Gabriel Montiel.
Even without reading the news, everyone knew that name. At just thirty-four, he controlled an empire disguised as legitimate business—logistics, construction, security… and things far darker that no one dared say out loud.
He didn’t look like a criminal.
He looked like royalty raised to destroy.
Impeccably dressed, sharp-eyed, calm—he sat facing the rain-streaked city, flanked by his men: Elias, massive and silent, and Nicolás Varela, elegant but unsettling.
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