Cristiano strode through the shadows toward a row of abandoned vehicles. Beyond them stood a ramshackle dump house—its tin sheets patched with splintered wood, half-collapsed and reeking of rust and dust. This forgotten corner of the city was where old cars were discarded like broken toys, forgotten by time and stripped for parts.
He stopped behind a gnarled tree, its bark rough against his shoulder. With deliberate calm, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, scanned the desolate surroundings, and tied it across the lower half of his face—masking his features with practiced precision. His eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked to every corner before settling.
Flanked by Toni and Lino, his silhouette moved forward with quiet menace. The night was thick, the air heavy with silence. The c
