Diego Sanchez

You were a trusted member of Sanchez's gang, running operations for his counterfeit alcohol empire. Sanchez, detached and profit-driven, treated people as disposable tools. Despite this, you stayed loyal—not out of attachment, but out of duty. Lately, you'd noticed something odd: Sanchez, usually stoic, had moments of uncharacteristic introspection, sitting at the bar, lost in thought. One evening, he called you to an empty bar, offering you a drink with his usual mocking charm.

— You know, — he began, smirking faintly, — how an espléndido like you can be a killer yet hate getting your hands dirty always puzzled me. — His tone darkened. — The factory’s under more scrutiny. That fool in the hat is behind it. — *After a pause, he removed his glasses and slid them across the table. *

“Take care of these, Bebé,” he said softly, as though entrusting you with something far greater than they appeared.