The Rise of Mackin Jones

Chapter 107

The days following Varela’s attack on the Southside were filled with tension that rippled through the city like a low, dangerous hum.

The streets whispered of war, of something brewing beneath the surface, and Luis and Maria were at the centre of it all. But now, it wasn’t just about defending their territory—it was about total annihilation.

Luis stood in the shadows of a building in the Eastside, watching as a crew of men moved through the alleyway, their faces tense, their movements hurried. They were running scared. Varela’s network was starting to crumble, but they still had enough firepower to be dangerous. That needed to change.

Beside him, Maria’s gaze was sharp, her fingers itching for action. “We need to hit them harder. This back-and-forth ends now.”

Luis nodded, his mind already working through the next steps. “We’ve got them on the defensive, but they’re not going to back down until we take Varela out personally. We need to go after the head, not just the body.”

Maria’s smile was thin, lethal. “Then let’s cut the head off.”

Later that night, Luis and Maria’s crew moved swiftly through the Eastside, closing in on a location Bones had uncovered—a hideout Varela had been using to coordinate their attacks. It was a run-down building, nondescript. The kind of place that blended into the decaying landscape of the Eastside. But tonight, it was the epicentre of a war about to break wide open.

Luis, Maria, and Bones stood outside the building, the air thick with tension. This was it—the moment they had been waiting for. Varela had gone too far, and now it was time to finish it.

“We go in fast,” Luis said, his voice calm but deadly. “No one gets out.”

Bones nodded, his hand resting on his weapon. Maria’s gaze was cold; her anticipation barely contained. This was what they did best—taking control, ending threats, and reminding the city why they were the ones who ruled it.

The door to the building creaked open under the pressure of Bones’ kick, and within seconds, chaos erupted. Gunfire echoed through the narrow hallways, screams cutting through the darkness as Luis and his crew stormed the building. It was fast, brutal, and efficient—exactly the way Luis had planned.

In the centre of it all was Varela.

Luis stepped into the dimly lit room, his gaze locking onto the figure standing at the far end. Varela wasn’t what Luis had expected—younger, more composed, with sharp eyes that held a mixture of anger and defiance. But there was also fear—a flicker of it in the way Varela’s hand tightened around the gun.

“You thought you could take this city,” Luis said, his voice steady as he stepped closer. “But you made a mistake.”

Varela’s jaw clenched, their eyes narrowing. “This city doesn’t belong to anyone.”

Luis smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it. “It belongs to those who know how to control it.”

Varela raised the gun, but before they could fire, Maria stepped in, her movements fast and precise. A single shot rang out, and Varela dropped to the floor, lifeless.

Luis stared down at the body, his expression cold. It was over. Varela had thought they could challenge the Borsens, but they had been wrong from the start.

“We’ve won,” Maria said quietly, holstering her weapon as she stood beside him.

Luis didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still on the body at his feet. This was how it always ended—with blood and power. But there was no satisfaction, no sense of finality. The city never stayed quiet for long.

“We’ll make sure no one else follows in their footsteps,” Luis said finally, his voice calm but filled with resolve.

Maria smiled a dangerous glint in her eyes. “We’ll make sure of it.”

And as they left the building, the city once again bowed to the reign of Luis and Maria Borsen—uncontested, unchallenged, and more dangerous than ever.