victory.