Chapter 6 - THE CAPTURE OF THE KING
The heavy oak doors of the grand foyer blew inward with a deafening crash as dozens of heavily armed federal tactical agents swarmed into the Ríos mansion. Their assault rifles were raised, tactical vests bearing federal insignia flashing under the emergency strobes.
"Clear the room! Move, move, move!" shouted Commander Roberto Garza, a corrupt federal captain who was secretly on Héctor Morales’s payroll.
Standing in the center of the foyer, completely calm, was Alejandro Ríos.
He had holstered his 9mm pistol. His hands were loosely clasped behind his back, and a cold, dangerous smirk played on his lips as he watched the tactical squad fan out across the marble hall.
"Alejandro Ríos," Commander Garza barked, stepping forward with a pair of steel handcuffs clanking in his grip. "You are under arrest for money laundering, racketeering, and conspiracy to commit murder. Put your hands behind your back."
Alejandro didn't flinch. He slowly extended his wrists, letting the metal cuffs snap shut with a heavy, final click.
"You’re a bit late, Garza," Alejandro said smoothly, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Héctor already packed his bags downstairs."
Garza’s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second—a micro-expression of panic that didn't go unnoticed by the cartel boss.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Ríos," Garza snapped, grabbing Alejandro by the shoulder and shoving him toward the open front doors. "You're going away for the rest of your life. No lawyers, no bail, maximum security."
As they dragged Alejandro out into the courtyard, cameras from local news vans flashed blindingly in the dark. Journalists shouted questions over the roar of police sirens: "Mr. Ríos, is your cartel finished?" "Where is your son?" "Is this the end of the Ríos dynasty?"
Alejandro kept his chin up, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He wasn't looking at the cameras. He was calculating every single second, trusting that Valeria and Mateo were already miles away in the dark, speeding down the highway toward safety.
They threw him into the back of an armored police transport vehicle. The heavy steel doors slammed shut, plunging the interior into shadow.
Inside the transport, sitting quietly in the corner seat illuminated only by the flashing red lights outside, was Héctor Morales.
The lawyer was sipping a glass of imported sparkling water, looking entirely at ease in his tailored suit.
"A dramatic exit, Alejandro," Héctor chuckled, swirling the liquid in his glass. "Truly cinematic. But efficiency has always been my strong suit. By morning, your assets will be completely liquidated, your properties seized by the state, and your son... well, a stray orphan hiding in the slums with a poor maid isn't very hard to track down, is he?"
Alejandro’s eyes flashed with pure, unadulterated murder. Even with his hands cuffed behind his back, he lunged forward across the metal bench, slamming his shoulder into Héctor’s chest and pinning the lawyer against the side of the van.
"If you or any of your men touch my son," Alejandro whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying, demonic calm, "I will crawl out of whatever maximum-security hellhole you put me in, and I will rip your throat out with my bare teeth."
May you like
Héctor’s smile faltered for just a second as he looked into the eyes of a desperate father who had nothing left to lose. Then, regaining his composure, he shoved Alejandro back and straightened his tie.
"Save your breath, boss," Héctor sneered. "By sunrise, Mateo will be in our custody. And your empire will be nothing more than dust."
