Page 53 of Dark Obsession

Chapter 22

Elena

I’m not one to sit back and let things unfold. So, after listening in on Grigori and Barnes’ conversation earlier, I knew what I had to do.

There was something off about the way Barnes was talking about this new cartel leader. A ghost, no name, nothing? It didn’t sit right with me.

I’m at my desk, the glow of my laptop illuminating the room. I’ve got my headphones on, drowning out the world as I dig deep into my usual resources. CPD databases, Bratva’s private channels, and some darker corners of the internet that no one else in this family could navigate.

If there's anything to find, I’ll find it.

I try every angle, searching for anything that links Claudio Sanchez to this mysterious new leader. But all I keep hitting are dead ends, encrypted files, or vague rumors. It’s frustrating, but this is how it always is. Sometimes it takes hours—days, even—but I don’t give up.

I lean back in my chair, eyes narrowing. There’s something I’m missing. I start digging deeper into the Molina Cartel, thinking that maybe I overlooked a critical piece of information.

That’s when I find something strange. Records show he died years ago, but—

I freeze, my fingers hovering above the keyboard. A fresh source, one of my darker, more encrypted channels, just updated. My heart skips a beat as the name flashes across the screen.

Oscar Molina.

My eyes widen in disbelief, and I quickly click through the new intel, scanning it with sharp focus. This can’t be right. Molina’s name is popping up again, but not as an historical footnote—he’s being linked to a handful of recent, high-level cartel moves. Drug shipments. Assassinations. Targeted attacks, just like the one at the hospital.

What the hell?

I scroll faster, heart pounding. It’s not just vague whispers or rumors. It’s official—Molina’s reappearance is being whispered about in all the right places. Police intel, border patrol alerts, even international watchlists. The connections are clear—his name is being tied to Chicago’s recent uptick in cartel violence, to a surge in activity across several cities.

There are photos, grainy as hell, but unmistakable. Meetings in Mexico, deals in Colombia, and encrypted communiques sent to trusted lieutenants.

It’s him.

He’s alive, and he’s moving pieces on the board like he never left.

But how?

I cross-reference dates and events, pulling from cartel watch lists and other encrypted channels. And then it hits me—the timelines match perfectly. Oscar Molina "died" not long after Grigori took his revenge in New York.

But what if he didn’t really die? What if he was laying low all these years, biding his time?

It would explain the silence from the Molina Cartel after Grigori’s massacre. And it sure as hell explains why Claudio Sanchez, who’s nothing more than a mid-level thug, suddenly had so much power.

He wasn’t running things on his own, he was merely a puppet. The real leader has been in the shadows this whole time, pulling the strings.

I take a deep breath, adrenaline spiking. If Oscar Molina’s alive, then everything is about to get a hell of a lot worse. This war just got a lot more personal.

But why come back now? What changed?

I sit back, staring at the screen, the pieces starting to fall into place.

I crack my knuckles and dive back into my search. If Molina's alive, there has to be more here—some sort of proof, a direct link. I push deeper, hacking into a few more secure sources.

I find what I’m looking for buried deep in a report from an intelligence network that Grigori and my brothers pay handsomely to keep tabs on cartel activity. There’s a photo, a man matching Oscar Molina’s profile, walking out of a high-level cartel meeting in Mexico.

My heart pounds in my chest as I zoom in. His face is half-hidden, but I know it’s him. Looks like Oscar Molina has risen from the dead.

I stare at the screen for a few moments, trying to figure out my next move. Grigori needs to be made aware of this new information. I pace the room, trying to figure out how to break it to him.

I grab my phone, fingers hovering over his name. I’m about to text him when I hear the sound of footsteps behind me. I spin around, my heart leaping into my throat. Grigori stands in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

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