REBELS IN MY TURF
Lorenzo's POV
The basement of the warehouse is a former cathedral, It smells of damp earth, oxidized copper, and the distinct, cloying scent of human blood, disinfentant, a scent I have grown to recognize easily. I slowly slide my palm along the flat of the blade, feeling the imperfections in the steel. The glint from the overhead light is blinding, an effect that dances across the frightened eyes of the five men before me.
These aren't just any persons, these are the men I hand-picked to oversee the most important arms shipment, A full container of guns don't have legs. It is stolen. And in my world, a theft of this kind is only possible through two means: incompetence or a knife in the back.
I turn around slowly, the heels of my Italian leather boots clicking rhyth
