Lamine found the place where the city forgot itself.
It lay far beneath abandoned rail lines and sealed flood tunnels—an old emergency bunker carved into stone decades ago, its existence erased from modern maps. No signals reached it cleanly. No cameras fed into city grids. The air itself felt dead, heavy with silence.
Here, even Luca Romano’s shadow could not reach.
Lamine stood in the center of the room, watching as his men worked carefully—not violently, not rushed. A makeup artist dabbed dark pigment along Elena’s cheekbone. Another pressed artificial blood into her hairline, smearing it just enough to look real under harsh lighting.
Elena struggled weakly against the ropes binding her wrists to the chair.
“Stop,” she cried. “Please—don’t—”
“Enough,” Lamine said sharply.
The roo
