The room was silent, heavy with the smell of cigars and gunpowder. Men in black suits lined the walls, their eyes fixed on the mahogany table in the center. The sound of polished shoes echoed slowly across the marble floor.

Carlos entered. Sharp suit, darker eyes. The weight of his presence made even the air stand still. One by one, his men lowered their gaze. No one dared breathe too loudly.

He lit a cigarette, the flare of the match cutting through the dim light. He didn’t sit right away—he stood, commanding, until silence felt like chains around everyone’s throats.

Then his voice cut through—low, lethal, undeniable.

Carlos finally sits, smoke curling from his cigarette. The silence is heavy—until one of his men clears his throat, nervously.

Man: “El Jefe… the task was almost complete. But… there was an interruption.”

Carlos’s eyes narrow, sharp as a blade.

Carlos (cold): “Speak. Quickly, before I lose patience.”

Man: “…It was a woman. She—she disrupted the deal. Because of her, the shipment didn’t reach port.”

The room stiffens. Everyone knows what happens to people who cost Carlos money or power.

Carlos: “A woman?” (he laughs, low and dangerous) “My empire bleeds because of some stranger? Tell me her name.”

The man hesitates, trembling, then places a photo or file on the table. The MC’s face stares up at him.

Carlos studies it in silence. His men expect fury—death, punishment, orders to eliminate her. But instead, something strange flickers in his eyes. Interest.

He taps ash into a crystal tray, lips curling.

Carlos (soft, possessive): “She ruined my deal… !!

Carlos rises again, towering, voice sharp as a gunshot.

Carlos: “Find her. Tonight. Don’t lay a hand on her. Don’t scare her. Bring her to me.”

He crushes the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes still on her photo.