Marco woke up on the bed with the dull heaviness of exhaustion still pressing against his chest. His eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he noticed was that he was still in the same clothes he had worn the previous day. The stiff collar of his shirt rubbed against his neck, the fabric crumpled from sleep. He let out a slow breath, pushing himself up and sitting at the edge of the bed. The room smelled faintly of dust and mildew, but even that could not pull away the strange new calm that seemed to guide his spirit.There was something different about him this morning. His body was sore, his muscles stiff, yet inside, a flame of optimism glowed. It was quiet but steady; a feeling that whispered things could change, that there was meaning behind the humiliation, that somehow this road was leading him to something greater.He rubbed his face, ran a hand through his hair, and forced himself to his feet. The first thought that came to him was the need for a shower. The grime of yester

Marco was just sliding the jacket into the drum when the door at the far end of the laundry room banged open. The sound carried like a warning, slicing through the low hum of the machines. He straightened automatically, hands still on the wet fabric, and turned.Madam Barbara filled the doorway like a storm. Even when she did not speak, the room obeyed...machines squeaked down a tone. She crossed the floor with decisive steps that left no doubt she owned every inch of it. For a moment Marco thought her look might be mercy. He was wrong.She stopped in front of him and surveyed him like a tired inspector. Her gaze traveled from the jacket in his hands to his face, pausing at the sticky smear that lingered beside his cheek. The light caught that tacky sheen, and the corner of her mouth twitched.“How do you feel?” she asked, voice deceptively casual.“All is well,” Marco answered, keeping his voice steady. He wanted to finish what he had started and get this humiliation over with. The

Marco’s pulse was racing as he stood before the two towering men at the boutique’s entrance. His eyes flicked toward his wristwatch. Time...he did not have enough of it. Every second wasted here was cutting into what little window he had left to fix his mess. He pressed his lips together, swallowed hard, then tried to steady his voice.“I came here for shopping,” Marco said firmly, though his tone carried more urgency than confidence. “I just need to get something inside.”The two guards glanced at each other and then back at him. For a moment, they said nothing. Their eyes trailed deliberately down his outfit...ordinary clothes, nothing flashy, nothing that screamed elite. They exchanged another silent look before, without warning, both of them burst out laughing.It was not just a chuckle. It was maniacal, guttural laughter, the kind that seemed to mock the very air around Marco. His face burned with confusion as he stared at them. He felt as though he had walked into a joke he wa

Marco clung tightly to the man in front of him as the power bike cut through the city streets like a bullet. The wind roared past his ears, drowning his thoughts. His chest pressed against the man’s back, his knuckles white as he gripped tighter. He had never been on a machine like this, never flown through traffic at such a breakneck speed, and his heart hammered as if it would burst.The bike darted past honking cars, weaving through narrow gaps, leaving angry shouts and flashing headlights behind them. Ahead, traffic clogged the main road, but the rider only leaned forward and twisted the throttle harder. Marco gasped as the bike zipped past lines of vehicles, brushing so close he thought the mirrors would clip them. The man swerved, then swung into a side road.The rider finally slowed, pulling up near the street that led to the laundry shop. He steadied the bike with one boot and glanced back.“Where is it?” he asked over his shoulder.Marco pulled off the mask he had been given

Marco sat on the edge of the golden bed, his towel still clinging to his waist, while Dr. Castellano laid out his instruments on a small steel tray. The doctor’s hands trembled slightly as he aligned the acupuncture pins, the faint scent of methylated spirit rising as he poured it into a small stainless bowl.“Go ahead,” Marco said firmly, his eyes narrowing as he watched the doctor.Dr. Castellano looked up, startled. “Go ahead with what exactly?”“The acupuncture,” Marco replied. “I can’t reach my own eyes. I need you to help me.”The doctor’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Are you serious? Marco, do you even know what you’re asking? These pins...if I misplace one, you could lose your sight. Damage a nerve permanently.”Marco leaned back, his swollen cheek twitching as he gave a humorless chuckle. “I didn’t call you here to preach, doctor. You think I’d ask if I wasn’t sure? Just do it.”Dr. Castellano wiped his hands with spirit and slipped on his gloves, muttering, “Madonna mia