Wrong moves

Aaron Basley sat at the dimly lit bar, nursing a glass of Jim Beam whiskey. It had been a long day, The bar was a refuge, a place to cool off and collect his thoughts.

As he swirled the amber liquid in his glass, a familiar figure slid onto the stool next to him. It was Jones, an old acquaintance from college days. They exchanged nods, and Jones ordered a drink of his own.

"So, what brings you here tonight, Aaron?" Jones asked, his tone casual but curious.

"Just needed some air," Aaron replied vaguely, not wanting to delve into the details of his day. He took a sip of his whiskey, feeling its warmth spread through him.

Jones leaned in slightly, his expression unreadable. "You seem tense. Everything alright?"

Aaron hesitated, then excused himself to the restroom, leaving his half-empty glass on the bar. Inside the stall, he pulled out his phone and dialed Andre Cain's number.

The phone rang, but Andre didn't pick up. Aaron frowned, feeling a twinge of suspicion. He quickly sent Andre a text with his location before returning to the bar.

Back in his seat, Aaron took another sip of whiskey, trying to calm his nerves. But soon, a dizzy spell overcame him. His vision blurred, and he struggled to maintain his balance. With a lurch, he fell from his stool, the glass slipping from his grasp and shattering on the floor.

Through bleary eyes, Aaron saw Jones standing nearby, speaking into his phone. "It got him," Jones muttered, before hanging up.

Aaron tried to make sense of the situation as consciousness slipped away from him. He had trusted Jones once, but now doubts clouded his mind as darkness claimed him.

The last thing he heard before everything went black was Jones's voice, distant and ominous.

Elena Cortez stood at the window of her penthouse suite, gazing out at the sprawling cityscape of Monterrey, Mexico. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and red, a fitting backdrop for the fire she was about to ignite.

She turned to face the room, her stilettos clicking on the marble floor. Six men sat around a long table, each a captain in her rapidly expanding cartel. They fell silent as her dark eyes swept over them.

"Gentlemen," Elena said, her voice smooth as silk but edged with steel, "by now, you've heard. The Kabal boy is in our custody."

A murmur rippled through the room. Javier, her most trusted lieutenant, spoke up. "With respect, Doña Elena, this is a bold move. Kabal is not a man to be trifled with."

Elena's lips curled into a cold smile. "No, he's not. Which is precisely why we must strike now, while we have the advantage." She walked to a large map on the wall, tracing a line from Monterrey to Houston. "For too long, we've allowed Kabal to dictate the terms of our... coexistence. That ends today."

She turned back to her captains, her gaze fierce. "I want our people mobilized. Every safehouse, every tunnel, every corrupt official on our payroll – I want them ready. Kabal will come for his son, and when he does, we'll be waiting."

As her captains nodded their assent, Elena's mind drifted to the events that had led to this moment.

Three years ago, her husband – the previous head of the Cortez cartel – had been gunned down in a Houston restaurant. The official story blamed a rival Mexican gang, but Elena knew better. She had spent years gathering evidence, following money trails, and piecing together the truth. It all led back to George Kabal.

Now, she finally had the leverage she needed. Not just to expand her cartel's reach into Texas, but to exact her long-awaited revenge.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. One of her men entered, looking nervous.

"Doña Elena, we've received word from our team in Houston. There's been... a complication."

Elena's eyes narrowed. "Explain."

"The boy, he... he managed to escape during the transfer. Our men are searching, but—"

He never finished the sentence. The crack of a gunshot echoed through the room, and the man crumpled to the floor. Elena lowered her pistol, smoke still curling from the barrel.

She addressed her shocked captains. "Let this be a lesson. I do not tolerate failure." Her voice was ice. "Find the boy. Now."

As her men scrambled to leave, Elena turned back to the window. The sun had set, darkness settling over the city. She smiled to herself. The game had changed, but she was nothing if not adaptable.

In her mind, she could almost see George Kabal, frantically marshaling his forces. "Come then, George," she whispered to the night. "Let's see what you're made of."

Miles away, in a dingy Houston motel room, a frightened Michael Kabal huddled in a corner, desperately trying to remember everything his father had ever taught him about survival. He didn't know it yet, but he had just become the most wanted child in Texas, caught between two powerful forces ready to tear the state apart to find him.

The war had begun, and there would be no going back.

Leo was about to enter his house when he heard his name called from afar. He looked back and saw Sophia getting out of a taxi. Leo rushed to meet her, expressing how worried he had been about her. Sophia asked Leo to help her with the groceries, and he gladly obliged.

As they entered the house, they were surprised to see Sam Edwards inside. In unison, they asked, "When did you get discharged?" Sam replied, "Yesterday."

After dropping the groceries in the kitchen, Leo and Sophia went outside to talk about the upcoming funeral service. Sophia mentioned that her grandmother was coming from Spain for the event.

They spent an hour talking and laughing together. When it was time to part, Leo waved goodbye to Sophia and headed back to his own house.