The scent of gunpowder didn't just linger in the air; it coated the back of my throat like a layer of toxic dust. It was bitter, metallic, and tasted like the end of the world. My ears were still ringing from the chaotic entry, the sound of boots on concrete echoing like thunder in the cavernous warehouse. Silvio Valenti was on the ground, a man who had once been the architect of Luciano’s life, now reduced to a trembling mess pressed into the grease-stained floor.
Luciano’s men moved through the shadows with the silent, terrifying grace of ghosts. Their silencers made soft thwip sounds as they neutralized the last of Silvio’s resistance.
Luciano stood over his uncle. He didn't look like the man who had whispered possessive promises into my skin a few hours ago. He looked like a god of r
