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"Just want this handled," I said, which wasn't a lie. "Don't like threats to our people going unanswered."

"Our people," he repeated slowly. "Right. Keep me posted."

I nodded, escaping before he could dig deeper. Rico and Johnnie fell in behind me, eager puppies ready for their first real action. They had no idea what we were walking into, but my instincts were already pinging. Something about those photos of Cruz's meetings, the careful body language, the way he'd shown no fear at the shop . . .

"Bikes or truck?" Rico asked as we hit the parking lot.

"Truck," I decided. Easier to exit if things went sideways, and something told me they might. "Tool bag in the back?"

"Always," Johnnie confirmed.

Good. Sledgehammers and crowbars would send the right message. Quick, loud, destructive. In and out before local cops could respond. I'd done this dance before, knew the steps by heart.

What could go wrong?

My phone buzzed again as I climbed into the driver's seat. Another message from Lena, but I didn't look. Couldn't look, not with prospects in the truck and a job to handle. She'd been testing boundaries all morning, pushing to see how far she could go. The brat clearly needed a firm hand, needed to be reminded who was in charge.

Soon, I promised myself. Handle Cruz, then handle Lena. Show them both what happened when they pushed too far.

The engine roared to life, and I pointed us toward Sunview. Forty minutes to plan, to strategize, to compartmentalize the arousal still thrumming through my veins from that photo. Forty minutes to transform from Lena's Daddy into the Heavy Kings' enforcer.

The prospect in the passenger seat was explaining to Johnnie how to properly swing a sledgehammer for maximum damage. I half-listened, the other half of my mind calculating exactly how red I was going to make Lena's ass for this stunt.

Measured response, Duke had said.

I'd give them both measured responses. Cruz would get his store destroyed.

And Lena? Lena would get exactly what she'd been begging for.

Cruz'sjewelrystoresatpretty on Main Street like a glass tomb, all gleaming surfaces and staged elegance. I killed the engine half a block down, tactical instincts already pinging. Something felt off about the setup—too quiet for a Tuesday afternoon, no customers visible through the pristine windows, the OPEN sign hanging crooked like someone had flipped it in a hurry.

"Sledgehammers?" Rico asked, already reaching for the tool bag.

"Hold up." I scanned the street, cataloging exits and obstacles. Narrow alley on the left, wider service road on the right. Three cars parked out front, two more in the employee section. Math that didn't add up for a single-owner operation. "Something's not right."

"Want to abort?" Johnnie's voice carried nerves barely masked by bravado.

"Negative. Just means we go in smart." I unbuckled my seatbelt, hand checking the piece at my waist. "Rico, you're on the door. Johnnie, watch the street. I'll have a conversation with Mr. Cruz first."

They nodded, prospects eager to follow orders even into uncertain territory. Good kids, but green. I should have brought Tank or Thor, someone with experience reading threats. But hindsight was a luxury I couldn't afford now.

The door chimed our entrance with expensive subtlety. Inside, the air conditioning hit like walking into a freezer, all that glass and marble amplifying the artificial chill. Display cases lined the walls, engagement rings and tennis bracelets winking under halogen spots. The kind of place that whispered money while screaming insecurity.

"Be right with you!" Cruz's voice floated from the back room, casual as Sunday morning.

Too casual. My hand stayed near my piece as he emerged, but instead of fear or surprise, his face split into a satisfied smile.

"Wondered how long it'd take," he said, adjusting his cuffs like we were having drinks instead of a confrontation. "The infamous Heavy Kings."

"You've got one chance to stay out of Ironridge," I kept my voice level, professional. "This is your only warning."

"Warning?" He laughed, the sound echoing off all that glass. "That’s so cute."

Movement in my peripheral vision. The back room door opened wider, and my worst suspicions crystallized into reality. Serpents cuts emerged first—two of them, hands casual but ready. Behind them, unfamiliar faces with that particular stillness that screamed cartel. Five men to our three, and we were already inside the kill box.

"Boys?" I called without looking back, letting them know the situation had shifted.

"See, I've made new friends," Cruz continued, moving behind the counter like it was a podium. "Friends who appreciate my . . . connections. My understanding of certain markets. Your club thinks you own these towns, but times are changing."