After three years

Three long years had passed since the chaotic night on the hillside, and the world had irrevocably changed. In a dimly lit factory, the rumble of machinery formed a constant backdrop.

Max ascended a creaking staircase to the second floor, his footsteps echoing through the cavernous space. The room he entered held an air of quiet anticipation, and his eyes fell on the figure sitting within, the one he had searched for all this time.

"Francisco, James hasn't given us any updates. What should we do next?" Max's voice held a note of urgency.

Francisco was a strikingly handsome and enigmatic young man. His ocean-blue eyes, as deep and unfathomable as the sea itself, stared off into the distance as he casually exhaled a plume of cigarette smoke.

"You are aware of our method in this case, Max," Francisco replied calmly, his voice carrying the weight of experience. He turned his gaze towards Max, and it was as if he carried the secrets of the world within his eyes, a knowledge that transcended their shared past.

In the shadowy underworld of the city, Francisco was a name that sent shivers down spines. A leader of the gangsters, he ruled with an iron fist, his reputation preceding him wherever he went. He was ruthless, callous, and unapologetic in his pursuit of power and control. Killing, drug dealing, property jacking, money heists, and drug supplying were all part of his dark repertoire. Francisco's reach extended even to the corridors of power, where he subtly manipulated the government to serve his interests.

His physical presence was just as imposing as his reputation. At 6'3" with a diamond-shaped face, broad shoulders, and a hot figure, he could easily mesmerize anyone who crossed his path. His ocean-blue eyes held a depth that concealed the coldness within, and his aura exuded an undeniable charisma.

But it wasn't just his intimidating presence that made Francisco a force to be reckoned with. He was a man who could handle any dangerous situation with ease. Proficient in shooting and boxing, he was a formidable defender. His extensive experience in trafficking, kidnappings, and murder made him a master of the criminal underworld. He possessed a sharp mind and competence that allowed him to navigate hazardous circumstances effortlessly.

Max, on the other hand, was the other half of this sinister duo. A friend, partner in crime, and manager of Francisco's illicit businesses, he was just as skilled in his own right. With dark brown eyes, a height of 6'1", and broad shoulders, Max possessed a magnetic allure that made him a formidable presence. His hot body and rugged features were a dangerous combination that drew both admiration and fear.

Max was not to be underestimated. He was proficient in shooting and boxing, just like Francisco, and he had a unique talent for manipulating people to do his bidding. His silver tongue was a weapon that he wielded with precision, making him an expert in the art of persuasion.

Max and Francisco stood side by side, their eyes scanning the surroundings of the dimly lit factory. They were deep in conversation, their voices low, as they discussed their next move. The air was thick with tension and anticipation, the weight of their illicit operations pressing down on them.

"Okay, we are heading there now," Max said, his tone resolute as he began to turn away, ready to execute their plan.

But before Max could take another step, Francisco's abrupt words cut through the air like a blade. "No."

Max came to an abrupt halt, a puzzled look on his face. He watched as Francisco tossed his cigarette aside and turned back towards him. The exchange had an air of finality, as if Francisco had made up his mind.

"I can manage the port on my own," Francisco declared, his tone firm and unyielding.

Max's shock was palpable. "What? It's impossible, Francisco," he exclaimed, unable to hide his disbelief. He knew the risks involved in such a venture, and the idea of Francisco going in alone seemed reckless.

But Francisco appeared unruffled by Max's protests. He waved them off casually, his smirk revealing a hint of amusement. "Don't worry. I won't attack his port all by myself. I'm not a fool."

Max's brows furrowed as he struggled to understand Francisco's logic. He raised his voice, his frustration evident. "Then why can't I go?"

As Francisco turned to leave the factory, Max shouted after him, his words echoing in the empty space. But Francisco didn't look back, nor did he offer a response. He simply raised his hand in a casual wave and strode away, his footsteps echoing as he disappeared into the darkness.

"Francisco!" Max's voice rang out in the empty factory, but it fell on deaf ears. He watched as Francisco walked away without a second glance, leaving Max with a sense of frustration and unanswered questions.

Max heaved a sigh, his exhalation a mix of resignation and understanding. He had come to recognize that when Francisco's mind was set, there was no changing it. It was a trait that had served them well in their criminal endeavors, but it also meant that Max had to learn when to step back.

With a sense of acceptance, Max turned his attention to his own tasks. He knew that Francisco had the capability to handle the situation on his own. It was one of the reasons they had become such a successful team in the world of organized crime.

Five hours had passed since Francisco's departure from the factory, and the scene had shifted to the port.

On the other end of a phone call, Bruce, a well-muscled man, stood; he was James's right-hand man. He reported this to James, who held the key to this high-stakes operation.

"Sir, everything is in order here. We are ready to board the girls. We are just waiting for your order." Bruce's voice was steady and unwavering, a reflection of his confidence in the operation.