I have been disappointed by a lot of people.

I have been fucked over and cheated. Beaten and disrespected. I have seen things—things that have haunted me, turning my dreams into vicious nightmares.

I have seen blood and gore. I have seen my own father cut off a man’s arm with a chainsaw in our cellar, and despite all the brutality I have witnessed, I have never wavered. Never flinched. Never cared about those people.

But this…this is something that I will not be able to accept.

I feel her looking at me.

I hear her sniffling.

I can’t even fucking look at her.

The van runs over a pothole, shifting me over, closer to her. She grabs my hand. I pull away.

“Draco,” she pleads.

“Shut up. No talking,” one of the putos in the front seat commands. I want to break his fucking neck for speaking that way to her—to me. He has a black handgun pointed at my face. If my head weren’t spinning so much, my fingers so numb, I would snatch it away and shove it down his goddamn throat.

“Draco,” she whispers.

I keep my eyes ahead, jaw flexing.

The van finally begins to slow down, and I look out the window. The church is a few yards away, my men already lined up, armed, and waiting. They lift their guns as soon as they see the van coming their direction, ready to fire if necessary.

The driver parks and the man in the passenger seat pushes his door open and steps out. With a smirk on his lips, he walks to the side of the van, pulling the back door open.

“Take your feisty little bitch, and get the fuck out of here,” he snarls at me when I step out.

I glare at him. Cold. Hard. His neck is right there. His throat. One grip and squeeze and I could end his fucking life.

His throat bobs when he notices I’m staring at it, a clear sign of fear, weakness. I hate weak motherfuckers that can’t back themselves up.

“Watch your fucking mouth before I punch you in it,” Patanza speaks from behind him, pointing a gun at the back of his head.

Several men in the trucks behind the van step closer, holding their guns high, aiming at us. I keep my eyes on the guard, el hijo de puta in front of me, and then I finally blink, lifting a hand in the air, a silent command for Patanza to stand down.

“Help her to the car,” I order. I don’t even recognize my own voice. The icy chill to it, the dry, gruff timbre.

Patanza hurries for Gianna, grabbing her elbow, nearly dragging her to the truck. When she’s secured, and the door is shut, I fix my eyes on the guard again, taking a step closer, eyeing him even harder now.

“You may feel proud now, about what you think you and your cunt boss have accomplished, but don’t you ever forget who the fuck I am.”

He steps away, trying to laugh it off, but I see the panic in his eyes. He watches his back as he climbs back into the van, ordering the driver to hurry up and go.

I watch every single vehicle leave. I know at least one of them will linger. One of them will pretend to go, but wait somewhere to try and follow me back to my mansion.

I’m not fucking having it, so I wait.

They continue down the road, a trail of dirt and dust curling behind them.

When I snap my fingers, boots instantly crunch on the ground. My gaze is still ahead, still watching the vans drive away.

Four loud whistles zip past my ears, shooting through the air like cannons.

Then there’s fire.

So much fire.

It billows, the way my trucks did when they attacked me by the Blue Betrayals. It’s fierce and strong, like my anger in this very moment. The explosion makes the church bell ring, a small chime resonating deep in my bones.

Four vans—all of her fucking vehicles—are exploded by missile launcher guns. This was my Plan B. If something were to happen to Gianna or anyone I cared about at all, I made it clear there was going to be hell to pay.

I told her this would mean war.

And so it begins.

“They’ve fucked with the wrong one,” I growl in Spanish, turning for the truck. “We head to the house, you pack as much shit as you can, and we fly out within the hour.”

“Si, Jefe,” they all say in unison. I climb into the truck and slam the door closed, but I feel her eyes on me. I don’t look. Can’t fucking look.

“Drive. Now,” I command, and the truck pulls off in an instant. We drive toward the exploded cars and as we get closer, I see a figure moving. “Stop the truck.”

I demand one of my men to give me their gun. When he hands me a pistol, I hop out, taking slow, measured steps toward the hijo de puta who had so much shit to say on the ride here—the one who was so happy and willing to point that fucking gun in my face.

“You know what’s so sad about Yessica and her men?” I cock my gun and aim it at his forehead. He reaches for me with bloody fingers, his face streaming red and lips split, mouth filled to the brim with blood. “You never learn to watch your fucking backs.”

I shoot him through the forehead, the sound echoing to the church bell, loud enough to pierce my ears. All is quiet when his head hits the ground. There is only the crackle of the flames, the sizzle from the fire.

I assumed this would give me satisfaction, but it doesn’t. It only pisses me off more. My jaw ticks when his hands fall. Rage ensues, sparking the darkest parts of me—the parts of me I never wanted to feel again—and I kick him. I kick his head repeatedly, foaming at the fucking mouth, the longer strands of my hair slapping me in the face.

“MOTHERFUCKER!”

I hear screaming. Wailing. I don’t give a fuck. I keep kicking.

“Draco!” Gianna screams, her hand wrapping around my wrist. I spin around quickly, pointing the gun at the center of her forehead.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” I press the gun to her head, listening to someone stepping closer.

“Jefe.” I look over and Patanza is staring at me, head shaking. “We have to go. La policía ya viene en camino.” The police are on their way. “Cameras will only be cut off for ten more minutes in this area.” Her eyes shift over to Gianna, who is facing the gun, like she’ll take the bullet if she has to.

“Get in the fucking car, and don’t say a word,” I growl at Gianna.

She stares at me with those bright green eyes, challenging me. She’s trying to read me, but I know she can’t. She can’t because I don’t fucking want her to.

When she realizes it, she turns and woefully climbs into the SUV. I follow her inside, and the driver pulls away.

Heart still pounding.

Body numb.

Mouth dry.

Bones aching.

I tell them, “I will kill every single fucking one of them. Anyone associated with that traitorous bitch will fucking die, and that’s my fucking word! Esa puta me la va a pagar!” That bitch is going to pay.