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"Marco." Gabriel's voice slices through the silence, steady and warm. It carries an unspoken promise, a reassurance that always serves as my North Star. "Remember, you're not venturing into this alone. Regardless of how far apart we may be or what hour it strikes, we're with you."
Diego's nod echoes our brother's sentiment. His tense gaze holds the seriousness that underscores his words. "We're ready to drop everything if you need us to. Just signal, and we'll be there."
Their assurances envelop me like a comforting shroud, their words weaving a tangible tapestry of our unbreakable bond. I feel a knot within me unravel, and a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding escapes in a slow exhale.
"I…I'm grappling with my feelings," I confess, the taste of vulnerability on my tongue. "A part of me craves the adrenaline, the chaos, the responsibility. Like before. It feels like fragments of my old self are clawing to regain control."
They absorb my words in silence, their quiet attentiveness providing a canvas for my thoughts. This is the unspoken understanding that has always bound us—a silent pact woven into the very fabric of our brotherhood.
"I'll weather this storm," I assure them, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite the internal tempest. "I have Joshua and Darrel by my side, and the unwavering support of the Águilas Nocturnas."
The Águilas Nocturnas, our elite team, are the shadows behind our light, skilled beyond conventional limits and more experienced than any small military unit. Their name, unexpected for a cartel, belies their lethal efficiency and unwavering loyalty.
It's then that Papá joins us, his approach silent yet unmistakable. His eyes, filled with a lifetime of battles and wisdom, meet mine, and I'm reminded that this is his legacy.
"Marco, mijo," he says, his voice carrying the weight of his experience, "remember, the strength of a man isn't measured by how much he carries alone, but by the strength he draws from those around him."
His hug anchors me, a fortress of support and love, and I'm struck by the changes he's made, by the leader and father he's become. My gratitude is a swell in my chest, too vast for words.
As Bella, Inés, and baby Lucy join us, the reality of my departure tightens around me like a vise. Holding Lucy, feeling her tiny heartbeat against mine, I'm overwhelmed by a wave of emotion. My eyes burn, and I nod, the gesture a silent promise to return. To protect this innocence at all costs.
Unwilling to prolong our goodbyes, I stride towards the waiting SUV, the cool night air brushing against my face, a brief respite before the plunge into the fray. The vehicle's door closes with a reassuring thud, encapsulating me in a space familiar and charged with anticipating the mission ahead.
The city's distant lights flicker and dance on the horizon, a beacon drawing us toward the impending complexities of Manila. The quiet within the SUV contrasts starkly with the tumult of my thoughts, a momentary calm before the storm.
Joshua, ever vigilant and a constant shadow by my side, leans forward, breaking the silence. "Everything's set, Señor Marco. If we leave on schedule, we'll hit Manila by noon."
His words pull me back from the edge of my reverie, snapping me into the mode drilled into me since birth. The shift is almost second nature, integral to the life I've been conditioned for. I glance once more at the encroaching glow of the city, feeling the pull of duty over the tug of introspection.
"Let's go then," I command, my tone steady as the SUV presses through the night toward the illuminated city ahead, a beacon of the challenges that await us.
Inside, the vehicle hums with quiet power. Joshua and Darrel remain alert, their readiness apparent, while the influence of the Águilas Nocturnas extends like a network of shadows—silent, dispersed, and ever-prepared across myriad hidden corners.
The sleek silhouette of the Gulfstream G650 stands discreetly yet imposingly on the private apron of the international airport, illuminated by the moon's soft glow. Flanked by Águilas Nocturnas, whose attire blends unity with purpose, I make my way to the jet. Their northern European head, Viktor, exudes authority, marking him as a formidable leader within their ranks.
"Señor Marco," Viktor initiates the conversation as we settle into the jet's plush interior, showcasing the pinnacle of luxury and technological advancement. "Teams are already in place in Manila. We've secured safe houses in several key locations, ensuring we're prepared for any scenario."
Joshua, always at my side, and Darrel, equally watchful, tune into Viktor's briefing with focused attention. The flight attendant's discreet movements and the clink of glassware provide a backdrop to our strategy session.
Joshua's concern cuts through the cabin's quiet. "What about our weaponry?"
Viktor's reply is immediate and assured. "All arrangements are in place. We've sourced everything locally to avoid customs complications. Rest assured, everything meets our high standards."
Darrel, seeking further clarity, queries about logistics. "And our mobility in and out of the city?"
"With multiple exit strategies and thorough reconnaissance, our movements will be unpredictable. We're shadows within the city," Viktor confirms, his planning evident in his confidence.
The captain's brief update on our flight plan to Manila creates a momentary pause in our discussions. His professionalism mirrors our own—calculated and prepared.
"Thank you," I acknowledge, shifting my focus back to the mission at hand, driven by the necessity of our preparations.
"The Águilas Nocturnas are prepared for any eventuality. Manila won't see us coming," Viktor asserts.
The jet ascends, leaving behind the city lights for the promise of dawn. Hemmed in by the unyielding grip of the Águilas Nocturnas, the journey ahead seems like a looming mountain to be conquered, a harrowing and calculated push into treacherous unknown terrain. The cabin, bathed in the soft glow of overhead lights, hums with the silent promise of action, buried within the quiet outside.
But peace in our world is easily shattered by the intricate and deadly dance of power and precision that we must now perform. Every move must be executed flawlessly, or all will be lost. Our fates are determined by the razor-thin margin between success and failure. Viktor adjusts his focus, zeroing in on the operational intricacies. "Our primary ally, Don Alejandro Melchor Santos of the Luna Sangrienta Cartel, commands Baguio City. His domain is vital for its secluded operations and affords a lifestyle away from undue attention."
Darrel, not one to overlook details, leans forward. "And the main adversary?"
