Page 141 of Koroleva

"They're productive activities that I did at his age; Yuri and I loved them, I'm sure we'll enjoy them."

"I would suggest for Saturday hunting bears and drinking their blood, and on Sunday, abandoning him in the Gobi Desert to see if he makes it to Spain."

I laughed openly, unable to help it. "Adriano is a Korolev; he'll love the shooting gallery," I purred as his hands slipped into my neckline and pinched my nipples with fervor.

"We'll talk about that later... Now, the only weapon that's going to be fired is my assault rifle between your legs. Come with me, amore, I'm going to give you the first lesson in target shooting."

55

Made in China

Romeo, four hours earlier

The music esonated in one of the least recommended corners of the Palma-Palmilla neighborhood, near the La Rosaleda stadium. It was ranked as the seventh poorest in Spain, created in the 1960s to relocate people affected by slum conditions and poverty.

The brick apartment blocks crowded together in that area of the outskirts of Málaga. In the past, there was no good educational, commercial, or transportation infrastructure. The neighborhood was isolated from the rest of the city. Poverty and marginalization are usually not a good tourist attraction, so small shops and unregulated exchange forms emerged that supplied the community with their own resources.

The area became an easy target for crime, drugs, unemployment, and social exclusion. Although since then the neighborhood had evolved significantly and even boasted a shopping center.

There, in one of those eighty square meter apartments, a child named Daniel Santiago Morales was born, whom everyone nicknamed Dante, since his group of friends took to searching the meaning of names and found that Daniel is interpreted as "God is my judge," and not even God judged Dante. Hence, they found a nickname much more fitting for him, "the one who endures."

Dante was the youngest of three brothers, two of whom lived in the cemetery of the Asperones, victims of the drugs and violence of the neighborhood.

Neither Pablo nor Mateo were interested in studying or leaving there, and they ended up like most. One dead from a heroin overdose and the other stitched up from knife wounds.

Their parents had a third-rate fruit stand at the market, none of the boys wanted that life of misery that would lead them down the same path, so they found in trafficking a chance to handle money and good cars.

However, the world of drugs is not easy, not everyone is cut out for it, and if you want to get somewhere, you must keep a cool head and not fall into consumption.

Dante boasted of never having tried a line in his life, at most, maybe a joint, but none of the addictive white powder that we sold. My man was smart, conscientious, and quickly made a name for himself in the neighborhood.

He was feared and respected for his size. Amiable until you pissed him off and his inner Tasmanian Devil emerged, capable of destroying everything.

When he called me a few hours ago, claiming we needed to talk urgently, I knew I had to go immediately.

I left Nikita and Adri at home and rode the motorcycle to the bar, where he was already waiting with the engine of his car running.

"Park behind and come up," he told me without leaving room for reply.

"What's going on? Is it that serious?"

"I'll tell you on the way."

His expression was more serious than usual, so I assumed it was something serious.

As he suggested, I parked in my private garage and went to meet him.

I paid him a good salary to manage our biker meeting point. It was a place where our people relaxed in a friendly atmosphere. Besides being the manager, I considered Dante my visible hand in the darker side of the business.

I settled into the seat of the black BMW, and it took off like a bat out of hell. I bought the same car for nearly all my employees. Powerful, high-quality, safe, and reliable.

The Ramones played on the radio, belting out "Hey Ho Let’s Go." The volume was bearable, which was unusual for him. If you were in Dante's car, you had to accept that his eardrums were made of reinforced concrete.

If he turned down the decibels, it could only mean that what he had to tell me was serious.

"Well?" I asked as we got moving.

"This afternoon I went to see Aleksa. Things with the Chinese are getting ugly. I didn't want to alarm you, but sales have dropped fifteen percent, and we've drawn up an assault plan. He wanted to come with me, but his ribs are in no condition. At the end of the conversation, we agreed that it was best to bring you up to speed and have you come with me."

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