127.For nearly twenty years in Mexico City, the mere mention of my surname was enough to make dangerous men lower their voices.

The quarry opened up beneath us like a jagged wound in the earth.

Gray granite cliffs plunged three hundred feet down into a gravel pit dominated by a massive, rusty industrial rock-crushing plant. Parked near the center were two matte-gray technical trucks, their bed-mounted heavy machine guns barking muzzle flashes toward the corrugated steel shed where Sofia and Luca were trapped.

On the upper ledge sat Hernan’s Agusta helicopter, its rotors still spinning lazily in the mist. Standing near the aircraft, surrounded by a six-man security detail in tailored black suits, was Hernan Moretti.

My uncle. A silver-haired serpent with gold cufflinks and the heart of a hyena.

"Hector, light up the technicals!" I yelled over the intercom.

The Black Hawk flared hard over the rim of the quarry. Our port-side minigun whined to life with an ear-splitting mechanical shriek. A solid laser-beam of tracer rounds rained down from the sky, slicing into the first technical truck. The vehicle’s fuel tank ruptured instantly, detonating in a massive rolling fireball that flipped the second truck onto its side.

Panic shattered Hernan’s perimeter.

"Lower! Ten feet off the helipad!" I ordered the pilot.

The helicopter banked violently, skimming five yards above the gravel ledge. I didn't wait for a tether. I kicked the cabin door wide, leaped out into the freezing mountain air, and hit the gravel in a combat roll.

The impact jarred my teeth, but adrenaline erased the pain. I came up firing.

My first burst caught two of Hernan’s suited bodyguards before they could even draw their sidearms. They collapsed into the dust. The remaining four scrambled behind the Agusta’s fuselage, returning fire with automatic pistols.

"Hernan!" my roar echoed off the granite walls, louder than the aircraft engines.

Through the tinted glass of the executive helicopter, I saw my uncle's face twist from smug triumph into naked, primitive horror. He had assumed I was dead in the rubble of San Jerónimo. He thought he was here to tie up loose ends.

He never expected the devil to drop from the sky.

A sniper on the far rim fired. The high-caliber round caught me in the left shoulder, spinning me half-around. The Kevlar plate beneath my tactical jacket stopped the slug from penetrating my flesh, but the impact shattered my left collarbone with a sickening crunch.

I didn't slow down.

I discarded the empty machine gun, drew two .45 caliber pistols with my functional hands, and charged the Agusta.

Hernan’s pilot panicked, attempting to yank the collective to lift off. But Hector, circling above in our Black Hawk, fired a precise burst into the Agusta’s tail rotor. The tail assembly sheared off in a spray of sparks and twisted metal. The helicopter spun three times on the gravel, its skids snapping like dry twigs, before settling onto its belly in a cloud of dust.

Hernan kicked the cabin door open, tumbling out into the dirt, clutching a leather briefcase to his chest. His silver hair was matted with blood, his expensive silk suit shredded by flying gravel.

I marched through the dust, my boots crunching heavily on the stones, until the shadow of my frame fell directly across his trembling body.

"Nephew..." Hernan wheezed, scrambling backward like a crab, his manicured hands clawing at the dirt. "Alejandro... wait! You don't understand the corporate reality—the board—they forced my hand!"

I racked the slide of my Kimber and pressed the smoking muzzle directly against the center of his forehead.

"You poisoned my wife's womb," I said, my voice entirely flat, entirely devoid of human mercy. "You tried to burn my four sons alive in their mother's dining room."

"I... I gave you everything!" Hernan shrieked, tears of pathetic terror carving clean tracks through the dust on his cheeks. "I built this empire with your father! You owe me your life!"

"My father built an empire for his family," I whispered, leaning in until he could see the cold reflection of his own death in my pupils. "You built a cage for children. And your lease just expired."

*Bang.*

The shot echoed off the quarry walls, silencing the wind.

Hernan’s body went limp against the broken landing gear of his ruined helicopter.