The safehouse was warmer than usual that morning. The old radiator buzzed in the corner, struggling to push heat through the damp air.
Daniela sat across from Leo at the kitchen table, coffee steaming between them.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked.
Leo nodded, though his eyes darted nervously.
"One of Santos' mid-level enforcers—Hernandez. He's spooked. The internal purges are getting ugly. He wants out before he ends up dumped in the river."
"Why come to us?"
Leo leaned forward.
"Because Santos won't negotiate. Hernandez thinks you're his best chance at staying alive. He knows we've got ties to the department. He's hoping you can cut him a deal."
Daniela exhaled slowly.
"We're not cops anymore."
"But Duncan is," Leo said.
That afternoon, Hernandez arrived under heavy precautions. Eleanor arranged the location — an empty meatpacking warehouse long since abandoned.
Duncan arrived first, scanning the perimeter. His eyes carried the exhaustion of too many late nights covering tracks he shouldn't have been involved in.
When Eleanor and Daniela pulled up, Duncan cut straight to it.
"If this guy's playing us, we all go down."
"He's scared," Daniela said.
Duncan shook his head. "Fear makes people unpredictable."
Inside, Hernandez paced nervously, wiping sweat from his forehead despite the cold.
"You came alone?" Eleanor asked, keeping her tone neutral.
"I left my phone behind too," Hernandez answered, his voice shaky. "I don't want anyone tracing me. If Santos finds out I'm here—"
"He won't," Daniela interrupted, her voice calm but firm. "Talk."
Hernandez hesitated. Then finally, he cracked.
"Santos isn't just replacing Kayleigh's network. He's bringing in new partners—Russians, Albanians. People even Kayleigh wouldn't deal with. He's pushing deeper into weapons and state contracts."
Eleanor's stomach turned.
"He's not just laundering drug money?"
"No," Hernandez whispered. "That's small-time now. He wants influence. Power. Government-level contracts. Once he gets those foreign buyers locked in, none of you will be able to touch him."
"And Kayleigh?" Daniela asked.
Hernandez smirked bitterly. "Kayleigh? She's not calling the shots anymore. She's just a name now. A symbol."
Duncan's eyes narrowed. That was information they hadn't anticipated.
"We need names, account numbers, supply chains—everything," Duncan said.
Hernandez nodded nervously. "I can give you the first layer. But you'll have to protect me."
"You're under protection the moment you deliver."
"No," Hernandez said, shaking his head. "I want my family to move out of state first. Witness relocation. Cash upfront."
Duncan exhaled. "You're not exactly in a position to negotiate."
"I won't say a word until they're safe."
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Finally, Daniela leaned in.
"We'll do it. But you better not be lying."
"I'm not," Hernandez whispered. "Santos is playing a much bigger game than you realize."
That night, Ruiz entered Santos' heavily guarded penthouse.
Santos stood by the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the city like a man who already owned it.
"You were right," Ruiz said. "Hernandez flipped."
Santos didn't move.
"Who's protecting him?"
"Silva. Eleanor. Duncan. The old crew."
Now Santos turned, smiling faintly.
"So predictable," he whispered. "They think they're playing offense. They don't realize they've already stepped into my hands."
Ruiz shifted nervously. "Do you want him eliminated?"
"No," Santos said softly. "Not yet."
He poured a glass of bourbon, voice smooth as silk.
"Let them build their little case. The more evidence they collect, the more they'll expose themselves. Once the federal task force arrives, I'll have everything I need to bury them all in one sweep."
He raised his glass.
"Patience wins wars."
Back at the safehouse, the atmosphere had shifted.
Eleanor paced while Daniela reviewed Hernandez's files.
"He's telling the truth," Daniela said. "This is bigger than we imagined."
"That's what worries me," Eleanor snapped. "We're not cops. We don't have jurisdiction. If Santos is playing on the government level, we're way out of our league."
"We knew that before we started."
"There's a difference between knowing and seeing."
Daniela looked up, voice softer.
"If we back off now, he wins."
Eleanor's shoulders tensed, torn between instinct and loyalty.
Finally, she whispered, "Then we're going to need more help."
In prison, Kayleigh sat quietly as one of her lawyers finished a secure call with Santos.
"Do you trust him?" the lawyer asked.
Kayleigh smiled faintly.
"I don't need to trust him. I just need him to think he's winning."
The lawyer frowned. "If Santos consolidates power, there won't be anything left for you."
Kayleigh's voice lowered, almost a whisper.
"There's always something left... if you know where to cut."
She folded her hands.
"Besides, my dear friend Santos may have forgotten one thing."
"What's that?"
Kayleigh's smile sharpened.
"Eleanor always knew where the bodies were buried. And I know where Eleanor's weaknesses live."
Late that night, Duncan received an untraceable encrypted message on his burner.
The sender was unknown.
One line:
"You've already lost control. Walk away while you still can."
Duncan stared at it, his gut twisting.
He deleted the message — but the weight of it stayed with him.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued