The night was quiet.
The city lights glowed far behind the docks, where old ships rested like ghosts.
Lucian stood near one of the containers, his coat moving in the wind. Marco and two men, Dario and Vince, waited beside him.
“This feels wrong,” Marco said, his eyes scanning the shadows. “Too open.”
Lucian’s eyes stayed fixed on the far end of the yard. “He chose this place for a reason.”
Vince checked his gun. “You sure he’ll come?”
“He will,” Lucian said. “Lorenzo doesn’t run from his own chaos.”
Headlights flashed in the distance.
A black car rolled slowly toward them and stopped.
Four men stepped out first, weapons at their sides. Then Lorenzo came out — calm, dressed in black, a cigarette between his fingers.
Marco muttered, “Here we go.”
Lucian took a step forward. “Stay
