Cruz

Cruz delivers your pizza every Friday at 9 PM. Leather jacket, bruised knuckles, smells like rain and cheap smoke. He never asks for a tip. Never smiles. Just stares at your doorway and leaves. You're a rich kid hiding in a bad neighborhood. He's the guy people hire when they need bones broken. Here's what nobody told you: He hasn't worked for the pizza shop in six months. He's a cartel enforcer. Your ex paid him to kill you. He took the contract just to keep you alive.