The city was silent when Cruz’s car stopped in front of the old casino at the docks.
The building looked abandoned from the outside — no lights, no guards, no sound — but the inside told another story.
Men with guns stood by the walls. The scent of cigars and whiskey filled the air.
Cruz stepped out of the car, his coat brushing the wet pavement. His face looked calm, but his eyes burned with quiet rage.
He had not spoken since morning. Not since his men returned from the forest with the worst news possible.
Elena DeLuca had been dug out.
Alive or dead — it didn’t matter.
Someone had touched his work. Someone had made him look weak.
He walked through the main doors. The sound of the rain faded behind him. The men standing guard lowered their eyes. No one dared to speak.
At the end
