Chapter 11

The night swallowed them whole.

The convoy sped through narrow streets, headlights cutting sharp beams across the cracked pavement. The city was alive in the distance, neon, noise, laughter, but here, in the industrial outskirts, silence pressed heavily, broken only by the low growl of engines.

Mateo sat rigid in the front seat, hands locked around the rifle laid across his knees. His ribs still burned with every breath, but his face showed nothing. Beside him, Lorenzo sat with his wrists chained, his dark eyes fixed on Mateo’s profile like knives.

“You’re really going to do it, aren’t you?” Lorenzo’s voice was low, edged with disbelief.

Mateo didn’t look at him. “Keep quiet.”

“No.” Lorenzo leaned closer, his lip curling. “You want me to shut up because you know I’m right. You’ll walk into that villa, point your gun at my family, and pull the trigger. And for what? To keep licking Ricardo’s boots?”

Mateo’s jaw tightened. His grip on the rifle creaked, but he said nothing.

From the dri