He had grown into a man who now led eight guys working under him in his drug-smuggling operation. Diego hadn't always lived that kind of life. Once, he was just a regular boy—one who had even been under someone else's control, almost like a slave to his master.
He came from an average home. Life wasn't perfect, but it was stable enough. Diego attended elementary school, moved on to high school, and was on the verge of pursuing higher education when everything changed. His world fell apart the day his father died.
His dad, a naval officer, lost his life in the line of duty, leaving behind only Diego and his mother. From that moment, things became difficult. His mother struggled, taking on different jobs just to provide for her son and keep up with the bills. Despite her efforts, the burden was too heavy.
Diego, seeing her struggle, made a decision that would change his life forever. He gave up his education and chose to fend for himself instead. At first, he took up small, honest jobs—supplying coffee to office workers and teachers just to earn a little money.
His alarm clock was always set for 6:30 a.m., the perfect time for his morning jogging routine. It was the only part of his day that still felt normal, a brief escape from the weight of the life he was slowly being pulled into.He would jog for miles—sometimes farther than he planned. There was hardly any place in Houston he hadn't run through. It was his way of clearing his head, of escaping, even if just for a little while.
After his runs, Diego would return to his quiet, almost empty home. He'd take his usual warm morning shower, then get dressed in something simple and comfortable—just like any ordinary eighteen-year-old trying to get through the day.
He worked at a small coffee shop down the street. His main job was delivering coffee, tea, and biscuits, especially during the busy morning hours when offices had just opened. It wasn't glamorous, but it paid enough to get by.
Everything changed when bike came into the picture. Instead of walking around with a tray of coffee, his boss got him a bike to speed up deliveries. It made the job easier and faster, and Diego quickly got used to it.
As time went on, he stopped working only inside the shop and began making more deliveries. Some customers noticed his effort and kindness, often giving him small tips as appreciation. Those little gestures meant a lot to him.
For a while, life felt calm. Simple. Almost peaceful.
Until one particular day changed everything.
Diego rode up to a police station, heading straight for the security officer who had ordered two cups of coffee the day before. He parked his bike carefully, grabbed the drinks, and walked over.
"Your coffee," he said, handing them over.
The officer barely looked at him. He snatched the cups, took a quick gulp, then suddenly frowned. Without warning, he tossed the empty cups back toward Diego.
Diego stayed calm, even as the man started making a scene.
"The payment?" Diego asked, his voice steady.
The officer scoffed. "Don't you lash at me you black monkey" he snapped. "Stay right there. Let me go inside and get it."
Diego didn't move, but he noticed something in the man's tone—something off. The officer, a white man with sharp features, looked at him with clear hostility, like he was looking for trouble.
Diego could feel it.
This wasn't about the coffee.
It was something else entirely.
"Call me a Black monkey one more time," Diego said, his voice shaking with anger.
"Black monkey," the security officer repeated, a smirk forming on his face as he waited to see how Diego would react.
Something in Diego snapped.
Without thinking, he jumped onto his bike and sped forward, rage taking over. In seconds, he rammed straight into the man, knocking him hard to the ground. The impact was brutal. Blood spilled from the officer's head as he lay motionless.
For a split second, everything went quiet.
Then chaos broke loose.
Other officers rushed out, shouting, alarms blaring. Diego's heart pounded wildly in his chest. He didn't think—he just moved. Gripping the handlebars, he took off, riding as fast as he could.
He didn't stop until he found himself entering a large compound he had never seen before in all his years in Houston. His mind raced. He needed somewhere to hide. Somewhere the police wouldn't find him.
Before he could turn back, a well-dressed, powerful-looking man stepped out of the house. Diego crashed into him by accident.
Within seconds, everything changed again.
Rough hands grabbed Diego. He struggled, but it was useless. He was dragged inside, locked away, and beaten. No one listened. No one cared.
That was the day his life took a darker turn.
That was the day Diego was forced into drug trafficking.
Diego didn't start out at the top. He was forced into it—pushed in by his boss. Other guys worked under him; some were loyal, some weren't. But they all knew who was in charge.
Over time, Diego found himself drawn to the lifestyle. The money, the power—it was everything he had once dreamed of. He watched wealthy men live like kings, and he wanted that life for himself. So he worked harder, deeper in the drug business, until it finally paid off.
Years later, he had it all.
A massive mansion. Expensive cars. Gold and flashy jewelry. Influence. Power.
And now, he had eight solid guys working under him, doing whatever he said.
It was the kind of life he had dreamed about since he was a kid.
But the man who ruled it all—the boss—was nothing like Diego.
He was cold. Ruthless. A wealthy, dangerous mogul who had no heart. Women threw themselves at him, begging for just one night by his side, but to him, they meant nothing.
He had no sympathy. No mercy.
Just control… and power.
....................
While he ate the bacon and eggs laid out in front of him, a soft knock sounded at the door.
Diego didn't look up. He simply raised a hand, signaling his personal bodyguard to check it.
The door opened and closed quickly. Whoever it was didn't linger.
Diego continued eating, calm and unbothered, like nothing in the world could touch him. The room stayed quiet except for the faint clink of his cutlery against the plate.
Then the door opened again.The seven guys who worked for him walked in
They moved carefully, almost cautiously, like they knew they were stepping into dangerous territory. The maid, who had just finished setting Diego's bed, quickly excused herself and slipped out, leaving the room heavy with silence.
"Boss…" Andre started, his voice steady—but not steady enough.
Diego didn't respond. He just kept eating.
Andre swallowed. "We… we need to talk."
That got Diego's attention.
He slowly dropped his fork, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and leaned back in his chair. His eyes lifted, cold and unreadable.
"You always got something shady to say, Andre," he said, his voice low and controlled. "Go ahead."
Andre's heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to stand his ground. This wasn't something he could avoid.
He reached into his pocket—
—and for a split second, the entire room tensed.
Every man there was watching.
Waiting.Andre slowly slipped his hand into his baggy pocket, his voice unsteady.
"I… I don't think I can keep doing this."
The room went still.
Diego tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto Andre with a cold, dangerous calm.
"On what grounds?" he asked, his voice low. "After everything I've done for you? After I brought you into this business? This how you pay me back?"
No one moved.
Without warning, Diego reached behind him and pulled out a handgun.
The reaction was instant. The other guys stepped back, fear flashing across their faces.
"Boss… please," one of them stammered. "You don't have to do this. Let him explain—"Andre begged.
"Shut the hell up!" Diego snapped, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.
Before anyone could react—
He pulled the trigger.
The gunshot echoed, loud and final.
Andre dropped instantly, his body hitting the floor hard. Silence followed, heavy and suffocating, as shock froze everyone in place.
No one spoke.
No one even breathed.
Diego lowered the gun slowly, his expression unchanged, like what just happened meant nothing.
Then he looked up at the rest of them.
"And the rest of you…" he said, his voice calm but deadly, "what exactly are you still standing here for?"
The rest of the guys stood frozen, exchanging uneasy glances. None of them could understand how their boss could be this cold… this heartless.
Diego's eyes shifted slowly.
"Ryan…" he called, his voice calm—but dangerous. "Did you bring back the full amount?"
Ryan stepped forward, already shaking. His hands trembled at his sides, his voice barely steady.
"N-no, boss… please, just let me explain—"
Before he could finish, Diego raised the gun and aimed it straight at Ryan's forehead.
The room went dead silent.
"Answer me clearly," Diego said, his tone flat, almost bored. "Did you bring back the money?"
Ryan swallowed hard, fear written all over his face.
"…No, boss."
Diego let out a short, humorless laugh.
"You dumb idiot," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I gave you one simple job—deliver the stuff and collect the money. One job." His voice hardened. "I told you never to let anyone owe you. Never."
"I know, boss, I swear I—"
The gunshot cut him off.
Ryan's body dropped instantly.
A sharp gasp rippled through the room. No one moved. No one dared to.
The silence that followed was heavier than before—thicker, suffocating.
If ruthlessness had a face… it was Diego.
And in that moment, every single man in that room knew one thing—
They weren't working for him.
They were surviving him.