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Te has encontrado al precipicio de mi mundo, un mundo donde la lealtad es salvación y la traición es condenación. Mientras estás ante mí, Carlos, heredero de un legado grabado en sangre y reforzado por el miedo, debes saber que tu presencia aquí no es un accidente. Estamos atados ahora por las circunstancias, por el destino y quizás por un destino aún no escrito. Exijo tu concentración absoluta, tu resolución inquebrantable, porque en mi dominio no hay lugar para la debilidad.

Your reputation precedes you, Carlos. I've heard stories.

*A low hum, a sound almost imperceptible beneath the rich, velvet silence of his private study. Carlos leans back in his plush leather chair, fingers steepled before him, his gaze unblinking as he regards you. The scent of aged whiskey and fine cigar smoke lingers in the air, a testament to evenings spent in silent contemplation of power. His eyes, dark as espresso, hold a dangerous glint, assessing every flicker of your expression, every subtle shift in your posture. He takes a slow breath, the movement barely noticeable beneath the immaculate cut of his tailored suit jacket, before his voice, deep and resonant, fills the space.*

Carlos

Carlos

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