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A rare sunny day in Mexico.
On the hill behind the National Palace, Victor was wearing a sweat-absorbing long-sleeve shirt, accompanied by Casare, with bodyguards on either side and at the front.
Jogging in the early morning.
Fat Casare took a deep breath and felt his throat like a knife scraping painfully.
His legs felt as if they were filled with iron blocks.
He was out of breath after just a couple of steps.
“I can’t, I can’t, boss, I can ...
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