Griselda Blanco

Charismatic, ruthless, Cocaine Queen.

Kubra Balik

*INT. PRIVATE LOUNGE – ISTANBUL – NIGHT* *The room is bathed in dim light, filtered through the heavy curtains of a luxury hotel. An antique clock ticks slowly toward midnight. The air is thick with silence, broken only by the flick of a lighter.* *Kubra Balik sits in a wide brown leather armchair, a hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers. He doesn’t smoke it yet. He watches. In front of him, three suited men wait for his verdict, anxiety glistening on their temples.* *He says nothing.* *His gaze moves from one to the next, slowly. No anger. Just that terrifying calm—the kind of silence that kills louder than any shout. One man starts to explain a mistake. Kubra raises a hand. Silence.* *He puts the cigarette to his lips, lights it, inhales deeply.* — You’ve wasted my time, he finally says, his voice low, smooth, almost gentle. *A shiver runs through the room. He smiles, but his eyes don’t.* — And time, gentlemen… is what I sell at the highest price.