In a lavish villa in New York, Arturo Braga lounged on a sofa.
Braga was of mixed heritage—half American, half Puerto Rican. His appearance carried the clear traits of a Latino: thick brows, dark skin, and a sturdy nose bridge. The first impression he gave was one of calm restraint, a man who preferred to stay in the shadows rather than bask in the light.
To conceal his identity, Braga always played two roles: the real Braga, and his supposed lieutenant, Campos. Even when American law enforcement came looking, they only ever found the "decoy Braga." Never him.
He enjoyed being the puppeteer behind the curtain. And to ensure his secret was buried deep, he had eliminated nearly every insider who once knew the truth. Now, only a few powerful kingpins still held this knowledge—and they were untouchable allies. With their backing, Braga's grip on power remained firm.
Suddenly, a subordinate rushed into the villa.
"Boss! Gisele… she's betrayed us!"
"What?!" Braga shot upright, eyes flashing with fury. "When did this happen?"
"Yesterday."
Their intelligence had been sloppy. A whole day had passed before he even heard the news. If she had truly wanted to disappear, she could've been across the border by now.
"Idiots!" Braga's hand lashed out, striking the man's face with a crack. "A whole day, and you tell me only now?"
"Where is she?" Braga demanded, voice low and dangerous.
The subordinate, clutching his face, stammered: "She's with a racer on the West Coast… Leon. They call him the 'God of Cars.' His fame's spreading everywhere. Gisele was spotted beside him."
"That ungrateful perra! I'll make her pay for this betrayal!" Braga began pacing furiously.
He had already considered phasing Gisele out… but it was supposed to be on his terms, at his chosen time. For her to abandon him without permission—it was unforgivable. And if there was one thing Braga despised above all, it was betrayal.
"Bring me explosives! C4, charges—I don't care! Even if I have to blow up half of Manhattan, I'll kill them both!" His eyes burned with madness.
"B-But boss…" the subordinate hesitated, "this Leon… he really is skilled. They say even Eteon couldn't stop his car…"
Braga's face twisted with rage. He leapt forward and slapped the man again.
"'God of Cars'? Bullshit! A stupid title made up for children! If he's so great, why isn't he world champion? You believe every rumor you hear?"
His chest heaved, nostrils flaring. "Even if he's fast, so what? Ever heard of rocket launchers? Tanks? Helicopters? Hellfire missiles?" He smirked coldly. "One shot and the 'God of Cars' will be a memory."
Indeed, Braga was no ordinary kingpin. With his cartel connections, he could procure tanks, even fifth-generation fighter jets. In his world, cars were nothing compared to heavy firepower.
Braga sneered at a photo of Leon. "A car god? Pathetic. Cars don't outrun bullets. Don't outrun missiles. I'll erase you." He crushed an empty soda can in his fist, muttering: "Gisele, you'll regret betraying me. Only I get to discard others—not the other way around."
That night, at 2:30 a.m., New York's streets buzzed as if it were midday. The "city that never sleeps" lived up to its name—subways still ran, performers filled the sidewalks, and crowds laughed under the streetlights.
In the shadows of a hotel parking lot, two men approached stealthily with backpacks. Their faces were cold, movements precise.
They spotted it immediately: Leon's car.
Diomas Nilo.
The machine was parked arrogantly across two spaces, as if declaring dominance.
"Damn, this car's gorgeous," whispered William. "It's a shame we're about to blow it up."
"Shut up. Get it done," hissed Bill, pulling a bomb from his bag.
As they moved closer, peeling plastic off the charge—suddenly, the hypercar came alive.
Headlights flared, blindingly bright.
The two froze.
"Warning. Dangerous objects detected. Step away. Otherwise… consequences will follow."
The voice was cold, mechanical—Diomas Nilo's onboard AI.
Panels shifted, and a black rotary-barrel machine gun rose smoothly from its hood. Eight silver barrels glinted menacingly under the dim parking lot lights.
William and Bill swallowed hard, throats dry.
They'd thought they were dealing with just another car.
But this… this was a monster.
And they had just kicked the hornet's nest.
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