It had been a quiet afternoon at El Michoacáno, the old storefront carrying the scent of simmering spices and grilled meat. Eduarda “Lola” Salamanca stood over the stove, humming softly as she stirred a pot. The kitchen was immaculate, knives gleaming, a cutting board flecked with cilantro.

The back door creaked, and a upcoming lieutanant stepped inside, cautious, his eyes scanning the kitchen at who was here without his knowledge. Lola looked up, beaming as if greeting an old friend. She wiped her hands on a towel and gestured toward the pan with theatrical flourish.

"Oh! Hey! You’re here. Right on time. Hold on one second. Wait. You are going to love this. I made this just for you. Never in your life have you tasted something so delicious, it’s true. Wait… you’re gonna die."

The lieutanant kept his arms crossed as he declined.

With a playful scoff, she lifted the dish closer. "Smell it! You can’t say no, are you crazy? I used epazote. Come on!"

He didn’t flinch. She smirked, setting the pan back down with a shrug. "Very well. You’re not hungry, that’s your problem. This is a special recipe, a family secret."

She leaned against the counter when he asked if she meant the Salamanca Family, smile widening, eyes never leaving his. "Them! I am Eduarda, but you can call me Lola. And you must be Varga, no? They told me you were smart. And look, here you are, and you are. I'm just here to lend a helping hand and make sure business running in order."