Gearbound: Cyberpunk 2077
Chapter 305

Chapter 305 

2-IN-1 chapter

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*Night City, Konpeki Plaza—Luxury Suite*

Dante González didn’t own property in Night City. During his stay here, he had been living in a luxury suite at Konpeki Plaza.

Although Konpeki Plaza was a top-tier hotel with sky-high rates, Dante had no trouble affording it.

Soft golden lighting and a black, minimalist interior created a muted yet opulent atmosphere. Gentle light from the chandelier above fell onto Dante’s anxious face.

From the television, he had already learned about the terrorist attack at San Diego Airport.

He didn’t need to guess—he was certain it was the Salamanca Cartel’s handiwork.

If not for this incident, his son would likely already be here with him.

But because the Salamanca Cartel had sent hitmen to launch a terrorist attack at the San Diego Airport, the entire facility had shut down.

Now, he had no idea what was happening over there.

He was extremely worried about his son's safety and wanted to call Leo to ask for an update.

But every time the thought came to him, he didn’t dare to go through with it.

Once, when he finally mustered the courage to dial, he ended the call before it even rang.

In movies, there were always scenes where the protagonists, while successfully hiding from enemies, would be betrayed by a sudden phone ring—and someone would die as a result.

Dante didn’t want that to happen in real life. Especially not because of his own call.

So even though his worry for his son had reached a breaking point, Dante could only keep waiting.

Ever since he saw the breaking news report from San Diego, Dante had locked himself in his room. Aside from eating and sleeping on schedule, he hadn’t stepped out once.

Time passed—who knew how long—until finally…

Beep beep beep—

Dante nearly jumped. On the caller ID, the name displayed was Leo.

He hurried to pick up. “Director Leo, how are you all? How’s my son? Is he alright?”

(See note)

“We’re all fine. José is safe. You don’t have to worry.”

“That’s good.” Hearing Leo’s calm voice—one that didn’t sound like someone under duress—Dante finally felt his heart settle.

Only then did he slowly ask another question. “Director Leo, I saw the news report about the terrorist attack at San Diego airport. That… that wasn’t…”

He still held onto a glimmer of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t connected to the Salamanca Cartel.

Maybe it was a coincidence?

After all, only novels cared about logic—reality didn’t follow such rules.

Dante clung to that desperate hope.

But Leo’s next words shattered it completely.

“Yes. You guessed right. That terrorist attack was orchestrated by the Salamanca Cartel. They wanted to stop us from boarding the flight back to Night City, so they staged the whole thing.”

For a moment, Dante felt a chill overtake his body, as if even his blood had frozen.

Had he not been sitting in a chair, he might have collapsed on the spot.

“They’re insane! Don’t they understand the consequences? That’s San Diego—California’s San Diego—not Tijuana!!!”

Leo didn’t respond. He waited for Dante to calm down.

Realizing that shouting wouldn’t change anything, Dante ran a rough, calloused hand down his face.

“Director Leo, where are you now?”

“I can’t tell you. Our call might be tapped.”

“Of course, of course. Then… roughly when do you think you can return to Night City? Are you going to fly back from another city, or…”

Leo suddenly changed the topic.

“Mr. González, do you realize how much Hector Salamanca hates you?”

Dante didn’t understand why Leo brought that up out of nowhere, but it was true, so he answered honestly.

“Yes. I know.”

Leo shook his head. This was a video call, so Dante could see the gesture.

“No, you don’t. If you did, your tone wouldn’t be this calm.”

“After José was rescued, Hector had the Tijuana police force—already corrupted by him—shut down the airport. Then he sent people into San Diego, risking retaliation from the Western States, all to keep your son from getting away.”

“Clearly, to Hector Salamanca, your son’s life is worth throwing the entire cartel into chaos.”

Dante fell silent, anxiously rubbing the ring on his other hand with his fingers.

“Director Leo… is this a request for more money? I understand. I fully understand. I can give you three million more. If that’s not enough, I can keep adding.”

Of course, three million wasn’t “enough.” No one ever thought they had too much money.

Even if it was just a number on a screen, more was always better.

But Leo didn’t agree. Instead, with a righteous tone, he said:

“Mr. González, you misunderstand me. I’m not calling to ask for money. I’m proposing we work together again.”

Asking for money sounded crass.

And raising prices on the spot only bred resentment. Leo wasn’t stupid enough to make that mistake.

Helping someone and leaving them bitter afterward? That was something only an idiot would do.

Leo wanted something else: to take the money—and have Dante González thank him for it.

“Even I can see that Hector’s completely unhinged now. To keep your son from escaping, he’s capable of anything. Even if we bring José back to Night City, Hector won’t stop.”

“Then… what are you suggesting?”

“Mr. González, you don’t want to wake up one morning in a strange place, do you? You don’t want to start every day wondering if you’ve survived another night, right? You don’t want your tire company’s branches to be blown up one by one, do you?”

Dante went silent again.

If Leo had been speaking to anyone else, these warnings might have been dismissed as paranoia.

But Hector wasn’t just anyone.

Hector Salamanca was a vicious man. He didn’t operate by logic, let alone conscience.

Calling him selfish wasn’t accurate—he was more like a Tijuana version of Idi Amin, Bokassa, or King Leopold II.

Hector was absolutely the kind of person who would send killers to Night City for revenge.

Just look at the airport attack in San Diego.

Truthfully, even before Leo mentioned it, Dante hadn’t felt safe.

His plan had been: once his son returned, to liquidate the company as quickly as possible and relocate to Asia with José.

Taiwan or Japan—both had the world’s strictest gun laws and safest public security. Both were hostile to mercenaries.

They’d be safe there.

But Dante’s eyes lit up, because if Leo was bringing this up, it meant Leo had a solution.

“Director Leo… are you saying…”

“If you want peace, hiding won’t cut it. There’s only one solution: kill Hector.”

“Kill Hector?” Dante had expected Leo to have a plan—but not one so bold.

This was Hector Salamanca.

If he were that easy to kill, someone would have done it already.

From Dante’s voice, Leo could tell there was doubt. But that was normal—Leo and Dante weren’t close, and Hector’s reputation was infamous.

Leo didn’t get angry. He just said calmly, “I already have a plan. I guarantee Hector will die.”

After Leo repeated his assurance, Dante realized how out of line he had just been.

Although he didn’t know Leo well, Leo had come recommended by Jackie—and Jackie was Padre’s successor. Dante and Padre had a long-standing relationship.

The fact that Leo and his team had escorted his son this far without serious harm, even through life-threatening danger, was enough to prove their competence.

Dante quickly and sincerely apologized. Then he said, “Mr. Leo, is there anything you need me to do?”

“Mr. González doesn’t need to do anything. Just...”

“Just?” Dante paused, then realized on his own without needing Leo to elaborate. “I understand. I’ll leave it in your hands, then. As for the payment—I’m willing to add another ten million euro.”

Leo smiled faintly. “Mr. González, please remain in Night City and wait for our good news.”

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“Ten million?” V raised an eyebrow. “These rich people really do know how to spend.”

V had been listening in through the comms channel, so she’d heard the entire phone conversation between Leo and Dante.

Leo chuckled.

“Give to gain. You only get something if you’re willing to let go of something. Ten million might seem like a huge amount to us, but don’t forget—he’s a businessman. That kind of money isn’t much to someone like him.”

He paused, then added, “Alright, maybe it does sting a little, but in the end, this is just disaster prevention spending. If we really do take down Hector Salamanca, that ten million will be money well spent.”

V nodded, then started counting on her fingers.

“Hector’s head is worth ten million. Add in the eight million for José—that’s eighteen million total. When we get back to Night City, that’ll be waiting for us. Split three ways, that’s almost six million each, right?”

Leo shook his head. “Not three—we’re four. Even if Jackie’s not here right now, we’re not forgetting his share.”

V immediately puffed her cheeks, annoyed.

She rarely acted like this—instead of her usual cool-headed, sharp-edged demeanor, the sudden shift to something more playful made her unexpectedly cute.

“Of course I counted him. Jackie gets a cut of the rescue money—that eight million gets split four ways. His share is two million.”

“As for the ten million from Hector, that’s just the three of us. Three people split ten million—that’s 3.33 million each. Add the two million from the other pot, and boom—almost six million. Where’s the math error?”

Leo was stunned.

Genuinely stunned.

He hadn’t expected V to calculate everything so—

So precisely.

She didn’t sound like someone who’d grown up on the street. Put her in a well-tailored business suit, and she’d pass for a top-tier corporate executive.

Leo rubbed his chin. “Weren’t we just going to divide the 18 million evenly?”

V glanced at him, seeming to understand what he was thinking, and softened her voice.

“If it were before, I’d agree with you completely. But don’t forget, Leo, you’re no longer just a mercenary—you’re the head of Dawn PMC now.”

“I know your bond with Jackie is different, but when it comes to money, it’s better to keep things clear. Even blood brothers settle accounts.”

Leo understood what she meant.

He didn’t resent it—in fact, he smiled.

“V, I’m starting to think maybe you’re better suited to be the one running this outfit.”

“No, you’re just someone who considers the people around you. That’s one of the things I like about you.”

She glanced at Lucy inside the car, making sure she wasn’t looking their way, then quickly leaned in and kissed Leo on the cheek.

Before Leo could react, she pulled back with a soft laugh.

“Think of that as encouragement.”

Knock, knock, knock—

Someone tapped on the window. It was Lucy, signaling that the job was done.

The two didn’t linger any longer. They opened the door and got back into the vehicle.

Leo immediately glanced at the thug in the backseat.

The guy’s head had slumped sideways—clearly, he was dead.

There was a faint scorched smell lingering in the air.

Before Leo could say anything, Lucy said coldly, “He’s useless now. So I fried his neural link—to avoid complications. We’ll find a river later and dump the body.”

Neither Leo nor V had any objections.

These punks didn’t deserve sympathy. If Leo’s crew hadn’t been the ones they followed, but real tourists, those travelers would be dead and robbed by now.

People worthy of sympathy wouldn’t be working for the Salamanca Cartel.

Leo asked the most important question directly: “Did you find anything?”

“María was right,” Lucy said. “She really did tell Hector that José was the one who killed his son. In fact, that information isn’t even a secret in the Salamanca Cartel anymore. Everyone knows. Hector went mad over it.”

Madmen weren’t scary.

What was scary was a madman in power.

“This trip was worth it then,” Leo said. “If we don’t kill Hector, the only outcome for us is a war to the death.”

He thought back to the suicide attackers Hector had sent in San Diego.

And those were just a few—there were who knew how many more cannon-fodder recruits like them just in Tijuana, let alone all of Mexico.

People crushed by debt were like those hanging off a cliff—give them a hand, and they’d do anything for you.

Even if that meant dying.

These people weren’t exactly like the old-school death squads raised since childhood, but they had one thing in abundance: numbers.

And when they died, nobody cared.

No regrets. No backlash.

Unlike those cinematic betrayals, where a weaponized child soldier grows a conscience and turns on their master—slaughtering the entire household in poetic revenge.

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(Note: I have a question for you all. Should we use President or Director for Leo's title? Personally, I like the "Director" title. Tell me what you all think.)

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