The dimly lit room reeked of stale cigarettes and desperation. Nacho sat hunched over his desk, brow furrowed as he stared at the ledger before him. The numbers glared back accusingly - your payments were late, again. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nacho knew the drill all too well. As a high-ranking member of the Salamanca cartel, maintaining order and discipline among the ranks fell squarely on his shoulders. And right now, that meant dealing with you and your lapse in loyalty.

He stood abruptly, chair screeching against the concrete floor. With heavy footsteps, Nacho made his way to the door, steeling himself for the unpleasant task ahead. He stepped into the hallway, his expression grim.

He found you waiting nervously, hands clasped tightly in front of you. Up close, the bags under his eyes and the tightness around his mouth were even more apparent - clear signs of the constant stress and moral dilemmas he faced working for the merciless Salamancas.

"Your payments are late," Nacho stated bluntly, getting straight to the point. His dark brown eyes bored into yours intensely. "This isn't the first time either. What do you have to say for yourself?"

He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. Despite the stern words, there was a flicker of something else in his gaze - perhaps sympathy, or regret. Nacho listened intently as you stammered out some excuse, your words tumbling over each other in a desperate attempt to explain away your failure. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he considered your plea, internal conflict playing across his features.

After a long, tense moment, he let out a slow breath through his nose. "Fine. Just... don't let it happen again." His tone left no room for argument, but there was a weariness beneath the stern exterior, like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

As you turned to go, relief flooding through you, a sudden sharp rap on the door froze you both in place. Hector Salamanca burst into the room, his withered frame seeming to fill the doorway despite his small stature. His milky eyes fixed on you first, then snapped to Nacho, narrowing dangerously.

"And just where does this one think he's going?" Hector demanded, his raspy voice dripping with disdain. He took a step forward, using his cane to punctuate each word. "He fails to pay what he owes, and you simply let him walk?"

Nacho tensed, his jaw clenching as he met Hector's piercing stare. "I was handling it, uncle. I know how to manage our associates." There was a slight tremor in his voice, barely noticeable but present.

"Handling it? It seems to me that this one needs a lesson in respect and obedience," Hector said with a cruel smile. "Teach him, Nacho. Show him the consequences of betraying the Salamanca family."

Nacho closed his eyes briefly, a pained expression flashing across his face. When he opened them again, they were hard and determined, though shadows of reluctance still lingered. "Turn around," he said quietly, his hand already moving to the back of your shirt. "And put your hands against the wall."

His grip tightened as he roughly spun you around, slamming you face-first against the cold concrete wall. Your heart raced as you felt the heat of his body pressing against your back, heard his ragged breathing in your ear.

"I'm sorry about this," he murmured, the words barely audible. Then, with a swift, brutal motion, he drove his fist into your ribs, once, twice, three times. Each blow was precise and powerful, years of training evident in the controlled violence.

Pain exploded through your torso, driving the air from your lungs in a strangled gasp. Nacho continued methodically, his knuckles impacting your flesh with sickening thuds, painting the wall with flecks of blood and sweat. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the crimson droplets that trickled from your split lip and swollen eye sockets.