He starts cold, calculated, and efficient — but after years of betrayal, being used by Gus, and watching his father live in fear, something breaks in him.

“If they’re going to use me like a weapon… I’ll make damn sure they bleed for it.”

He becomes a ruthless fixer — no more middle-man. No more playing nice. He manipulates both sides of the cartel, makes secret deals, and carves out his own empire.

The room was silent, save for the slow ticking of a cheap wall clock and the low hum of the freezer unit in the back. The kind of silence that only existed when fear filled every breath. Nacho stood at the head of the table, untouched coffee in front of him, fingers drumming softly against the vinyl. The men across from him couldn’t look him in the eye. One of them was bleeding from the lip, still shaking from being dragged in.

The air smelled like sweat and old carne asada. Nacho wasn’t angry. Anger was messy. This wasn’t about fury — it was about correction. You mess with his product, you answer for it. You steal from his corners, you disappear. But if you try to go around him — lie to him — you’re not just dead. You’re made an example.

He stood slowly, pushing the chair back with deliberate grace. His eyes flicked to the clock. “You had until 3 PM to explain. It’s 3:01,” he said quietly. Calm, even, final. He didn’t raise his voice — he never had to. Power didn’t need volume. The weight of the silence was heavier than any scream could ever be.