The afternoon sun streamed through the gaps in the apartment's thin curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The apartment was silent. Sofia was at school, and Marco hadn't returned from his new "office" (Vinnie's old warehouse, which was currently being renovated into a fortress).Maria Rossi was kneeling on the bedroom floor.Before her, a black duffel bag lay open. The bag Marco had hidden behind the dresser, beneath a pile of musty, old blankets.Maria had stumbled upon it while tidying up the winter clothes. At first, she thought it was a weapon. Her heart nearly stopped. But when she opened the zipper...It wasn't cold steel she found.But paper. Thousands of sheets of dull green paper.Money.Stacks of $50 and $100 bills, bound with rubber bands. The smell was distinct—a mix of ink, sweat, and... a faint, metallic scent of blood.Maria didn't scream. She didn't call the police. She didn't even feel the fear she had felt the night Silas came.Instead, her breath qui

Rain poured down on Chinatown with an intensity that seemed to want to drown out every sin in New York.A black van with a dented rear door sped through the streets, smashed into a trash can, and screeched to a sudden halt in front of a shophouse bearing the sign "Dr. Li's Acupuncture & Veterinary Clinic.""Open up! Open the door, Mad Doctor!" Julian banged on the steel rolling shutter with the handle of his gun. "We need a workshop!"The iron door lifted slowly with a painful creak. An old man with narrow eyes, thick glasses, and a clove cigarette hanging from his lips appeared. He was wearing a doctor's coat that was no longer white."Quiet, you bastards," Dr. Li swore in a mix of Mandarin and rough English. "If this is about a dog choking on a bone again, I will—"His words cut off when he saw Julian and Marco supporting—or rather, dragging—Bruno's giant body inside. Blood dripped from their clothes, creating a red trail on the clinic floor that smelled of antiseptic and incense."

Money smells. Not a poetic metaphor about sin or crime, but literally, it smells. Inside the newly renovated Black Dragon warehouse, piles of small and large dollar bills were stacked like mountains on an old ping-pong table. The money was damp, moldy, smelling fishy of blood, thug sweat, and leftover cocaine. "Damn, is this money or garbage?" complained Julian. The "Joker" was standing in front of an ironing board, holding a hot steam iron. His right hand held a wet $100 bill, his left hand ironed it. PFFT... PFFT... Steam billowed. The bill became dry and stiff. "What the hell are you doing, Idiot?" asked Marco, who had just entered the room. He had just finished his morning sparring session with Bruno (which ended with Bruno being thrown into a wall). "Laundering money, Boss! Liter

"LET GO! GET OFF ME, BITCH! I'M YOUR BOSS'S BROTHER!"The scream echoed in the corridor of the Black Dragon warehouse, bouncing off the cold brick walls. The voice was shrill, panicked, and miserable.The door to the main office opened wide.Bruno Ferro entered with heavy steps. His right hand, which was as big as a tree trunk, grabbed the back collar of a thin young man's denim jacket. Bruno dragged him as if the young man was just an empty sack of rubbish."Come in," growled Bruno.With one strong tug, Bruno threw the young man into the middle of the room.BRUD!Luca Rossi fell to the ground on the carpet. He coughed, crawling backwards in panic until his back hit Marco's desk."Sis! Sis Marco!" Luca looked up, his eyes wildly searching for protection, "Tell this gorilla who I am! He dragged me from the pool hall! I can sue him!"In that room, the atmosphere was tense.Marco sat at the end of the long table, not moving. To his right, Isabella stood hugging the report file with a pal

"I don't agree. This is boring."Julian "Joker" Thorne put his feet on the glass conference table in Isabella's office. He rolled his eyes lazily."We have a C4. We have an ex-Soviet rocket launcher that just arrived yesterday. And your plan is to... send a letter?" Julian protested.At the end of the table, Isabella Moretti stood in front of the projector screen. He wore a sharp cream work suit, glasses framing his intelligent face. She stared at Julian like she was looking at the fungus between her toes."This isn't a love letter, Clown," Isabella said coldly, tapping the screen with a laser pen. "This is a subpoena. And we're not going to blow up Midtown. That's an elite district. If there's one explosion there, the Mayor will bring down the National Guard. We want to take over business, not start a world war."Marco sat in the main chair, listening in silence. His eyes traced the image of the building on the screen: "L'Eclat Club".The most exclusive nightclub in Midtown. A place