A/N: Shout out to the person who sent the books first ever powers stones, Much appreciated your support, You keep me motivated
Javier Felix stood on the lush green of an exclusive golf course, the sun shining brightly as he took another casual swing with his gold-plated golf club. He was surrounded by his business partners, all of whom laughed and enjoyed the game, blissfully unaware of the storm that was brewing. Javier, a man of both power and opportunism, loved to display his wealth—hence the gold club—and his mind was as sharp as his swing, always thinking about the next move, the next opportunity.
His guard, dressed as a golfer to blend in, approached him with a serious look. "Señor Felix, we have news."
Javier raised an eyebrow, mildly intrigued but far from concerned. "What is it?"
The guard leaned in slightly, keeping his voice low. "The Los Blanca jefe... he's dead. Passed away last night."
For a brief moment, Javier stood still, processing the news. Then, a grin spread across his face—subtle at first, but growing wider as the realization hit him. "Well, well, well... finally, some good news." He chuckled, swinging the club again, this time with a little more force. The ball soared through the air, but his mind was far from the game now.
"The old man's death is the best thing to happen in a long time," Javier said with a smug smirk, addressing his partners who were none the wiser about the underworld dealings he thrived in. "You know, with him gone, Los Blanca will tear itself apart. There's no one strong enough to take the throne."
He laughed, enjoying the image of power struggles, betrayals, and chaos among the cartel members. "It's about time they felt the pressure. We'll swoop in while they fight over the scraps," he added, his voice dripping with arrogance.
Javier assumed that a lieutenant or a goon from the cartel would be scrambling to take over. To him, it was just a matter of time before internal conflict ripped Los Blanca apart. It was all falling into place just as he had hoped.
"Can you imagine? A bunch of idiots fighting to be king," Javier scoffed as he swung again, sending another ball into the distance. "They'll be so busy killing each other, they won't even see me coming."
Unbeknownst to him, the daughter of the Los Blanca boss had already touched down in Mexico. She was no ordinary woman, and certainly not one to be underestimated. As Javier played his leisurely round of golf, thinking he had the upper hand, preparations for the cartel boss's funeral were already underway.
The heir to Los Blanca wasn't some clueless foot soldier; she was blood, trained for this moment, and prepared to step into her father's shoes. While Javier's ambitions grew with every swing, he had no idea that his assumptions were about to lead him into a collision course with someone far more dangerous than he ever imagined.
Tyrone sat in his dimly lit office, the sound of the city outside muffled by the thick walls. His feet were propped up on the desk, casually tossing peanuts into his mouth. His custom silver-patterned Glock, polished to a gleam, sat tucked in front of him like an extension of his power. Everything had been running smoothly, but that was always when problems crept up.
The door swung open, and Jamal stormed in, a rare expression of urgency on his face. Tyrone glanced up, narrowing his eyes.
"What's good, Jamal?" Tyrone asked, his voice steady, though sensing the tension.
Jamal wasted no time. "We got hit. The main warehouse. They wiped it clean."
Tyrone's calm demeanor vanished. His feet hit the floor as he bolted upright. "What?!" His tone was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. "How the hell did that happen?"
Jamal's jaw clenched as he approached the desk. "I don't know, but it's gone, Tyrone. All of it. Cocaine, cash—everything. And the muscle you hired from Los Ballas? Nowhere to be found."
Tyrone's hands slammed down on the desk, rattling the Glock. His face darkened as his frustration boiled over. "What the hell do you mean 'nowhere to be found'? Those clowns were supposed to be guarding the place. You telling me they just up and left?"
Jamal stood firm, but the tension in the air thickened. "I'm telling you, the place was left wide open. Somebody knew our moves. This wasn't some random hit."
Tyrone started pacing, shaking his head in disbelief. His mind raced as he processed the situation. They had been too careful, too meticulous to be taken down like this. But someone had cracked the code, and it wasn't by chance. He glared at Jamal.
"Who do you think did it?" Tyrone asked, his voice low but menacing.
"Could be Ricco's people. Or someone close to them. We know they've been watching us since the supplier flipped."
The words hung in the air, but Tyrone wasn't about to wait for more theories. He snatched his phone and dialed the number of the Los Ballas boss. His patience was gone, and he wanted answers—now.
The line rang for a few moments before a gravelly voice answered. "What's up, Tyrone?"
"What's up?" Tyrone spat, his temper flaring. "I'll tell you what's up. Your boys were supposed to be securing my warehouse, and now it's been cleaned out like a damn grocery store. Where the hell were your people?"
There was a brief pause on the other end before the Los Ballas boss responded. "Hold up. That's news to me. My crew was there last night. Ain't no way they let that happen without putting up a fight."
Tyrone's hand tightened around the phone, his knuckles turning white. "Well, someone let it happen. I'm out millions, and I'm not hearing any excuses. You and your crew were in charge of security. I paid you for protection. Now it's gone, and I'm wondering what the hell I'm paying for."
The Los Ballas boss didn't appreciate being called out, but Tyrone wasn't someone to cross lightly. "Look, I'll figure it out. I'll get to the bottom of this, but don't put that all on me. If someone moved against you, they had inside knowledge."
Tyrone's jaw clenched. "You better figure it out fast, or the next conversation we have isn't gonna be this polite." He hung up without waiting for a response, slamming the phone down on the desk.
Jamal, watching the scene unfold, crossed his arms. "So, what now?"
Tyrone's eyes burned with determination. "Now? We find out who made the move, and we hit them back twice as hard. But first, we clean house. No one is gonna double-cross me and walk away breathing."
After Tyrone slammed the phone down, furious and ready to strike back, the Los Ballas boss leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow, calculated breath. He wasn't shaken by Tyrone's threats. If anything, he felt more confident in the decision he had already made. He calmly scrolled through his contacts and dialed Ricco's number.
The phone barely rang before Ricco's smooth voice came through. "Talk to me."
"It's done," the Los Ballas boss said, his voice steady. "Tyrone knows about the warehouse, but he's got no clue it was us. He's pissed, but I handled it. Now it's your move."
There was a moment of silence before Ricco chuckled. "You did the right thing. Tyrone's building his empire, but he's too ambitious, too reckless. I've been in this game long enough to know that guys like him burn out fast. But me? I'm the long game. You stick with me, and I'll make sure Los Ballas gets what it deserves."
The Los Ballas boss nodded, despite the distance between them. Ricco was old-school, a figure deeply entrenched in the history of the streets. His connections ran deep, and he knew how to play the game. That's why, when Ricco came with an offer—protection, stability, and a piece of the future—it was too good to pass up.
"Tyrone's brought in some serious firepower," the Los Ballas boss admitted. "His people got guns we've never seen before, and the money's rolling in. But it's like you said, he's moving too fast. He's making enemies, and he doesn't even know it."
Ricco's voice grew colder, more calculating. "That firepower? That's going to be ours. Tyrone's empire is going to crumble, and we're going to pick up the pieces. But right now, we play it cool. Keep doing what you're doing. When the time comes, you'll have a solid place in my organization. You and your crew will have power—real power. The kind Tyrone can't give you."
The Los Ballas boss wasn't one to trust easily, but Ricco had history on his side. His name carried weight in the streets, and his promise of returning Los Ballas to its former glory was more than just words. With Tyrone expanding too fast and making enemies along the way, it felt like the right time to jump ship.
"I'm with you," the Los Ballas boss said firmly. "Just say the word, and we'll be ready."
Ricco's voice turned lighter, almost amused. "Good. Stick close to Tyrone for now. Watch his moves, gather whatever info you can. But don't make it obvious. We'll take him down when the time's right. And when we do, Los Ballas will be back on top."
As the call ended, the Los Ballas boss sat back, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. He had just flipped sides in one of the biggest power plays the city had seen, but with Ricco backing him, he felt untouchable. Tyrone might still have his flashy empire, but the cracks were already forming.
And soon enough, those cracks would tear everything apart.
The undercover DEA agent stood before the Director, his face marked with the strain of living a double life. He spoke in a low, controlled voice, recounting the latest developments from inside the Los Ballas gang.
"The Ballas boss flipped," the agent said, tension creeping into his words. "He's sided with Ricco now. The whole crew has shifted loyalty, but they're still following orders from someone else—someone higher up. They don't even know his name. They just call him 'the man.'"
The Director leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes narrowing as he considered the information. He had been monitoring this mysterious leader for months, but the figure remained elusive. Every piece of intel only confirmed that this was someone operating on an entirely different level—an unseen force holding together a web of gangs and criminal empires.
"And you still don't know who this leader is?" the Director asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.
The agent shook his head. "No, sir. The Ballas don't know his identity either, but it's clear he's been pulling strings from behind the curtain. Now that Ricco's in the mix, things are going to escalate. There's too much at stake for this to stay under the radar."
The Director leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His face was stern, his words weighted with caution. "You need to tread carefully from here on out," he said, locking eyes with the agent. "If this mysterious leader is as dangerous as we suspect, there will be retaliation—especially now that the Ballas have flipped. Whoever this man is, he won't let this go unanswered."
The agent nodded, fully aware of the stakes. "I understand, sir. I'll keep my head down and keep working the Ballas angle. But we need to move fast. If this leader decides to retaliate, a lot of blood's going to spill, and it won't just be among the gangs."
The Director's jaw tightened. "We'll get him. But don't rush things. We need to be sure of every move before we make it. For now, keep your ears to the ground and don't take unnecessary risks. This isn't just about busting Ricco anymore—it's about dismantling an entire operation. One wrong move, and we'll have a war on our hands."
The agent swallowed hard, nodding once more. "I'll stay on it, Director. But I have a bad feeling this is about to get a lot worse."
The Director didn't respond, his eyes already lost in thought, planning the next steps in this delicate, deadly game.