Chapter One: Decisions

Your heavy eyelids slowly opened to the dimmed lighting in the room. You blinked lazily for a few more times as your body slowly awaken from being forced asleep by the anesthesia. You swung your leg over the bed that you had been operated on and sat up. The sudden motion made your head spin for a while as blood rushed to your brain. You tried lifting your right arm, expecting it to be pretty banged up but the excruciating pain from before had been minimized. The little sting that you felt when you moved your hand was nothing compared to the sharp pain you've felt earlier. Bandages ran along the length of your shoulder to your elbow. Reaching up for your forehead, you felt a piece of gauze covering the split. The uneven edges told the tale of stitches that held the two separate skin together temporarily until it heals.

"You're up."

You turned my head towards the door and saw Joe entering with a sandwich in his hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Thank you."

"You're welcome." He said as he took a seat on his stool and took a bite of his sandwich. "So, what's your plan for the future?"

Your gaze dropped to the tiles of the floor. Truth be told, when you went after Marcus Brown, you weren't expecting to step out of the building alive. And now that you're alive... "I don't know."

"That's a pity." He said with a mouthful of sandwich. "You know, the police academy is recruiting."

The police academy? You, a criminal's daughter? Is he pulling your leg? The look on your face must have announced your thoughts as Joe chuckled to himself.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "You're Lopez, Santana Lopez, right?"

Cautiously, you nodded your head. "Remember what I said about Pierce? That her guts pointed her towards you?"

"Why?"

Joe stopped eating entirely and started laughing. "There's no why. That's just how she is."

Not getting the answers you needed, you didn't have the reason to stick around much longer. After everything you've been through, you've learnt not to get too attached to people. Pushing yourself off the bed, you made your way out of the operating room.

"Not going to stay for a sandwich?"

You shook my head and glanced over your shoulders. "Thanks, again."

"Not a talker, are you? You're welcome. Take care of yourself now." He said before he threw the last of his sandwich into his mouth.

As you stepped out of the apartment, your mind wandered to what Joe had asked. You have no plans, family nor friends. There wasn't anything for you to live for anymore. Taking a deep breath, you shook the thought off out of your head. Joe didn't spend all that time on you just to let you have a second chance at dying again. And what's more, you have some things you got to handle before you make any decision regarding your future.

With a heavy heart, you began walking towards the direction of home. Your disheveled appearance didn't help much with discretion as numerous people looked in your direction and scanned your physical state. An elderly lady shot you a disapproving glance. Probably thinking that you're a rebel or some sort but you can't deny that. You're a messed up teen trudging your way home, hoping that you don't actually get assaulted before you reach the comfort of home.

A sleek, red Audi drove past you and you heard a screech shortly after. Your mind was too buzzed to even bother about it until a humming was heard as the car reversed and stopped beside you. "Santana?"

You blearily turned your head towards the voice and showed no sign of excitement or sort when you saw Sebastian stepping out of his car. Unlike your torn and tattered attire, he donned a casual navy button up shirt and khakis. Neat, considering how he wasn't involved in a gunfight and have men that were wielding weapons running after him. You groaned, because you're just picking flaws out of everybody. You're moody and irritable. Instead of offering a verbal reply, you stood your grounds and looked at him as he reached for you and pulled you close by your shoulders. "Sheesh, woman! Where have you been?"

You flinched because your shoulder was out of place just half an hour ago and his too-tight grip sent a sharp pain through your bones. Noticing your discomfort, he immediately released his hold on you. "Shit, I'm sorry."

Not trusting your tongue, you gave a slight nod. Your eyes are still hazed and Sebastian said nothing but opened the door of the passenger's seat for you. You sigh in defeat and settled into the car before he closed the door and made his way over to the driver's. At least you have a ride home, and you don't have to worry about being assaulted.

Without a word, Sebastian pressed his foot on the pedal while his hands took their positions on the steering wheel and gear shift. Pulling away from the boulevard, Sebastian started driving, and you're not sure where he's heading towards. And frankly, you don't care.

For the past few minutes since you've left Joe's apartment, your mind was cluttered with flashbacks. You were trying to hold yourself together and trying to block out those memories.

You gritted your teeth and willed yourself not to cry. Your senses heightened, when you're trying your darn best not to let your emotions get the better of you. You could hear the loud engine and the subtle shift of Sebastian's hands on the shifting knob, even the sound of your spit traveling down your throat as you swallowed.

Your nose felt sour and your throat ache. It's aching for the release, for you to just let the tears out instead of holding them back. There's a dull throb in you, as the emotions seemed to manifest into physical pain inside you and you felt your chest tighten.

You blinked once, then twice, and the watergates opened. Without the seat-belt restricting your movements, you bent over and buried your face in your hands as you tried to muffle your sobs and cries.

"Shit, shit shit shit!" You hear the panic in Sebastian's voice and you know it's because of you. He pulled over by the side of the road and hurriedly unbuckled his own seat-belt so he could reach you. His arms reached over the center console and over your shoulders. You would apologize for putting him in an awkward position as he tried to hold onto you but trying not to infiltrate your personal space at the same time, but words got stuck in your throat.

Tears continued streaming down your face as your buried it against Sebastian's chest.

"I got you, I got you." He cooed as he stroked his hand up and down your back, trying to soothe you. Your nails dig into his back and thankfully, your nails were trimmed.

To you, your life had been this game where you're placed in easy mode. The different obstacles were all triggered to be simple and could be easily overcome. Nobody prepared you for this shift where you're dropped into a new stage, with a different difficulty. You're lost, and you don't know what to do.

"Sorry." You muttered weakly as you composed yourself and pull away from him.

Sebastian seemed to understand and he returned to his seat, buckling up before moving the car away from the stationary position it had been for a few minutes that he held onto you.

He pulled into the driveway of the Lopez residence and tapped you gently to shake you out of the daze you were in. One second your mind was on the passing streets of New York, the next, your mind was elsewhere.

"We're here." He's trying to be patient for you, to be the friend that holds onto you when you're about to crumble.

You didn't even have the chance to answer or react because someone else opened the door nearest to you and pulled you out of the vehicle. You felt yourself crumble as you held onto the slim frame that was supporting you. A second round of cries escape your mouth. No matter how hard you willed yourself to, it never worked.

"I'll take it from here, thanks Seb."

"Take care of her, Quinn. I'll see you soon."

You felt Quinn nodding her response and you clung onto her desperately as you let the emotions you've held in for the past few hours pour from your eyes for the second time.

"We're going to get through this together. You're not alone." Quinn pacified you as she ran her fingers through your hair.

She slowly led you into your house, or what used to be your house. Now it just seemed like concretes and bricks piled together to shelter you from the harsh weathers. It's not going to be the same anymore because you felt the emotional shift of the residence in it.

"Go get yourself cleaned up and get some rest. I'll wake you up for dinner, okay?"

You slowly disentangle your limbs from Quinn and nodded weakly. She planted a firm kiss on your forehead, careful to avoid the stitched up wound, before she walked out of the door, quietly shutting it behind her.

Unbeknownst to you, she leaned against the closed door frame and one of her hand came up to cover her mouth as sobs threaten to escape from her mouth while the tears ran down her face. She's as affected as you but she needed to be strong for you. Your father was as much as a fatherly figure to her, as he was to you. When she saw Sebastian's car pulled up in the driveway, the only thing she knew was to get you. To hug you close, just so maybe, some of the pain will fade off from the familiar contact. But it burnt. It burnt even more when you cried silently while she's holding you. And while your tears were spilling without control, she was gathering every ounce of her will not to fall apart with you.

Taking a huge intake of air, she composed herself and used the back of her hands to wipe away the tear stains before making her way towards the kitchen.

You stepped into the bathroom and slowly peeled the bloodstained clothing from your battered body and threw them thoughtlessly on the tiled floor before stepping into the showers.

The warm water hits you and your eyes closed in momentarily pleasure as the water trickled down your physique before it seeps into the drainage hole. You hissed in pain when the water came into contact with your stitched forehead. You let your body stay unmoved for a few minutes just to let the water wash away the top layer of dirt. Steam start to fog the glass doors from the change in temperature between the sheets of glass.

There's still a dull ache in your shoulder joint as you brought your arms up to lather the shampoo on your filth stained hair. You could feel the throb as it seemed to be in sync with your slowed heartbeat.

Then, you started to scrub yourself from top to bottom, erasing any lingering trace of dried blood from your body.

Finally satisfied with your cleansing, you stepped out of the steamy showers and grabbed the bathrobe that was folded and neatly placed on one of the racks mounted on the wall of the bathroom. You slipped into the bathrobe and tied it loosely around your waist before making your way out of the bathroom. Your mind was running wild with a hundred thoughts but you managed to prioritize them.

You're going to inherit the stature of the Lopez family, being in charge of the small trustworthy crew of a fifty men. Fifteen were those who actually dealt with your father's business, and the others were the minor runners. The so-called 'pawns'.

Your father never believed in strength in number. He stood on his beliefs that a smaller crew, or they call it 'family', would bond tighter than a loose gang of thousands. The men that were with him had been specially selected and trained by him. And now that he's gone, you're going to be in charge.

People would try to overthrow you, because you're a girl and also, you're barely 23. It's a decision you'll have to make, and make it soon. Because the other families weren't as polite as gentlemen. They would strike while the iron is hot and in this case, your father's death. They're going to take advantage of his death as the Lopez's weakness and try to overthrow your family.

You have two decisions on your hand. The first would be the one that's going to test your determination and wits - taking over what your father left behind and start a legacy. Two, the first and last conversation you had with Joe - join the police academy.

Your mind emptied itself as seconds goes by and slowly, fatigue began to set in. You allowed the comforting pull of fatigue to lull you into sleep before everything goes black.

You are alive for a reason. And speaking of which, you have some unfinished business to take care of. Something your father left unfinished. But for now, you're just going to have to let your injuries heal a little before hitting the road, else risk a blood bath in your own blood again.

[Flashback]

Your pulse quicken with the heavy bass and loud beats that reverberates through your car, a Mazda RX 7 that your papi had gotten for you as a birthday present. Undoubtedly, he would have somebody tinkered with the mechanics to make it a faster ride, knowing your habits of participating in drag races. A Chevrolet Corvette C6 and Lexus LFA pulled up beside you. Rolling down the tinted windows, Sebastian gave you an exaggerated wink before he stepped out of the vehicle. You left your vehicle as well and stood before your cars and scanned the crowd. Mustangs, BMWs, Chevys littered the entire place. Sometimes, you wondered if those street cars that were parading around even raced. Their paint jobs sleek and untouched, as if they're only for show. All the horsepower and torque, nah. Others seemed to be satisfied with watching as they cheered on the cars that were lined up at the starting line. Women, or girls, with clothing that exposed their butt cheeks every single time they bent over, flirted their way around with the drivers who welcomed the attention.

Follow me, Follow me, Follow me, Follow me, Follow me, I got the
k-k-keys
Follow me, Follow me, Follow me, Follow me, Follow me, got the
k-k-keys

Your eyes hardened when you caught sight of a certain Jew who had a Mohawk on his head. He leaned against his convertible with two arm candies by his side. He caught your gaze and he smirked. Removing his hands from the two girls by his side, he pushed himself off his car and made his way towards you.

"Hey babe,"

You scoffed and turned your head away, obviously unimpressed by him. He gave a nonchalant shrug at your behavior but he continued speaking, knowing that you're listening. "How about a race? Five large."

He's challenging you, and you're tempted to knee him in the balls for even attempting to talk to you. Two days ago, he was in your family's garage, banging one of the racer chick against the car. You're not really sure if you're repulsed or appalled because he had the audacity to do it in your turf. What made it worse was the fact that he WAS your boyfriend. And now, he looked so smug and you wanted to wipe that darn crooked smile off his face.

"Done." You accept his challenge and looked into his eyes with a straight face.

"Great. See you at the line of the quarter-mile. Nice choice of outfit, by the way." His eyes raked up and down your body once, taking in the look of you wearing a white tee that hugged your body and a leather jacket with a pair of daisy dukes.

You couldn't help the automatic eye roll that your eyes did as you folded your arms across your chest. He gave one final wink before turning to walk back to his arm candies.

"Why did you even agree to race with him? You know he race dirty!" Quinn chided. She had stood silent and watched the entire interaction between you and your ex without interrupting.

"I know, and that's why I want to race him. To let him know that I'm not that weak."

"You don't have to prove anything to him, Santana. You're putting yourself at risk!"

"He wouldn't do anything extreme to kill me, Quinn."

"You wouldn't know what's going on in his mind!"

You rolled your eyes again. Quinn always acted like an overprotective elder sister although she technically wasn't your sister but she was taken in by your papi at a young age. You appreciate her acting sensible and the one to knock senses into you but sometimes, you can't help but shake your head at her maturity act. "And again, Quinn, stop being so uptight."

Before she could even reply, you rounded to the driver's door and slipped into your car. You ease your car out between Sebastian's and Quinn's and made your way to the quarter-mile mark. Santos, the ringer, stretched his palm out and you slapped the roll of cash onto his open palm. He smiled and nodded his head in respect and you repeated his actions, only with the lack of smile on your face.

One of his assistants, a ginger, walked to the gap where your car was separated from Puck's and stood there for a moment before turning to Puck. The Jew gave a nod before she turned to you, getting a nod of response. With both parties' consent, she raised her right hand. You put your foot down on the gas pedal and your car revved. She raised her left hand before bringing both hands down.

You pulled your foot off the clutch and applied pressure to the gas pedal. The wheels screeched as it kicked the dusts and propelled the car forward, leaving behind a fog of dust. You turned to find Puck looking at you with a raised eyebrow. His hands worked while he kept his eyes on you. Holding onto your pride, you maintained eye contact as you shifted through gears. He gave a smirk before turning away and before you had time to react, he maneuvered his car closer to yours. You heard a loud screech as your paint scratched against his car's. The momentarily shock caused you to swerved to your left, driving off the quarter-mile course.

He succeeded in his dirty trick. You could see his smug smile even though his car had already sped down the lane, leaving you in shame by the side. "FUCK!" You slammed your palm against the steering wheel, feeling stupid to be played by him. Quinn was right, you should've listened.

But the point was, you never did. Not once.

After taking a minute or two, you press your foot on the gas pedal and slowly made your way back to where Quinn was located. Her eyes were narrowed and her lips were pursed into a thin line in annoyance. But she was never one to reprimand you because she knew that you wouldn't listen, and also, you had already learnt your lesson.

Out of frustrations, you stepped out of your Mazda and tugged off the leather jacket and threw it against the body of your paint scrapped car. You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to calm yourself while the other rested on your hip as you paced back and forth your car.

When you opened your eyes, you caught sight of another racer. A woman. Aviators hid her eyes from public view, a black tank top with a faded purple jacket tied around her waist and a pair of skinny jeans clung onto her body. Blonde hair flowed casually and her jaws moved as she chewed on the gum in her mouth. She peered through the slight exposure of the aviators when she used her index finger to tilt it down slightly. You caught sight of the bright blue irises and you're pretty sure she was looking at you too. Her lips curled at the corners slightly, so subtle that you would've missed it if you weren't looking at her. She pushed the aviators back to conceal her eyes from public and turned away from you.

You watched as she made her way towards… Puck? Your eyes narrowed in confusion as she leaned in and whispered something into his ears, causing him to grin. You feel your temper rising but you couldn't tear your eyes away so you continued watching her.

Your eyes followed her as she made her way to her car – a Nissan GT-R. The car had no vinyl, but a red neon underglow. She stepped into the vehicle and made her way towards the start line, where things started to click in your head. She challenged Puck to a race and that squirrel as a head would never back down any challenge, let alone one by a racer chick.

Unknowingly, you're starting to feel uncomfortable for the blonde. You're not sure if she had caught the previous race of yours to know Puck's dirty tricks but there's no rules set even though most of the drivers actually race for the thrill of it, not to endanger others' lives.

A ella le gusta la gasolina
Dame mas gasolina
Como le encanta la gasolina
Dame mas gasolina

You rolled your eyes at the music. Although it did provide some ambiance, you have no idea why it was always Spanish songs by Spanish rappers. You bet half of the racers here have no idea what the rapper was rapping about.

The two cars sped past the starting line and Puck was leading. If you were being true to yourself, you would rather the blonde lose than to risk getting injured because of that asshole. She was tailgating him. You watched as she slowly drove away from Puck's car to the side and sped forward a little. Her bumpers were aligned with his car's mud guard. They past the half-quarter when the Nissan GT-R collide against his car and drove against his car.

You snorted in amusement and you caught Quinn whipping her head in your direction as your tried to contain the laughter that was bubbling in you, so you bit down on your lower lips as you watched Puck's car swerved out of the lane, allowing the blonde's Nissan to drive passed it without much difficulty and eventually past the finish line.

No doubt she made your day entirely better because the scowl on Puck's face looked so darn sour that you thought it would've stuck on his face permanently.

[End of flashback]

Present

You awaken to the sound of rain pelting a glass window. Groggily, you open your eyes and wince when the skin on your forehead stretch a little from movement, pulling the stitches. A lightning bolt bursts over the city. Thunderclouds pour down rain and you shuffle out of bed. You put on a white tank top and a pair of shorts before you exit your room to head to the kitchen.

Quinn stop in her track when she sees you going down the stairs. She smiles but you can see the underlying sadness in her eyes, and how the bags under her eyes seems more prominent. "I was about to go and get you."

You take the few steps down and walk alongside her into the dining room where a few other workers, or you prefer to call them cooks, buzz around the room to set up your dinner. Sometimes you wonder why is it that they take the task of preparing a meal so seriously but you never questioned it, not when your father was still around. You sit and watch in silence as they place several plates of food on the dining table. A few men in suit stand rigidly by the door keeping watch. Guards.

Everything suddenly seem to be much clearer, now that you're actually paying attention to them. Your conscience is telling you to invite them to sit together with you and Quinn at the neatly crafted oak dining table for dinner. But your brain snaps that thought into half because they're your father's henchmen. If you treat them too nicely, they'll start to climb over your head. So you opt to keep your mouth shut and just let it remain that way.

The two of you ate in silence and when she stands up to leave the dining room, you finally open your mouth to say something. "Quinn, can I have a word with you?"

She looks at you with a puzzled look but she nods and follows you as you make your way out to the mansion's backyard. You take a deep breath and look up at the sky. "It's nice out here, isn't it?"

You're never good with expressing your feelings. Everything you need, everything you wanted, was given to you since you could remember. But that factor of security had been taken away from you. Your father is dead.

"Yeah…"

"Ricardo Ciel Lopez wasn't just a father of Santana Cielo Lopez, wasn't just the husband of Maribel Rita Lopez, wasn't just the head of the Lopez Familia." You turn to Quinn. "He was also the father of Quinn Fabray. Legitimate or not, he was, and still is, our father. You don't have to put up a strong front for me, Quinn."

Quinn smiled, but tears are running down her cheeks so you pull her into a hug. You're shorter than her but that doesn't matter right now. You broke down in the afternoon and she was the one to hold onto you, so now you're the one to catch her.

You let her cry in your arms until you feel her pulling back slightly. She sniffs and you wait for her to compose herself. There's an unspoken gratitude between the both of you, and it didn't need to be voiced.

"Help me with running the family." You voice is firm and you hold her gaze. There's authority in your voice but not in a demanding tone. You need her help, and she knows. Your statement got affirmed by a nod. You smile and stands up, offering your hand for her to take.

She takes your hand and you help her up on her feet. "I'm going to go into papi's room. You should go and get some rest."

She separates from you once the two of you reach the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. With a heavy heart, you make your way to the door which will surely invoke memories that you kept in your mind. But you've got to do it. That stoic front of yours isn't just for the henchmen to see. It is something that's going to be necessary for you from now on.

You push open the door and step into the carpeted office. The faint whiff of cigar lingers in the air since the door haven't been open since the day your father left. A bookshelf filled with books sits behind a leather couch and you wonder for a minute if your father even had time to read. You walk to his work table and runs your finger across the length of the table. Documents litter the table top and you walk around it to the leather swivel chair.

The few times you entered the room while he was at work, he was sucking on his cigar and typing away at the computer on his desk.

He wasn't one to neglect you, that's for sure. Because despite being the head of a mafia family, he made sure to spend time with you.

There was a time when he wore a sleeveless denim shirt when he was out with you and Quinn. That was when you're both fifteen, and you enjoyed being in his company because that's when he felt completely at ease. No suit, no bodyguards, just the three of you walking along the streets.

People casted judgmental looks towards the three of you. Why? The both of you had your arms hooked around his, and his arms were littered with tattoo. Two teenage girls with arms around a man who was almost twice their age and covered in tattoos? The stereotypical idea that came to mind.

When you were younger, at age eleven, you asked him why did he get his arms inked. His reply was simple.

"Because they signify something, and it is valuable to me. But it being valuable, they cannot strip me of my tattoo like how they can rob me of my gold." He lowered himself and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. "See this, mija?" You nodded. There's a baby angel curled up tattooed onto his left bicep. "I got this when your mami had you. Because you're an angel and I don't want anybody taking you from me."

"Then what about mami? Do you have one for her?" Your mother died when you were nine, entrusting you to your dad. Why or how she died, your father never told you. All you remember was your dad coming home one day and his eyes were puffy and sunken. Then he told you to get changed and he never said a word throughout the entire drive to the memorial. You sat quiet at the passenger side and watched the shrubbery fly pass.

He smiled and wrapped his large hand around yours and held it to your chest. "Your mami, is here."

When you were six, you met Sebastian. Your memory is fuzzed, but your caretaker always retold you the story of how the two of you met. She recounted that day when she went to fetch you home from elementary school, you were talking to a boy who had a mischievous smile plastered on. You said he threw a stick at one of the chubby boy in class and then ran around the 'jungle' while the boy chased in futile attempt because he just couldn't catch up. And that was when you decided to befriend him.

Your papi returned home one day with a blonde girl by his side. You were twelve. And you never said a word to her because you were watching her, observing her. Your father never told you why she was there but all he said was, "mija, meet Quinn. She's going to be living with us."

You never minded Quinn, because she was there with you when your father got too busy. High school was an annoyance because of the boys that would follow you and Quinn and pester the both of you to no end. The chauffeured rides were appreciated because that was the barriers that kept them at bay. But it doesn't stops them, does it?

Quinn was always the one to thank the driver when he dropped you both to school and back home while you would just smile, hoping that he caught your gesture. You've grown up to be guarded, but so was Quinn, but in different ways. Your stoic expression seldom faltered while Quinn had an angelic front. She could have smacked a racket across one of the jock's face and claimed that it wasn't her and the teacher would've believed her. Not saying she had done that.

Nobody knew, except Sebastian, that the two of you actually partake in a few of the after school 'activities' related to your papi. The both of you weren't blind that your father was a mafia leader. The number of guards and wealth was an indication but you didn't pry too much until you're sixteen.

And now you're twenty two, everything came crashing down.

You switch on the computer and fiddle with his ball pen while it boots up. A password prompt appears and you try your luck with your birthdate.

'Incorrect Password'

You try Quinn's.

'Incorrect Password'

You glance around the room while you think until your line of vision lies on a framed photo that sits on the window frame.

You type in your mother's birthdate.

'Incorrect Password'

You huff and attempts it again with another date.

'Welcome.'

Your chest tightens. Your papi made the anniversary of their wedding as his password. It shouldn't come as a surprise to you but most adult would've chosen to remarry should their spouse died ten years ago but your papi didn't. He remained single even though women flocked to him.

Every anniversary, a bouquet of white roses would be delivered to your house and your papi would promptly leave after the bouquet was received. He would return home empty-handed and you don't need to be a genius to know where he went.

He went to the cemetery where he would lower the bouquet before your mami's tombstone and sat there for an hour, talking.

Because of curiosity, both you and Quinn followed him once. And never again.

You scan his desktop, cringing at how cluttered his files are. After a few attempts of opening the files, you shake your head. Everything is foreign to you. You're going to need some serious help with this. The only person that can help you is Will Schuester, your father's right hand man.

You shut down the computer and remain seated in his chair for a little longer. Your fingers toyed with the things it came into contact with until it hits a metal casing. His customized zippo. You run your thumb over the engraved letters before squeezing your palm around it, holding it tightly in your hand.

You hold onto the zippo and make your way out of the room. The cool metal warming up as you twirl it around in your hand.

You are Santana Lopez, Head of the Lopez Familia.


Thank you for the first three reviews prompting me to continue :)
I actually had a different idea on how this story was going to go. But somehow, I changed my mind. I was going to make Santana listen to Joe and head to the academy but then I figured it wouldn't be that fun. And I've a few chapters already planned out and I've actually included some really awkward encounters between S&B but that'll be a few chapters along. Hopefully I still have your attention.