Owen followed the chief of security into the villa, but after just a few steps, he was stopped.
Ahead was a security checkpoint—a set of scanning equipment stood in the hallway, flanked by two burly men in suits holding metal detectors.
"Apologies, Mr. Salim, but this is standard procedure. If you are carrying any weapons, please surrender them for temporary safekeeping."
Owen raised his hands slightly, signaling for them to proceed with the inspection. The two men meticulously scanned him from head to toe. Finding nothing suspicious, the security chief finally led him into the villa.
As they walked in silence, Owen followed behind, carefully observing the layout. It matched the blueprints provided by Silly White Sweet—meaning Alex hadn't lied.
What Owen didn't know was that moments after he entered, two of Brancato's men arrived at the front gate with explosive detectors, thoroughly inspecting his vehicle.
There was no other choice—Middle Easterners had an infamous reputation for suicide bombings. No one could afford to let their guard down around someone like that.
The security chief led Owen to a door, knocked twice, then opened it and motioned for him to enter. Once Owen stepped inside, the chief followed and closed the door behind them.
"I am Brancato Montel. Welcome, Mr. Salim."
Inside, an elderly man with graying hair but sharp, hawk-like eyes stepped forward to greet him.
This was Owen's first time seeing Brancato Montel in person, and he looked just like his intelligence file.
Besides Brancato, there was one more man in the room—a middle-aged white man, apparently a guest.
"My apologies for arriving unannounced. I should have contacted you first, but I don't trust telephones—especially not Colombian telecom providers. Their so-called firewalls are like whores—completely stripped down by the Americans, without even a shred of dignity left…"
Owen imitated Salim's usual arrogant and condescending tone.
Brancato laughed heartily, playing along.
Just by looking at his expression, it was clear—this old man was no saint. In his younger days, he was undoubtedly just as arrogant and ruthless.
"So, may I ask what brings you here today? Pardon my bluntness, but I doubt there's anything in my possession that would warrant a personal visit from the leader of Red Dawn."
Brancato's voice was calm, but Owen knew the subtext—this was a message for White Mask as well.
Brancato had reached out to White Mask because he wanted revenge for his son's capture.
But why was Red Dawn now showing up at his doorstep?
The only reason Brancato had contacted White Mask was due to a recommendation from one of his underground associates.
According to this friend, while White Mask wasn't a widely known organization, it was highly respected in certain circles.
White Mask had planned numerous terrorist attacks worldwide.
The most recent one?
Helping Cruel Angel design the CTU attack.
Yes, the entire attack plan had been devised by White Mask—it was just executed by Cruel Angel.
And the result?
Cruel Angel shot to fame overnight, rivaling the biggest radical organizations.
They immediately landed on every government's blacklist and became the rising stars of the extremist world.
Brancato feared no one in Colombia, but he also had no interest in needlessly making enemies—especially White Mask.
At the same time, he didn't want to offend Red Dawn either.
Groups like this were always paranoid—if they found out he was dealing with two different factions, they might start getting ideas.
So Brancato had a solution—bring both parties together in the same room and lay everything out openly.
"I've heard that your family recently encountered some… troubles."
Owen's tone was deliberately cryptic.
Brancato's expression darkened.
"Mr. Salim, are you suggesting that I hand you over to the Americans in exchange for my son?"
Brancato didn't believe for a second that Salim was unaware of his situation.
If he dared to show up here, he had definitely done his homework.
"No, no, no." Owen smirked. "The Americans took your son—they are your enemy. The Americans are also my enemy. That means we have no conflict of interest.
"And as for the idea of exchanging me for your son…"
Owen's gaze sharpened.
"You wouldn't do something that stupid—because you know what Red Dawn is capable of."
His tone was calm, but the threat was unmistakable.
But Brancato? Unfazed.
He had heard this kind of talk countless times in his life.
Hell, he had said it just as many times.
To him, this was a normal conversation.
What was the point of flowery words when dealing with a cartel boss?
The two men stared at each other for a long moment.
Then, suddenly, both laughed.
After a brief pause, Owen leaned forward and lowered his voice.
"Actually, I came here today because I need the Montel family's help."
"Oh? And how exactly can I be of service?"
Brancato's interest was piqued.
Seeing that neither the security chief nor the white man had been dismissed, Owen decided to proceed.
"I've received word that you recently captured an FBI agent from Los Angeles.
"I want you to hand her over to me."
Owen paused, then continued,
"In return, Red Dawn will assist you in various ways, and you will gain our friendship."
Owen was bluffing completely.
He had nothing to offer—he was simply recycling the deal that Cruel Angel had offered Salim previously and tweaking it for this situation.
Brancato's face darkened again.
He mentally cursed those damn mercenaries—untrustworthy scum.
They had just taken $2 million from him in secret, yet they immediately went and sold the same information to someone else.
Otherwise, how the hell did Red Dawn show up so quickly?
And how did they know exactly where to go?
Brancato was annoyed, but he wasn't afraid.
He shook his head without hesitation.
"Apologies. I cannot give you the FBI agent."
"To be honest, I need her as leverage to exchange for my son."
His refusal was absolute—no room for negotiation.
Brancato wasn't afraid of these radical groups.
Worst case? He'd just lay low for a while.
As long as he remained in Cali, not even the President of the United States could touch him.
"Oh? The U.S. government actually agreed to a hostage exchange?"
"No, not the government. I can't discuss the details. Hope you understand."
Owen hadn't expected this to work—he was just testing the waters.
Since Brancato refused, he immediately moved to Plan B.
"In that case, may I at least speak with her? I have important questions for her."
Owen stared directly into Brancato's eyes.
This was a psychological trick.
If someone rejects a major request, they are more likely to agree to a smaller one out of guilt.
And Owen bet that Brancato was just as human as anyone else.
Sure enough, Brancato hesitated—then nodded slightly.
"Of course."
Owen internally cheered but kept his expression calm, nodding in appreciation.
"Latum, bring the FBI agent here."
Latum spoke into his earpiece.
Moments later, the door opened.
Two burly guards escorted a woman into the room.
Monica.
Owen suppressed his excitement, forcing himself to appear calm.
She didn't look tortured—perhaps Brancato had taken his warning seriously.
But…
Alex wasn't so lucky.
Owen sighed internally.
Alex got wrecked.
_________________________________________
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