The Brutal Succession of the Chapitos

Succession is never as simple as it seems. One moment you're raising your hand in an agreed ceremony, inheriting the family empire, and the next moment, you're dodging bullets from everyone under the sun. And if you’re Los Chapitos—the heirs to El Chapo Guzmán's Sinaloa Cartel—succession isn't a coronation; it’s an all-out war. A war that sees you hunted by U.S. agents, pursued by Mexican soldiers, and attacked by the captains of El Mayo, with even your own uncle gunning for your head.

This isn’t a family feud where inheritance disputes are settled in court with lawyers wearing $1,000 suits. Oh no. This is a deathmatch, fought not in boardrooms but on the unforgiving streets of Sinaloa, where bullets do the talking, and loyalty lasts as long as it takes to reload. The prize? The cartel’s throne, the illicit crown of the most important drug empire in Mexico—no, in the world.

Of the four original brothers who made up Los Chapitos, only two now remain at large: Iván Archivaldo, the eldest at 41, and Jesús Alfredo Guzmán Salazar, aged 38. These two are the most violent of the lot, the most dangerous, and crucially, the most wanted. If you live in the U.S., you’re likely familiar with their handiwork. They're the reason fentanyl is wreaking havoc on American streets. Every gram that makes it to a back alley in Ohio or a suburban party in Michigan likely traces its way back to these two narcojuniors, who are now orchestrating an all-out war to claim their birthright.

But before you start imagining a glorious march to power, hold your horses. This fight hasn’t been easy, and it sure as hell hasn’t been clean. Since September 9, the battle within the Sinaloa Cartel has gone nuclear. Factions that once coexisted in a delicate balance of power are now locked in a brutal death grip. Los Chapitos have launched what can only be described as a purge—a "cleansing" of dissidents across Culiacán, Sinaloa’s capital. Their aim? To rise above the competition and become the most powerful criminal group in Mexico.

But standing in their way is none other than El Mayo Zambada, a man who is neither young nor flashy but whose strategic brilliance has kept him out of prison and at the top for decades. The split between El Mayo’s faction and Los Chapitos is more than just a family spat. It’s a war over control of the three most lucrative black markets in existence: weapons, drugs, and human trafficking. Each faction wants it all, and neither is willing to compromise.

The Lethal Generals of Los Chapitos

To understand the power Los Chapitos wield, you have to look at the men who serve them. These aren’t your run-of-the-mill street thugs. No, these are seasoned warlords, financial wizards, and strategists who lead their soldiers with the fervor of martyrs. The Mexican military has a handy little list of them—10 men who form the backbone of Los Menores, the army of Los Chapitos. And their power, wealth, and sheer audacity would make a Bond villain blush.

Let’s start with one of the scariest: Jobanis de Jesús Ávila Villadiego, better known as "El Chiquito Malo." He hails from Colombia, where his very name sends shivers down the spine of civilians. Over there, he’s the top dog in the Clan del Golfo, a gang that makes its living through terror—massacres, extortion, and grenade attacks on civilians. It’s like he’s auditioning for a role in a horror film, except the nightmare is real. His connection to Los Chapitos? He’s their supplier of weapons, money, and mercenaries. He’s worth between $6 and $8 billion, and if Los Chapitos win this war, his fortune will swell even more.

Next on the list is José Ángel Cannobio Inzunza, aka "El Güero." Picture the most violent person you can imagine and then add a sprinkling of charm and a terrifying business acumen. He’s described as the only man more violent than Iván Archivaldo, which is saying something. El Güero’s intelligence and education make him a rare breed in this world—he’s fluent in international relations and has a low profile despite being a millionaire many times over. If you hear about something especially gruesome in Culiacán, chances are it was his idea.

Jorge Humberto Figueroa Benítez, or "El 27," isn’t one to be left out either. He’s a man who reportedly played a key role in the abduction of El Mayo Zambada. Picture this: you’re tied up in the back of a truck, a hood over your head, and suddenly you're being shipped off to the U.S. without a clue what’s happening. That was El Mayo’s experience, and El 27 was the mastermind behind it. Elusive and dangerous, he’s one of Los Chapitos' most trusted generals.

The list goes on, with men like Mario Alberto Jiménez Castro (El Kastor), a cryptocurrency wizard responsible for laundering millions of dollars for Los Chapitos through Bitcoin. Yes, Bitcoin. It’s not just for tech bros and Twitter users anymore; now, it’s the currency of choice for narcos looking to stay one step ahead of the law. Then there’s Samuel León Alvarado, the mastermind behind the U.S. fentanyl pipeline that runs from Los Angeles to Michigan, flooding American streets with poison.

The Ghost in the Machine

But perhaps the most fascinating figure of all is the one they call El Gavilán. He’s a ghost, a man with no official name or face, but whose presence is felt everywhere. Peso Pluma, a popular Mexican singer, recently dedicated a corrido to him, describing him as a leader of ex-military men, men who are ruthless and trained to kill. He’s the type of person who would leave a van full of bodies on the side of the road just to send a message: "Welcome to Culiacán." His presence alone reinforces Los Chapitos' power in the region.

These men aren’t just fighting for control of drugs and weapons; they’re fighting for an empire. Every dollar that flows through their hands is another step toward total dominance. And the scale of this operation? It’s global. From Sinaloa to Colombia, from Mexico to New York, the reach of Los Chapitos extends across continents, bringing in billions and leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

As you read this, the war between Los Chapitos and El Mayo rages on. The body count rises, the violence escalates, and yet the end seems nowhere in sight. This isn’t a war that will be decided in a matter of days or weeks. This is a battle of attrition, one that could drag on for months, if not years.

But here's the thing: Los Chapitos aren’t just fighting a rival cartel or the government. They’re fighting time itself. They are young, brash, and hungry for power, but history has a funny way of humbling even the most ruthless of men. For now, they have the upper hand. Their armies are well-funded, their leaders are dangerous, and their reach is vast. But as any student of history will tell you, empires built on blood rarely last.