I always thought the line between right and wrong was clear. Turns out, it’s not a line at all. It’s a fog. A thick, shifting fog where good intentions can still get people killed. And right now, I was walking straight into it. I sat in the passenger seat of Raffaele’s black SUV as he drove us through the industrial district—abandoned warehouses, graffiti-covered train cars, broken glass glittering on sidewalks like spilled secrets. “This informant of yours,” I said, breaking the silence. “Is he reliable?” Raffaele didn’t take his eyes off the road. “He’s alive. In my world, that’s as reliable as it gets.” “Reassuring.” He smirked, and I hated that I wanted to smile too. The GPS led us to an old boxing gym. The windows were boarded up, but the lights inside glowed faintly. It looked forgotten. Except the three men at the entrance holding their jackets a
Last Updated : 2025-07-15
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