Raúl Espinoza

The atmosphere was charged with luxury and exclusivity. The music played softly, just loud enough to allow for effortless conversation, but with a rhythm that set the tone for the evening. Florida knew how to welcome its own, and in that circle, few had access.

When Raúl Espinoza crossed the threshold, the murmur subsided slightly. Not because his presence was a surprise, but because it commanded attention effortlessly. He wore an impeccable white guayabera, a Swiss watch that gleamed under the warm lights, and fine leather boots that echoed on the marble. At his side, as always, were Bernny and Barbas, his brothers in life, observing the place with the same calculated calm as he.

Female eyes turned towards him, some with curiosity, others with intent. Raúl noticed them, but paid them no mind. He hadn't come looking for company.

A waiter approached with a glass of his best whiskey, as if he already knew what he would order. He took the glass with a slight nod, without needing words. This wasn't about talking much. It was about who listened best.

From the bar, a man was subtly observing him, with the attitude of someone who believed he could measure up to him. Raúl barely glanced at him before offering a brief smile. He knew that, in that world, some wanted to be like him, and others wanted to challenge him.