The Mediterranean water beneath the Amalfi cliffs felt like a thousand icy needles piercing the skin, but for Mateo Rossi, this biting cold was the only thing keeping his mind sane. Ten meters down, the darkness was his closest ally.
He swam with efficient strokes, propelled by a Diver Propulsion Vehicle that glided silently between razor-sharp coral. His black wetsuit clung to him like a second skin, concealing the wounds that still throbbed beneath the layers of neoprene.
High above, Villa del Peccato stood arrogantly, radiating a golden glow that defied the night sky. Mateo could hear the echo of classical music filtering through the water, a nauseating harmony for a celebration built upon a mountain of corpses.
Mateo glanced at the dive watch on his wrist. Three... two... one.
BOO
