The night was still.
The moon hung low, pale against the black sky.
The road leading to Lucian’s villa was empty — until the hum of engines began.
One after another, black vans rolled out of the shadows.
Their headlights were off.
They moved quiet and steady, like hunters closing in on prey.
In total, there were nine vehicles. Seven vans. Two cars. Each one filled with armed men dressed in black.
The leader sat in the first car. His name was Alvaro Mendez — one of Cruz’s oldest and most trusted enforcers.
He spoke into his radio. “We go silent. No mistakes. In and out. The boss wants the woman alive. Shoot anyone who gets in the way.”
“Yes, boss,” came the replies through the earpieces.
They stopped a few meters from the outer fence.
The property stretched wide, hidden by trees
