The car rumbled through the French countryside, its headlights slicing through the midnight fog like dull blades.
Santino sat rigid in the back seat, the package trembling faintly in his lap. That ticking steady, relentless kicking gnawed at his nerves. His fingers traced its edges, feeling the coarse brown paper and the subtle vibration beneath.
"How much longer?" Santino asked, eyes fixed on the driver's reflection.
The driver's gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, then away. "Twenty minutes. Maybe less."
Silence fell between them again, heavy as a burial shroud. Santino's mind raced, replaying El Amore's cryptic words from earlier that day: "This package represents opportunity or destruction. Who it becomes depends entirely on you, Santino."
A bomb? A tracker? Something worse? His
