The days leading up to the meeting were filled with an unease that gnawed at Pedro Avilés Páez, **El León de la Sierra**. The winds in the Golden Triangle had carried whispers that reached his ears, but he could not decipher them. The vast land between Sinaloa, Chihuahua, and Durango had been the heart of his operations, the base where he and his men had fought for dominance. But now, something felt wrong. He couldn't shake the growing tension that seemed to hang in the air.
The most unsettling change came from his closest lieutenant—**Ernesto Fonseca Carrillo**. For years, Fonseca had been his right hand, loyal and trusted. But recently, something had shifted. Pedro had noticed the distance growing between them, the slight coldness in Fonseca's words, the way he avoided making eye contact. It wasn't just the stress of the upcoming negotiation. **Fonseca was hiding something.**
One evening, Pedro found him sitting alone by the campfire, his gaze lost in the flames. There was an unusual stillness to him, and Pedro couldn't ignore the nagging suspicion growing in his gut.
"**Ernesto,**" Pedro called out as he approached, his voice low, yet filled with authority. "**I need to know what's going on. You're not the same.**"
Fonseca didn't respond immediately, only flicking his eyes up briefly, the firelight dancing across his face. There was something unsettling in the way his lips curled into a forced smile. He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.
"**Nothing's going on, Pedro.**" Fonseca's tone was casual, but Pedro could tell it was too rehearsed.
Pedro narrowed his gaze, moving closer to the fire, his face hardening. "**I know you, Ernesto. I've seen that look before. Something's changed.**"
Fonseca shifted uneasily, avoiding his gaze. Finally, after a long silence, he spoke.
"**You don't understand, Pedro. Things have changed.**" His voice was quieter now, tinged with something Pedro hadn't heard before—**doubt**. "**There are forces at play, people we can't fight anymore. You've been pushing too hard for too long. The government... they're ready to deal, and the rest of us… well, we're just pawns in this game.**"
Pedro took a step back, trying to process Fonseca's words. "**What are you saying, Ernesto?**" His heart raced, suddenly aware that something dark was coming.
Fonseca let out a long breath, his eyes finally meeting Pedro's. "**I'm saying you've been blind, Pedro. The game has changed, and you're still playing by the old rules.**" He paused, looking around as if he were afraid someone might overhear. "**You've got too many enemies. You can't keep pushing. You can't keep leading the way you have. You have to let go, or we'll all burn.**"
Pedro shook his head, disbelief washing over him. "**Are you trying to tell me that after everything we've built, you want to give up now? We're on the brink of something big. The government is weak. This meeting could change everything.**" He clenched his fists, anger rising. "**This is my empire, Ernesto. My vision.**"
Fonseca's expression hardened, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. He didn't respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between them. Finally, his voice broke through, more composed. "**Sometimes the only way forward is to step aside, Pedro. You'll see that when it's too late.**"
Pedro stood there for a moment, his mind racing, trying to make sense of the cryptic warning. But before he could say anything more, Fonseca stood and walked away without another word. Pedro watched him disappear into the shadows, the words still hanging in the air.
---
The day of the meeting arrived, and Pedro was more determined than ever to see it through. He could feel the weight of his choices pressing down on him, but he wasn't one to back down. He had come too far.
"**Pedro, please.**" El Gitano's voice rang out from behind him as they prepared to leave camp. He had a worried look on his face, his usually steady demeanor faltering. "**This isn't right. I can feel it.**"
Pedro shot him a hard look, his jaw set. "**We've fought for this day. We've made it this far. We're not turning back now.**"
El Culichi, standing beside El Gitano, spoke up. "**Fonseca's not with us, Pedro. I've been watching him closely. Something's not right.**" His voice was low, tinged with concern. "**We don't trust him anymore.**"
Pedro waved them off, his expression hardening. "**Fonseca's fine. I've got it under control. We have to keep moving. This meeting could change everything for us.**"
But deep down, Pedro couldn't help but wonder if they were right. Still, he pushed those thoughts aside, determined to make it work.
---
The meeting was supposed to be held in a remote location, deep in the heart of the Golden Triangle. Pedro arrived early, his men standing watch as he made his way toward the empty clearing. The tables were set up, the chairs arranged in an orderly fashion, but there was no one in sight. A heavy silence hung in the air.
Pedro's stomach twisted with unease, but he shook it off. **It's just nerves,** he told himself. **This is going to work.**
He waited for a long while, scanning the area. The sun was beginning to set, and still, there was no sign of the government officials who were supposed to meet him. That's when it happened. The unmistakable sound of helicopter rotors filled the air, slowly growing louder.
Pedro looked up, squinting against the bright sky, and saw them—**military helicopters, descending swiftly from above.** His heart skipped a beat. Something wasn't right.
"**They're here,**" Pedro muttered under his breath, but his voice trembled slightly. He instinctively reached for his gun. **Something's wrong. Something's terribly wrong.**
As the helicopters landed, the soldiers spilled out, their movements swift and practiced. Pedro's men scrambled to defend him, but they were outmatched, outgunned. Soldiers surrounded him in seconds, weapons drawn.
A voice crackled through Pedro's earpiece—**a voice he never expected to hear.**
"**El León de la Sierra... it's time to end this.**"
Pedro's eyes widened in horror as the cold realization hit him—**Fonseca.**
Before he could react, the gunfire erupted. Bullets whizzed past him, tearing through the air. Pedro tried to duck, to find cover, but it was no use. The soldiers fired relentlessly, and before he could even raise his weapon, he felt the searing pain as bullets ripped into his body. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the dirt, the world spinning around him.
With his last breath, Pedro saw Fonseca standing at the edge of the clearing, a cold expression on his face. There was no remorse. Just a man taking what he believed was his.
The White Knights were no more. Pedro was gone. And Fonseca, now the new leader, stepped forward to claim what he had long wanted.
---