Carlos leaned back slightly, the leather sighing beneath his weight, the glass turning lazily in his fingers. He knew Lesley could run a war from the shadows and make it look like commerce. He trusted the man�s grip. But trust was not the same as blind faith.
Surprises�nasty ones�were a luxury he would not afford. Not here. Not now. Not when the syndicate�s reach in this part of the world was sinking deeper than ever, threading through governments, choking the veins of economies. The stakes were too high. And Carlos had buried enough men to know what carelessness costs.
Carlos exhaled slowly, the sound more like the whisper of a blade than a sigh. Then he leaned forward, setting the empty glass down with deliberate care, as though even gravity obeyed his will.
�La Roca,� he said at last, the name rolling off his tongue like a verdict, heavy and unyielding. His eyes, dark and fathomless, locked on Lesley.
�I want that laptop on this table by tomorrow night.�
A pause�measured, merciless.
�Or I�ll take the head of the man who lost it� on a platter.�
The words slid into the silence like steel sliding through velvet, leaving nothing behind but the chill of certainty.