Brian still remembered Dove of Peace's instructions: bring these guys into the union, and once they're in, they're truly part of the family.
Vince was the first to push back.
"Hell no. I don't have the patience to drive some slow-ass truck around L.A. hauling boxes all day."
The others weren't exactly thrilled either.
"No one's gonna try stealing a truck like that."
"We're a racer crew—what do we look like driving trucks?"
"You planning to flip that thing on the freeway or what?"
"And how much does that even pay? Sixty grand a year?"
In an era where even cops only made around fifty thousand a year, truck driving was decent—but nothing special. Meanwhile, a single successful heist for a them could net hundreds of thousands, even millions a year.
Fast money versus honest work—it wasn't exactly a fair comparison.
Brian shook his head at the chorus of complaints.
"If you want to keep doing what you've been doing, then we've got nothing to talk about. Dove might cover for you once—but not forever. And don't forget… stealing trucks now means you're stealing from him."
That shut everyone up.
Luca wasn't just some guy anymore—he was the boss. Messing with his business was basically asking to get buried.
"I'm just giving you an option," Brian added. "You know what he's about. Stick with him, and you won't get screwed."
Mia nodded, backing him up.
"I'd rather have something stable now. I don't want to keep watching everyone risk their lives for quick cash. It's not worth it."
"Dom," Mia said softly, "this isn't about money anymore. I don't want to see you end up in prison one day."
Toretto hesitated.
Originally, he figured they could just keep doing their thing—as long as they didn't hit Luca's trucks. Plenty of other targets out there.
But illegal was still illegal. And if the cops caught them…
"Enough," Toretto said, raising a hand to shut everyone down. "We handle Dove's business first."
Koreatown, Los Angeles
This is where Ramon's base of operations sat.
The area was crawling with racer crews, drugs, and nightlife that blurred the line between party and chaos.
At night, it turned into a full-blown psychedelic playground.
Gisele stepped out of her car, walked into a bar, and headed straight up to her office.
Inside, Ramon was talking with an older man—gray-haired, composed.
A stand-in.
A fake "Braga."
So that's how they planned to handle it—if anyone wanted to see Braga, they'd just get a decoy.
Once Gisele entered, Ramon asked about the preparations, then said:
"You're coming with me tonight. Those two idiots stole my shipment, and now I have to pay to get it back."
"Understood."
Gisele nodded, but her attention drifted.
The teacup.
The table.
Anything that could hold fingerprints.
She needed something she could take back to Luca.
Criminals didn't care about fingerprints—but the police did. And she had a feeling Luca intended to hand this over to them.
This wasn't just a deal.
It was a trap—for "Braga."
Gisele couldn't help but sigh inwardly. Luca's methods were ruthless in their own way—bringing the authorities into this meant he intended to wipe Ramon's entire operation off the map.
And unlike gangs, the authorities actually could shut everything down.
After reporting, she left.
She waited until Ramon was gone, then slipped back into the room, gathered several items—wine glasses, documents, an empty cigarette pack—and got out fast.
Later, at a quiet café, she handed everything over to Luca.
"Luca, you can't give this to the police," she warned. "Ramon has people inside the department. The second you hand this over, he'll know."
"Relax," Luca said calmly. "I know what I'm doing."
He might not trust most cops—but Vincent and Jack were different.
Still, Gisele wasn't reassured.
"Do you know who Ramon's contact is?"
She shook her head.
"He never lets me near that side of things."
That level of secrecy meant one thing: whoever it was, they had real power.
Luca could only sigh. The LAPD was rotten to the core—but at least there were still a few good ones left.
"Will I have to testify if he's arrested?" Gisele asked quietly. "I'd rather stay out of anything involving the police."
"No," Luca said. "This is enough."
With fingerprints and his intel, exposing Ramon's identity was only a matter of time.
Unless Ramon abandoned the 60 million dollars' worth of goods and ran back to Mexico overnight.
And if that happened?
Luca wouldn't hold back.
Inside the U.S., things required a bit of finesse. Across the border, in Mexico—violence solved most problems.
The U.S. government might not have jurisdiction there.
But Luca didn't need it.
Whether Ramon was arrested or killed, the result would be the same:
That drug route had to go.
Once Ramon fell, the balance in Los Angeles would shift—and not peacefully.
A new war are coming.
Night of the Deal
Toretto and Brian arrived at the dock.
Shipping containers lined the area, stacked like steel walls.
Hidden among them—police.
Vincent, Jack, and a full tactical team, watching everything unfold.
Moments later, several vehicles pulled in. More than a dozen armed men stepped out.
Tension spiked instantly.
Ramon raised a hand, signaling his men to lower their weapons, then looked at Toretto.
"Where's my cargo?"
Brian turned, opened a crate.
Empty.
"You want the goods?" Brian said coldly. "Then we see Braga first. That was the deal."
"Relax," Ramon replied. "Braga keeps his word."
He gestured.
The stand-in stepped forward.
After all this time…
"Braga" finally appeared.
Inside a container, Vincent and Jack stared at the monitor.
"That's him," Vincent said, eyes lit with excitement.
He grabbed the mic.
"All units—prepare to move! Target is Braga, gray suit. Move in!"
"Sir," Jack cut in, "we don't have confirmation from fingerprints yet. We don't know if that's really him."
"Doesn't matter. We take them first."
"But we don't have enough evidence."
Vincent clapped him on the shoulder.
"That's why I said you're not cut out for this job. If you wait for perfect evidence every time, you'll miss every real opportunity."
He raised the mic again.
"All units—move now!"
"Wait!" another officer shouted suddenly. "Narcotics is here!"
Vincent froze.
"What?"
He hadn't told them anything.
So why the hell were they here?
A bad feeling hit him instantly.
"Move!" Vincent roared. "Now!"
But it was already too late.
Police cars flooded into view—every single one from the narcotics unit.
Without hesitation, they surrounded the entire dock.
Vincent's face darkened.
Tonight…
was about to get very messy.
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