The sea wind carried the scent of salt and engine oil, slamming against Eduardo’s face as he stood at the edge of Pier Sector Seven. This was territory once ruled by Vince, Claude’s most brutal lieutenant. Now, it served as the main logistical artery of Eduardo’s empire. Massive trucks moved in and out, hauling containers filled not only with legal goods, but also ammunition and raw materials that would continue feeding his growing fortune. Beside him, Freya stood with both hands tucked into her leather jacket pockets. Her sharp eyes scanned every rooftop and every gap between the stacked containers. “You’re too exposed out here, Ed,” Freya muttered without looking at him. “One of Vladimir’s snipers could pull the trigger from a kilometer away and your brains would be decorating this asphalt.” Eduardo took a drag from his cigar, exhaling thick smoke into the humid air. “I need people here to see who their boss is now. Fear doesn’t get built from behind the glass of a c

The private elevator of Sark Tower dropped at a speed that should have turned Eduardo’s stomach, but he didn’t blink. He stared at his reflection in the cold stainless steel walls. His expensive suit was still immaculate, but beneath it, he felt like a corpse forced to stand. The sound of Emily’s laughter and the jazz music from the penthouse slowly faded, replaced by the dull, monotonous hum of the elevator. Bang! Eduardo slammed his fist into the wall. Pain shot through his knuckles, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest from Emily’s words. “A walking ATM,” Eduardo hissed. Then he laughed, a dry sound that was closer to a sob. “Incredible. I killed my humanity so she could buy silk curtains, and that’s what I am to her?” The elevator chimed at the ground floor. The doors opened onto a quiet lobby. Eduardo stepped out, ignoring the respectful greetings from two armed guards near the exit. He got into his black SUV parked in the VIP lane. “Boss? B

The world felt like it was being dragged into a narrow drain. Eduardo couldn’t feel his fingers, couldn’t feel his own heartbeat. There was only a low, humming silence. Then, slowly, the smell of aged wood and neglected library dust crept into his senses. Eduardo opened his eyes. He was no longer in the smoking ruins of the casino. He stood in an endless white room filled with piles of antiques, wall clocks ticking out of sync, and photo albums floating in the air. At the center of the room, sitting in a creaking rocking chair, was the “Grandfather.” But this time, he didn’t look eccentric like usual. No sunglasses. No cigar. He sat upright, his eyes glowing red, his aura so oppressive that Eduardo felt his chest tighten. “Are you actually stupid, or do you just not have a brain anymore, Grandson?” the Grandfather’s voice rumbled like restrained thunder. Eduardo tried to stand, but his knees buckled. “I saved my man’s life, asshole. What’s it to you?” “Your man

That morning, on the top floor of Sark Tower, the air felt colder than usual. Not because the AC was set too low, but because of an ivory-white envelope sealed with red wax, stamped with the head of a wolf, lying on Eduardo’s desk. It didn’t explode. It wasn’t poisoned. But what it contained was far deadlier than any high-caliber bullet. “He wants a meeting, Ed. Neutral ground. Restaurant ‘La Luna’ on the edge of the city,” Belerik said, pacing back and forth, his fingers tapping nonstop against his tablet. “This is a trap. I’d bet my kidney on it. A pure trap.” Eduardo stared at the envelope, eyes hollow. “Vladimir isn’t Claude, Rik. He doesn’t need cheap tricks to kill me. If he wanted me dead, he’d just send a squadron of the Praetorians to level this building.” “But ‘diplomacy’ is just mafia code for digging your grave,” Gord cut in, cleaning his shotgun in the corner. “We should hit them first, Boss. My luck’s been great lately.” “No,” Eduardo shook his head s

Rain poured over the city, masking the trail of a black SUV cutting through the central district toward Sark Tower. Inside the soundproof cabin, Eduardo sat back with his eyes closed. In his hand, he still held the wooden box Vladimir had given him. The metallic stench of blood from the dog’s head seemed to seep through the wood, filling his lungs with a very real warning of death. “Boss, are we really bringing that upstairs?” Gord asked from the driver’s seat. His eyes flicked nervously to the box through the rearview mirror. “No,” Eduardo’s voice was low, almost ghostlike. “Open the trunk when we reach the underground parking. Leave it there for now. I don’t want Chloe to see it.” “I think Vladimir’s declaring full-scale war, Ed,” Belerik added, his fingers moving quickly across his tablet. “Just got a report, two of our casinos in the west sector got hit by tax agents. Vladimir’s reach goes into the government. He’s not just playing with bullets, he’s playing the sy