Chapter 8

Two days.

The city didn’t stop moving for him. The streets still buzzed with scooters, vendors still shouted about fresh bread and fish, and church bells still rang at noon. But for Mateo, every second ticked like a countdown.

Ricardo’s deadline.

Kill Lorenzo, or prove himself useless.

The weight of that choice sat heavily in his chest as he walked through the narrow alleys toward the warehouse on Via Ferrante. The place Ricardo used for his “tests.” The place where loyalty was measured in blood.

Mateo’s boots crunched over gravel. His coat was heavy, his knife hidden at his belt, his gun tucked at the back of his jeans. He knew tonight would decide his life.

Inside the warehouse, men were already waiting. Ricardo sat on a wooden chair like a king on a throne, cigar smoke swirling around him. His dark eyes cut straight to Mateo the second he walked in.

“You’re late,” Ricardo said, voice low but sharp.

Mateo bowed his head slightly. “Traffic.”

Ricardo’s lips twitched into something clo