José stood in the small, cinder-block consultation room, the illegal cell phone pressed to his ear. The guard outside the door was giving him a dirty look, but José ignored him. The tension in his shoulders finally eased as he heard the familiar, rough voice of his cousin.
"Santiago! Mi primo, how are you? I heard you were in the hospital, man, what the hell happened?" José asked, his usual hard prison exterior dissolving into genuine fraternal concern.
"José! Homie, I’m fine, don’t worry about the gossip," Santiago’s voice crackled through the cheap phone. "It’s good to hear your voice, man. How’s the inside treating you?"
"It’s Lexington, primo. It’s hell," José replied grimly. "But listen, there’s a guy here—Ethan Blake. He’s the reason I’m calling. Is it true what he says? About you guys, about the North End? It sounded like crazy talk, man."
A low chuckle ca from the other end. "Ethan Blake. The Chief. He’s there already, huh? Man, he moves fast." Santiago’s voice turned serious, layered with intense, unwavering loyalty. "Listen to , José. Everything he says is true. Everything."
"But your wounds, mano—he said you were fighting for him. You got caught in so crazy war with Celestial and Olympus?" José pressed, still struggling to believe the sheer scale of the conflict.
"Yeah, man, it was a ss. But that was my own damn fault," Santiago admitted, sounding completely unconcerned about his injury. "We were ambushed trying to protect the Chief—that’s what we call him now—and I wasn’t careful enough during the shooting. I caught so tal, but I’m fine now. The Chief, he’s a lion, José. He’s the only reason we’re not all dead."
José paced the small room, the sheer confirmation of the war against two massive organizations leaving him speechless.
"So the Dukes... the North End... all of it is gone? You work for him now?" José asked.
"We conquered it, primo. Every last crew that tried to betray us is now dust, or they’re flying the new banner. We’re the Royals now, man, and we work for the Chief. He’s got us running legit security now, but the power behind it... you can’t even imagine."
Santiago lowered his voice, dropping the most crucial piece of information. "Listen to this, José. Everyone who died in that fight—our guys, their families? The Chief gave them so much money, man. When I say a lot, I an enough money to set them up for life. Dying for the Chief is damn profitable, man, I swear to you. He looks after his own, better than any familia we ever had."
The revelation about the money struck José harder than any punch. This wasn’t just a powerful leader; this was a patron of unimaginable wealth, protecting his soldiers even in death.
José knew the line was almost up. He had his answer.
"Alright, hermano. I believe you," José said, swallowing hard. "Tell what to do. He’s here, in Lexington. He needs sothing, I can feel it."
Santiago’s final instructions were delivered with the weight of absolute law.
"Listen carefully, primo. You tell everyone—your entire crew inside—that he is their God. That’s how they treat him. Whatever he needs, whatever he asks for, it gets done. No questions. You don’t ask, you just act. I know it’s hard to believe, seeing him co in bruised, but trust , José. It is worth it. Do not let anything happen to him."
"Understood," José confird, his voice now flat and professional. "I’m on it. Stay safe, primo."
"You too, hermano. Call when he’s ready," Santiago said before the line went dead.
José slowly placed the cell phone on the table. He stood still for a long mont, processing the gravity of the command he had just been given. The man sleeping on the cold floor of his cell was not a disgraced gangster; he was the head of the largest cri operation Boston had ever seen, and now, he was their most precious cargo.
José opened the door and returned the phone to the guard. He walked back to his cell, the fear of the prison replaced by the terrifying, exhilarating weight of responsibility.
José handed the cell phone back to the guard outside the consultation room and signaled that he was finished. The guard escorted him back to his cell. The tal door slid open with a screech. José stepped in, and the door clanged shut.
The look in José’s eyes was now fundantally different. Gone was the predatory curiosity and the swagger; it was replaced by a gaze of absolute, unwavering respect and a cold recognition of lethal power.
He walked over to where Ethan was still seated on the floor, ignoring the guards and the stench of the cell. José bowed his head slightly.
"My deepest apologies, Chief, for my lack of respect," José said, his voice quiet and sincere. "My na is José. Whatever you need, just say the word, and I will get it for you."
The second inmate, Antonio, stood frozen in shock at José’s sudden shift in attitude. José was the dominant presence in this wing, and the swift change ant only one thing: the young, beaten man on the floor was exactly who he claid to be. Antonio quickly moved to follow suit. He stood tall, offered a slight bow, and introduced himself. "Antonio, Boss. At your service."
Ethan nodded, feeling the pain dulling and his control returning. "Good. Now, tell about this place. Where exactly did that bitch throw us?"
José imdiately took on the role of informant, his deanor intense. "This is federal maximum security, Chief. Lexington. They call it the ’Silent House’ for a reason. You won’t see any of the action you saw in the movies."
"The schedule is brutal," José continued, speaking quickly and keeping his voice low. "You get exactly one hour of yard ti a day, and that’s heavily supervised, usually alone in a small cage or a shared cage with specific inmates. The rest of the ti, you’re locked down. The food is slop, but you need to eat it."
"Showers?" Ethan asked.
"Communal showers, but tid. You have to shower every day, Chief. They watch everything. The guards run this place like a machine. They move us with numbers and signals. There is no friendly talk. If you show weakness, you die. If you show strength without permission, you die slower. They want you compliant, broken, and silent. The Iron Lady—Captain Hayes—she is the one who controls the violence. She delegates it to specific crews; if you cross her, she sends the whole yard after you."
Antonio chid in, pointing to the walls. "The biggest thing, Chief: no contact. No physical contact with other inmates outside of a few specific tis. If you fight without authorization, they throw you into the Hole for months. This is a cold hell."
Ethan absorbed the information. He had just bought himself a fragile shield and a vital intelligence network. He knew exactly what he needed to do next.
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