Chapter 2- Born for Blood and Paper
642 Words
Chapter Two: Born for Blood and Power
[Lucass’ POV]
Pain was just weakness burning off.
That’s what my father always said before he’d knock the wind out of me again.
My back hit the concrete floor of the training arena, the sound echoing off the underground walls. Blood dripped from my lip as I stood up, jaw clenched. Across from me stood Victor Guerrero, my father, the original king of this goddamn empire.
“Again,” he barked. No sympathy. No pause. Only expectation.
I charged at him, faster this time. We traded blows, our fists echoing like gunshots. Years of training hardened my body, but he always had that slight edge that ruthlessness that made him feared in every corner of the underworld.
“This world doesn’t need kindness, Lucass,” he grunted, twisting my wrist before slamming me to the ground. “It needs kings. Are you ready to be one?”
I didn’t answer. I just rose again.
That was my life growing up, not lullabies and bedtime stories, but gunpowder, broken ribs, and commands shouted in smoke-filled rooms. He trained me like a weapon. And when he died last year, I inherited the throne.
Now I am the one they fear.
~~~
The boardroom of Guerrero Global Holdings was a palace of glass and steel. Bright, modern, and sterile, completely unlike the bloodstained world beneath it. I stood at the head of the long table, arms crossed, eyes cold.
My voice cut through the air like a blade. “I said I wanted the Tokyo deal closed by Monday. It’s Thursday. What exactly do I pay you all for?”
The team froze.
Mr. Santos, head of operations, swallowed hard. “There was a delay in—”
“I don’t want excuses.” I walked slowly behind them, every click of my shoes echoing like a death sentence. “You’re all replaceable. Don’t forget that.”
Silence.
That’s how I liked it.
They say I’m a cold bastard. I don’t care. Efficiency doesn’t need warmth. It needs control, and I have it in spades.
~~~
Down below, in the dim-lit core of the city, the real empire breathes.
I stepped into The Chamber, our underground base masked as a high-end wine cellar. The scent of smoke and gun oil thickened the air. Men bowed their heads as I walked by. Eyes avoided mine.
“El Toro from Barcelona sent the payment,” Marcus, my right-hand man, said. “They want a weapons trade next month. Shall we proceed?”
I lit a cigarette, leaned back in the leather chair, and stared at the screen showing routes and territories.
“Only if they double the price,” I said coolly. “Tell him it’s not charity. It’s survival.”
“Yes, Boss.”
He left quickly. They always do.
Because when you say the name Lucass Andre Guerrero, the room changes. People freeze. Knees weaken. Enemies go silent. Allies obey without question.
I inherited fear like a crown. And I wear it well.
~~~
I stepped onto the rooftop of our skyscraper as night fell. The city glittered beneath me, clueless of the shadows that ran it.
Up here, where the wind was sharp and the world seemed so far below, the truth pressed heavier than ever.
By day, I was Lucass Andre Guerrero, the relentless CEO of Guerrero Global Holdings, a name built on real estate, tech, luxury, and legacy.
By night, I was the underworld’s Mafia Boss, the silent executioner behind whispered deals, blood contracts, and billion-dollar black trades.
Two lives. Two crowns. One name.
And both responsibilities sat on my shoulders like iron chains, unseen by the world, but impossible to escape.
Most men would’ve cracked under the pressure. But I wasn’t most men.
I inherited fear like a crown.
And I wear it well.
- Writer
