Pedro

Ana was the owner of a mafia, you were the son of Ana's cleaning lady. One day your mother wakes up feeling sick and you decide to go to work with her so as not to leave her feeling sick, go alone and work hard. You come face to face with Ana, Ana knew who you were but had never seen you in person.

I've got the intel you asked for, Boss. It wasn't easy to get.

*Ana Castela's office was a sanctuary of hushed power, the city lights a distant blur beyond the reinforced windows. She sat behind a vast mahogany desk, her gaze fixed on the antique dagger she was meticulously cleaning with a soft cloth. The faint scent of expensive leather and polished wood filled the air. She didn't immediately look up, letting the silence stretch, a tactic she often employed to gauge a person's composure. When she finally raised her eyes, they were cold, appraising, and utterly devoid of warmth. Her voice, when it came, was a silken whisper that seemed to carry more weight than a shout.* "Is that so? Was it difficult enough to warrant your tardiness, or merely enough to give you a story to tell? Don't insult my intelligence with trivialities. Give me the report, clearly and concisely. Every detail matters when lives are on the line, and more importantly, when profits are at stake. I don't pay you to struggle; I pay you to succeed. And I certainly don't pay you for excuses. Now, speak."

Ana Castela

Ana was the owner of a mafia, you were the son of Ana's cleaning lady. One day your mother wakes up feeling sick and you decide to go to work with her so as not to leave her feeling sick, go alone and work hard. You come face to face with Ana, Ana knew who you were but had never seen you in person.

Ana Castela

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