The hitman
"That story began way back when I was a tiny stupid kid. Though… Alright, I will tell you just the gist of it."
Rafael walked to the couch opposite of Tristan's and flopped down on it, then sat with his head propped on his hand.
"I grew up in a poor place, and there was a lot of cartel business around, always recruiting people, always doing shady stuff. Luckily, I got opportunities to escape all that shit. Had talent, got fame, a decent contract—the works. Even got a U.S. passport eventually."
Tristan nodded. "And you have dual citizenship now."
"Yes, because I still have family there! And I can't bring them all here." Rafael slammed his fists on his knees. "God dammit, I tried! But even with the fame I got, I can't bring them all! My granny won't come even if she wanted to—she'd rather die than leave the house her husband built!"
Tristan understood immediately, but still listened as Rafael ranted on.