"Where is Mario?"
Patrick stopped in front of the woman, eyes piercing as he stared her down.
"Please, don't kill me... I—I don't know where he is. He hasn't been here lately. He just sleeps with me sometimes, but I don't really have anything to do with him. Please, let me go…"
The woman trembled as she spoke, glancing nervously at the two corpses on the floor, her voice shaky.
Patrick said nothing, continuing to stare. The weight of his silence made her crumble under the pressure.
"I swear… I'm telling the truth… Those two guys were Mario's men. He always calls them before coming over…"
Patrick gave her another long look, then swept his eyes around the room. "Search this place thoroughly—see if there are any hidden passages."
He hadn't forgotten what happened when they tried to capture Guzmán—how he escaped right under their noses through a hidden tunnel. It wouldn't be surprising if Mario had a similar setup.
His men tore through the place but came up empty. No tunnels, no secret exits. It seemed Mario really wasn't here.
Damn it.
Patrick, visibly frustrated, kicked the sofa. He personally checked every floor and even did the math—there were no false walls, no room for a hidden corridor. They'd missed him.
"Take her. We're leaving."
With no trace of Mario, Patrick ordered the team to pull out. Lofta Group's intel wasn't always reliable.
"Wait."
Owen stopped them. He looked at Patrick and gestured for a moment. Then he pulled out his radio. "Shepherd, bring Guzmán in."
Everyone paused, unsure what Owen was planning. A moment later, Phantom Squad escorted Guzmán into the villa.
"Let me go!"
The woman began to struggle, but the DEA agents flanking her didn't give her any slack. She thrashed, but it was pointless.
"Do you recognize this man?" Owen asked, pointing to Guzmán.
The woman screamed and resisted, refusing to cooperate. At first, she'd thought Patrick's team might be rival cartel members and had acted frightened. But now, realizing they were government agents, she no longer felt afraid.
"Let me go! You have no right to arrest me!"
Bang!
A gunshot cracked past her head, grazing her hair. The woman froze like a statue. Ela stormed forward, still holding the smoking barrel of her gun, and shoved the hot muzzle into the woman's face.
"Listen, bitch, you better behave. I'm not Mexican, and I don't have any qualms about hitting women. Answer the damn questions or I'll shoot you and go back to the States like nothing happened."
Ela was seething. The woman instantly wilted. Apparently, the saying was true—sometimes only a woman could deal with another woman.
But the Omega and Phantom members were stunned. This wasn't like Ela at all. This was completely out of character.
Ela felt the looks and shifted awkwardly. The others quickly pretended not to notice. Owen brought the focus back.
"This woman is Mario's mistress. Do you recognize her?"
Guzmán hesitated a beat too long. That earned him a solid punch from Ghost. He doubled over, gasping.
"I don't know her. Mario has a lot of women—I don't know them all…"
Ghost's punch was an effective teacher in respecting your interrogator.
Owen chuckled and shook his head. "No. You do know her. I noticed when we got here—you clearly recognized this place. And when you walked in, the way you two looked at each other said everything. But this address wasn't in the list you gave us. So that means you were holding back. Let me guess—you still think Mario will come rescue you, right?"
Guzmán's expression twisted, exposed. Ghost punched him again, folding him in half. Apparently, Guzmán's whole "broken" act had been just that—an act. All those days of supposedly giving in, surrendering, were pure manipulation. Ghost and Heartbeat had been played.
"Commander, spread the word—make it known that Guzmán gave us this location. Let the Sánchez Group believe he's turned traitor."
Owen made the suggestion to Patrick, using his title since outsiders were present. This was a psychological strike—to completely sever Guzmán's last thread of hope.
"No! You can't do that! They'll kill my family! Don't do this—they'll die! I can't talk—Sánchez won't spare them. They never go easy on traitors!"
Guzmán panicked. He hadn't expected Owen to go this far. The thing that breaks a man fastest is fear—not for himself, but for those he cares about. Especially when dealing with cartels, who treated human life as nothing.
"Talk or not—they're dead either way. Your choice."
Owen's tone was cold and cutting. Guzmán suddenly lunged like a rabid dog—but Shepherd easily caught him and held him up like a kitten.
"You monster! Why would you do this to them? They're innocent!"
"When the flood comes, no drop of water is innocent."
Shepherd dragged Guzmán back to the vehicle. Patrick began directing his men to pull out.
The woman, cowed after Ela's outburst, no longer resisted. She was loaded into a vehicle without protest. The convoy started moving again, leaving the villa behind.
On the ride back, Guzmán sat in silence. His face showed inner turmoil—he was clearly caught between betraying Mario or staying loyal. But who knew—maybe he was just putting on another show.
This time, Owen didn't sit up front. He took a spot next to Guzmán in the backseat, watching his expressions closely, looking for the perfect moment to break him for good.
He didn't need to be this subtle. If he wanted, he could have the U.S. deport Guzmán's two daughters. The man had enemies everywhere. Just letting it slip that they were his daughters would be enough to ensure their deaths.
But that was crossing a line—even for Owen. Unless absolutely necessary, he wouldn't do it.
The vehicles sped through the city. Suddenly, Owen noticed Guzmán's gaze drifting out the window.
He followed it—an Italian restaurant. It was dinnertime, and several luxury cars were parked outside.
A flash of yellow streaked by, and Owen's heart skipped. He knew what had caught Guzmán's attention: a yellow sports car parked nearby. Owen had seen that exact model in a photo of Mario.
Guzmán, realizing he'd been caught, quickly looked away. But Owen was already shouting:
"STOP THE CAR!"
The lead Humvee slammed to a halt, tires screeching. The other vehicles braked hard in quick succession. The DEA trucks took a few extra meters to stop.
"Omega—combat formation! Ela, stay with the detainee!"
Without time to explain, Owen flung his door open and jumped out. The Omega squad split into two teams, flanking the Italian restaurant from both sides.
Behind them, Shepherd and the Phantom team followed in support. Only after they moved did the DEA agents catch on, jumping from their trucks to form a defensive perimeter.
______
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