“I did, Boss,” I answered honestly and without any hesitation.
Alejandro was the type of man who challenged his men a lot, and most of the time, he did that shit simply because he could. Being the underboss didn’t make me exempt. Hell, if I’m being real, I think I got tested more than any other nigga around him.He’d throw curveballs, set traps, and whisper lies just to see if we’d echo back. He wanted to know who could be broken,who could be bought, and who could hold it down without flinching. But unlike most of the niggas in our crew, I knew how Alejandro operated. I studied his moves the same way he studied everybody else’s. I stayed ten toes, ten steps, and ten triggers ahead… always.Soevery time he tried that shit with me, I passed with flying colors,or blood, depending on how the test was set up. Hence, why I was in the position I was.
He smirked. “I figured. She’s muy bonita. Can’t say I blame you.”
“It wasn’t so much for pleasure, though,” I cleared up, adjusting my cuff. “But what better way to keep an eye on somebody than staying close enough to hear ‘em moan? Women drop secrets when they think you love ‘em.”
“Facts. I like the way you think.” He nodded, leaning back with the cigar resting between his fingers. “Love will make women do some strange ass shit, especially when it’s fake love dressed up in expensive lies.”
He trailed off for a second, like he was remembering somethingorsomeone.
I cleared my throat and leaned forward slightly. “Boss—”
He held up a finger. “From today forward, call me Alejandro. You’ve earned that privilege… butonlyyou.”
My brows lifted in surprise. “You sure?”
His tone sharpened, carrying an edge I recognized all too well. “Damari.”
I held my palms up. “Just making sure." I grinned crookedly, then settled back into my seat, folding my arms across my chest. "Well,Alejandro, I wanna ask you something. And if I’m overstepping my line of work, just tell me none of my damn business or shoot me.”
We shared a laughter that was dry yet real.
“This doesn’t sound like business, but more personal,” he remarked, the laughter fading from his tone, replaced by something more serious.
“Kind of both.”
“Okay. Talk to me.”
I took a deep breath. “You ever regret it? This life?”
He didn’t answer right away. He took a long pull on the cigar, then, “I regret who I had to become, but I don’t regret what I had to do. Survival ain't pretty, and power never is. You think I wanted to bury my own brother for stealing from me? I didn’t… but I buried him with my own two hands. Why? Because this kingdom doesn’t run on feelings; it runs on fear, respect, and discipline.”
I nodded slowly, digesting the heavy truth of his words.
“You remind me of me when I was your age,” he added, eyes lowering to the cigar’s red tip. “Only difference is… you a bit colder.”
I smirked. “Maybe I’m just more honest about who I am.”
“Or maybe,” he said, pointing that cigar again, “you ain’t lived long enough to lie to yourself yet.”
That one landed.
“Is that why you ain’t never settled down?” I kept my tone casual, but my curiosity was real. “I know you love women. But you fifty-two, Alejandro. You ever thought about locking one down? A wife? Maybe even some kids?”
Alejandro flicked the ash off his cigar with precision, exhaling slowly through his nose, then fixed me with that sharp, unreadable expression.
It was quiet for a moment, then, “I’ve thought about it… more now than ever, actually. But wanting something and not knowing if it will survive in this world we’ve built? Two different things.”
He glanced at the smoke rising between us, then continued.
“In this life, family doesn’t make you soft; they make you vulnerable. You love someone enough, and that’s exactly where your enemies aim. Not at you… at them—your wife, your kids, your home. They’ll use what you love to make you fold, make you bleed, or make you beg.”
He looked at me with the weight of lived experience, as though he had stood at the crossroads of pain and loss.
“So nah, I never built a family. I never let myself get that far in. I’d rather be out here fucking random women whose names I don’t remember than sit up at night praying my little girl doesn’t get caught in a crossfire or my woman don’t end up buried ‘cause somebody wanted to hurt me.”
He paused and ashed the cigar again, more aggressively that time.