Chapter Five: Bloodlines and Betrayals
1058 Words
The air in Rosario’s estate was unusually still. Even the wind, once a constant whisper through the sycamore trees lining the perimeter, seemed to hold its breath. Deep within the heavily secured mansion, behind a thick mahogany door engraved with the crest of the Cartel, Rosario sat in his study—his fingers tapping the edge of his glass.
He was a man not known for emotion, but today there was a c***k in the mask. Something in the stillness warned him. Something in the silence stung like a prophecy.
His sons—Kendra, Kenzie, and Kendall—had always been loyal. Raised under his thumb, molded by his code, trained in both brutality and strategy. But now they were changing. Ever since those girls returned.
Those girls.
Renelle. Areniel. Rachel.
Rosario spat the names in his mind like venom.
It had taken everything in him to spare the eldest, Areniel. She was... promising. Strong. Strategic. The perfect match for Kendra. That was the plan—merge bloodlines. Create the ultimate heir. So he let her live. But the other two? Their fame, their influence, the noise they made in the city—it was a threat. Worse than traitors. It was an uprising in disguise.
And now, his precious daughter—Riley—was spiraling. The once-adored jewel of the city, now eclipsed by foreign-born pop stars with rebel blood. She came to him crying last week, mascara bleeding down her cheeks like war paint. Her fans were leaving, her contracts thinning, her shine dimming. All because of them.
Rosario’s mind darkened. No one dimmed his daughter’s light.
So he had made the call.
“Kidnap them.”
He didn’t need them dead—at least not yet. He needed control. He needed silence.
---
Elsewhere, the night was young and alive with music.
The private concert was being held at Middleton High, a rich school on the city's north edge. Areniel stood backstage, microphone in hand, her silver-streaked hair braided back into a warrior’s crown. Her nerves danced beneath her skin, but she wore confidence like a blade. This was her world now. Music. Fame. Purpose.
Renelle and Rachel were on their way. Their mother had insisted they all perform together—sisters reunited on a stage their enemies never imagined they’d step foot on. But as the minutes ticked by, Areniel sensed something was wrong.
The show began. Lights flared. The audience roared. And Areniel sang her soul out.
But halfway through the second song, she faltered.
She gripped the mic tighter. A sharp pain had bloomed in her chest. Her breathing hitched. Her mind spun. Then she saw it—two flashes of red in the crowd. Like warning lights.
She collapsed.
Screams filled the auditorium. Chaos erupted. Her manager rushed to the stage, lifting her limp body. Security swarmed. Somewhere in the city, two black vans veered off the main road with two unconscious girls in the back—Renelle and Rachel.
---
Hours earlier...
Renelle had been humming, her earbuds in, head tilted toward the window of their SUV. Rachel was chatting away about the setlist and what dress would get more camera time.
Then the road turned silent. The driver slumped. A dart in his neck. The windows shattered. Gas filled the vehicle.
They didn’t even get to scream.
---
Back at Rosario’s mansion, Kendra burst into the study.
“She’s in the hospital!” he shouted.
Rosario looked up from his drink.
“Who?”
“Areniel.”
That name again. Rosario gritted his teeth. “Why?”
“She collapsed. On stage. They took her to Mercy General.”
Kenzie and Kendall stood behind their brother, faces pale. They knew what this meant. They had been tracking the girls in secret—protecting them even without orders. But they hadn’t expected a direct strike.
“Where are Renelle and Rachel?” Kendra asked.
Rosario didn’t answer.
Kendall stepped forward. “They were kidnapped.”
That was a statement, not a question.
Rosario’s eyes flickered. “You three are growing too soft.”
Kenzie’s fists curled. “And you’re becoming reckless.”
There was a pause.
Then Rosario sighed. “Fine. If you want to save them—do it. But don’t expect me to clean up the blood.”
---
Meanwhile, in the riverside city of Castillia...
A bruised body floated down the river, caught in reeds beneath the bridge. A hand clutched a wrist. It was Areniel and Kendra.
They had both jumped—or fallen—during the chaos. The river swallowed them, carried them, washed away memory and name. When they opened their eyes, they were strangers.
And the man who found them was no stranger to death.
His name was Marquez.
A sailor with a shadowed past. Six daughters, slaughtered by Rosario’s men in a purge over debts and silence. Marquez had vowed to destroy the Cartel—not with bullets, but with poetic justice.
When he saw Kendra’s birthmark—the one etched on every male heir of the Cartel—he knew fate had delivered him weapons in flesh.
He healed them. Fed them. Gave them new clothes laced with oils and sigils—meant to block memory. Meant to control.
He trained them. Gave them knives. Gave them names.
They didn’t know who they were.
But they knew how to fight.
---
Back in Rosario’s world, Riley was cracking. The k********g had been sloppy. Public. Risky. And now her enemies were martyrs. Sympathy poured in. Followers returned—but not to her.
She confronted her father again. This time in tears and rage.
“You ruined it! You promised me the spotlight!”
Rosario stared at her like she was glass. “You’re my daughter. That is the spotlight.”
“I don’t want your cartel,” she spat. “I want their fame!”
“You’ll have it. Once they’re forgotten.”
But somewhere in the shadows, someone was already preparing the end. Not a concert. Not a battle.
A reckoning.
---
Back in Castillia, three months later...
The girl with silver hair and the boy with the mark now stood taller, meaner, faster.
Marquez had built them into blades. And now, he would send them back.
Not just to kill Rosario.
But to break the Cartel from the inside.
---
- Writer
