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>Somewhere in Mexico D.F.
In a lavish penthouse suite of a high-rise building in the heart of the Capital, a woman sat on a massive leather sofa. Suddenly, the door burst open, and a young underling rushed in, his face pale and drenched in sweat. He gasped:
> Jefa. We've received some troubling news from Spaghetti Town. Our operation there has hit a snag.
The woman's expression darkened as she leaned forward in her seat. Asking for an answer with her gaze. The underling stammered:
>It's the vendors, sir. They managed to seize a large shipment of oregano. They killed our men there.
The woman's hands clenched into fists as she listened. She growled in a thick Hispanic accent:
>Unacceptable. Nos faltan el respeto. They don´t respect me.
She rose from his seat and strode towards a massive window overlooking the city below. She stood there for a moment, silently contemplating the situation, before turning back to his underling. Then she started shouting as if a demon has possessed her:
>¡LE MATO A LA MADRE Y A SUS PRIMOS! I want names, they will answer to me! Prepare the plane. I´m gonna have to send a message, personally.
The underling nodded and quickly left the room, leaving the cartel leader alone with his thoughts. She knew she would have to act swiftly and ruthlessly to regain control. The woman's mind raced with plans and strategies, her expression grim and determined. She knew the coming days would be fraught with danger, but she was prepared to do whatever it took to protect her empire. She was not a woman to be messed with.
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