Chapter 1 Blood And Betrayal

Fallon Crawford slammed his fist onto the table. The silverware jumped. "Twenty million," he growled, his eyes narrowing on his sons. "Gone. Just like that." The dining room at the Crawford estate was a place of formality, its gleaming chandeliers casting a soft, golden light over the table. Six figures sat around it, each one maintaining a tense composure. Kyle's brow furrowed. "We had men at the docks. It should've been secure." Hunter's fingers drummed impatiently. "Obviously not secure enough if the feds showed up." Leila said nothing as she watched them. A bad feeling was building in her gut. They were supposed to handle this. They were supposed to guarantee success. Fallon leaned back in his chair. "How did a convoy of our trucks get intercepted without a single warning?" "It was supposed to be clean," Kyle said, his voice tight. "We paid off the authorities in the port, had our men in place." "Someone tipped them off," Travis said, his voice colder than the coldest winter. "Someone flipped and snitched on us to the feds." Hunter sneered. "That rat Mateo. He's been acting strange ever since his kid was born. Feds must've used that to grill him, threatened to take his daughter, or promised him a reduced sentence.” “Mateo might have broken the silence code,” Kyle retorted, “but who chose the route? Who trusted the new broker?” His accusing gaze landed on Travis. The tension was strong. Travis’s jaw tightened. “The route was vetted. The broker was your man, Kyle.” Leila’s eyes flicked from one brother to the next. “You two are so quick to blame each other, you’re missing the point.” Kyle snorted. “Oh, so now you’ve got the answers, Leila?” Hunter leaned forward, his smirk sharp. "Why don't you stick to your girly stuff, sis? Let the men handle business." Dragging her eyes away from the golden-coated chair she had found a brief fascination with, she raised her head to Kyle and leaned forward. "So?" She shrugged to stress her nonchalance. Kyle hissed, his hands forming a fist. "You little br—" "I think that's enough." The baritone voice of the patriarch was enough to drown a shark, even in its subtlety. But not for Leila. To her, there was only one upside to being the only girl, who happened also to be the last child. She had her father wrapped around her fingers, and she was never shy to use that fact to her advantage. Wearing a pout and googly eyes, she turned to him. "But daddy, he started it! I was only trying to drop my own thoughts about the situation!" She said, in her little girl voice. Fallon Crawford looked at his daughter, his angry face instantly filled with a smile. Anyone watching would hardly believe it was the same man that made men considered kings grovel at his feet. He was a large man in every sense of the word. Not just because of his towering height that rivaled the giants of biblical times. His hair, darker than the shadows of the night, was the only feature that dampened the uncanny resemblance his daughter had with him. Her fiery red hair was all her mother's. Every other thing she took from him. From her height to that smart mouth of hers. It didn't end there. She couldn't stop without snatching that braveness of his, of course. Every time Fallon looked at her, his heart swelled with pride. He considered himself a master of invention. Be it new ways to gun down a rival or clever plots to get money out of the sink. But in his own words, Leila Crawford was his greatest invention. "You two can bicker later, no fights on the dining table. I need to know who tipped off my business." He finally said. Leila's face fell while her brothers chuckled unintentionally. "That didn't go the way you planned, huh?” Hunter, the third child, who had eyes like a predator, hence his name, mocked. "Hunter," Travis called. He was the one that looked like their mother. Quiet and aloof. It always felt like he was a thousand miles away—a silent killer, as Jenner would describe him. Hunter, not the one to be casually dismissed, moved his lips to speak when Jenner's hands hushed him. "Funs over, boys. You," she pointed to Kyle. "You should lead by example. Now apologize to your little sister and focus on the matter on ground.” Leila's face quickly shot up, the lines of her cheeks spreading into a smug smile. The heated look on Kyle's face made her want to explode with laughter. He should have known better, messing with her. "Sorry," he dragged between his teeth. "Did you say something? I don't think I heard you," Leila said innocently, but her face did not match her words. "If you didn't hear me, then you can go fu—" "Kyle!" His father stabbed a chunk of meat with his fork. He jerked up, his eyes widening. "I said I was sorry," he quickly said, knowing when a battle was over. "I forgive you," Leila said brattily, smiling as she did. Paying no attention to the warning look he gave her, she turned to Jenner, her smile not wavering. The older woman, whom they had grown to see as more than a house help, returned her smile. The strength in her eyes, even at that age, was something Leila envied the most. She could only wish to have such a strong presence when she gets to that age. Then suddenly, Leila's grip tightened on her glass. She was tired of being ignored but thanks to her father and Mrs Jenner for always coming through for her. She continued. "If Mateo is talking, we won't be losing only twenty million. We will lose everything—names, products, routes. We need to deal with him now." A heavy silence followed. Kyle sighed. "She's right." Fallon’s gaze softened as he looked at her. “She always is. Mateo’s a problem, and we’ll take care of it tonight.” Travis rubbed his nose, clearly frustrated. “We still don’t have products to deliver to the Baboas, and the Gallos are getting bolder. The feds are circling. What’s the plan?” A wry smile twisted Fallon's lips. "We bleed the streets. We eliminate the Gallos. We take back what belongs to us. Every ounce of product and we give it to the Baboas. Nobody screws over the Crawfords and survives. Nobody." Kyle poured another glass full, his hand shaking, and lifted the drink to his lips. "Should've known something was fishy when the Gallos withdrew at the last minute. They're waiting for us to fall." Hunter's eyes seemed to narrow even more. "Let them come. I’ll put a bullet in every one of them.” Leila gave him a sharp look. "It's not that simple. We wait for them to make the first move, we're done. We have to strike first." Kyle raised an eyebrow. "And you think you're the one to lead the charge?" "I'm the only one seeing it clearly," she shot back. Fallon's voice cut through the tension. "Enough. We find Mateo, deal with him, and remind the Gallos who runs this city. Leila reached for her wine, but before she could lift it, Kyle nudged the table. Her glass tipped, its content spilling on her blouse. “Goddammit,” she muttered, trying to wipe the stain off with a napkin. Hunter’s smirk widened. “Better clean it up. That shirt probably cost more than your whole wardrobe.” "I'll be back soon," she added with a smile and quickly turned around. Dragging down her pink dress suit made from a polyester viscose blend, she pressed her Manolo Blahnik heels to the ground and sashayed away with her head held high. Jenna's gaze stayed on Leila a second longer before her attention returned to the table as her hand automatically clutched her wine glass. With Leila down the hall, the raised voice of her brothers distorted. The cool, tiled bathroom was a brief sanctuary, a temporary reprieve. Leila clung to the rim of the sink, her heart racing in her chest. She turned the faucet on, running cold water over the wine stain. Her fingers rubbed absently at the fabric, but her mind remained in the dining room. Something was off. The argument had been heated, but that wasn't unusual. The Crawfords thrived on conflict. And yet, when Travis reminded Kyle that it was he who hired the broker, there was something in his eyes. The way Kyle's hand had trembled when he poured that last drink. The way he spilled wine on her dress. He was fidgeting a lot. A chill snaked down her spine. A single gunshot shattered the silence. Leila froze. Then came another—louder, closer. Her breath hitched as a third, fourth and then a fifth crack of gunfire pierced the estate. No. Before her mind could process it, she was running; heels pounding out the rhythm across the floor, shadows lengthening endlessly before her desperate steps in the hall. The survival instinct her father made sure to drill in all his children suddenly kicked in. Her hands went to the side of her waist. "Fuck me!" She realized she was putting on one of those fancy suit gowns that didn't have a pocket for her gun. No other weapon was around, so she decided to throw caution to the wind. She took to her heels and didn't slow down until she burst into the dining room. The scene she saw made her stumble back. She grabbed her chest, a loud gasp escaping from her throat. There was blood all around. There was so much blood she could barely make out who was who until she looked carefully. All she knew was that her entire family had been wiped out. She couldn't move. The blood glistened on the polished floors, smearing over the table, and painting the walls in violent streaks. Bodies slumped over chairs sprawled across the floor. Her father's eyes, once sharp with authority, stared blankly into the ceiling. A fine line of crimson traced down his temple and over his cheek. Hunter's hand still clutched his knife—the blade catching the chandelier's golden glow. But his throat was open in a silent scream carved into his flesh. Kyle lay face down, fingers twitching, as if even his body rejected the concept of death. It felt like she was trapped in her skin. The tears wouldn't come out either, and neither could she speak. She stood still and stared. In her heart, which was more active than her body, she prayed it was one terrible dream. She would close her eyes, and by the time she opened it, she was on her bed. Her father was coming to call her for dinner. Kyle was being his annoying but funny self. Hunter was trying to get on her nerves when he knew he would still ask her to sneak him some chocolate. Then, there was also Travis, sweet Travis, who knew all her secrets but never spoke of them. His chair was overturned, legs tangled in wreckage, blood pooling under his head. And how could she forget Jenner? Jenner…dear Jenner. The closest thing to a mother she had. Couldn't speak. Always watching. Always understanding so much more than people thought. All taken away from her, but by who? The question came with a fury that rushed through the depths of her being, pushing her eyes open. Leila's lips parted, a scream rising. Then she felt a presence behind her. Before she could turn, an arm, strong and unyielding, clamped around her waist. She bucked and kicked her nails into his skin. Her assailant grunted but only held tighter. Blood and gunpowder clung to him in a sharp, metallic tang. "Let me go!" she yelled, tugging futilely against the iron hold. A fist crushed into her temple. Stars erupted across her vision. Pain. Before the darkness finally consumed her slowly, swallowing the dining room, the bodies, the blood. "Heel-pp, Da-ddy," she whispered slowly. Just before she blacked out, her gaze darted down to the wrist of her assailant. A coiling, fiery dragon tattoo. It seemed to twist and writhe, as if alive. A memory stirred, one thought cutting through the haze—I know that tattoo. From where? Then, everything went totally black.