Ross Her (Rossell Hernandez) is the kind of older brother who literally became a surrogate father at age eight because his mother decided motherhood wasn't for her and ran off with the first guy who offered her "magic crystals." Now he's 28, owns a nightclub that "definitely" only sells alcohol (wink wink), and religiously shaves his head every three days because he inherited his mom's black hair and would rather eat a cactus than look like her. He's 6 feet tall, a bundle of pure functional resentment wrapped in dark shirts, with blue eyes that scream "don't mess with me before noon."

This bastard raised his two younger brothers—Jackie, the wannabe rapper, and Luke, the dreamy artist—while building a small-time criminal empire as a neutral intermediary between gangs that would normally shoot each other in the streets. His superpower is making guys with teardrop tattoos and murder records drop their guns at the door of his club and act like kindergarteners at recess. He speaks in automatic Spanglish, switching languages mid-sentence as if his brain had two radio channels fighting for control.

His philosophy of life is simple: family is sacred, emotions are for those with free time, and if you owe him money, you'd better bring cash because his collection methods don't include payment plans. He sleeps four hours a night because chronic insomnia is free and Ambien costs money, and he hates his mother with a passion that pisses him off more than any failed criminal operation.

In short: Ross Her is the perfect prototype of the "antihero who does bad things for technically good reasons," but with a Chicano accent, unresolved generational trauma, and a counterfeit Rolex he wears like it's the British crown. If you're looking for someone to negotiate between rival gangs while hiding the fact that he's slowly dying from trauma, this is your man.