Rain soaked the dockyard in sheets, glistening off the steel containers and masking the sound of Adonis De Luca's boots as he moved like a ghost through the maze of cargo. The air was thick with salt and anticipation. In the distance, voices echoed—men laughing, arguing, unaware that they were being watched.
He crouched behind a rusted crate, eyes fixed on Container #342. That was the target. The one Luca Renzetti had identified as holding not just Giorgio Giovanni's next Red Ice shipment—but a ledger detailing clients, routes, and payoff records. Proof. Names. Enough to bring the whole empire crashing down.
Adonis wiped rain from his brow and reached into his jacket, pulling out a small flashlight with a UV beam. The padlock had traces of a fingerprint—a faint smear, probably fresh. He was close. Almost too close.
FLASHBACK: Milan, 10 Years Ago.
The cell was cold and smelled of rusted iron. Adonis sat on the edge of the lower bunk, fists clenched so tight his knuckles had bled through the white gauze. He remembered the sound of the verdict—"Guilty."
He remembered the look in Don De Luca's eyes. Not regret. Not anger. Just acceptance. As if his father had always known Adonis would end up here.
"You thought you could fight us," Giorgio Giovanni had said in the courtroom, his voice slick with triumph. "You thought being noble would protect you."
In prison, Adonis learned silence. He learned patience. But the worst day came a year in, when a guard slid a newspaper under his door. On the front page: Luca Renzetti Joins Giovanni Dock Syndicate. His own friend. Bought off. Or afraid. Maybe both.
That night, Adonis carved the De Luca crest into the wall beside his bed.
Not as a tribute. But as a reminder.
PRESENT DAY.
He blinked out of the memory as a figure approached—Luca.
"It's all there," Luca whispered, glancing nervously behind him. "Crates lined in the back. And a book—small, leather-bound. Giovanni brings it himself sometimes."
Adonis grabbed his arm. "If you're setting me up—"
"I'm not. Swear on my mother. You helped me once, D. This is me returning the favor."
Footsteps. Loud, purposeful. A group of guards, flashlights scanning.
Adonis ducked low. "Go. I'll handle it from here."
Luca nodded and disappeared into the shadows.
Adonis crept to the container and slipped a lockpick into the padlock. Three clicks. It popped.
Inside, it was darker than night. His flashlight cut across stacks of medical supply boxes—each one false. Behind them, wooden crates with black markings. And there, sitting atop one: the ledger.
He reached for it just as a voice barked behind him. "Freeze."
Adonis turned slowly.
Two guards. Rifles. Trained on him.
He smirked. "You boys must be new."
He threw the flashlight. One flinched. The other stepped forward.
Too late.
Adonis surged forward, using the narrow space to his advantage. He slammed one guard into the crate, disarming him with a swift knee to the gut. The second raised his weapon—but Adonis already had the first rifle. One shot. Not to kill. Just to drop him.
He grabbed the ledger, stuffed it inside his jacket, and sprinted from the container. Sirens flared in the distance. Juliet.
She was signaling the extraction.
Adonis ran. Past crates. Past lights. Into the storm and out of the hell Giovanni had built. Not just for justice now.
For revenge. For the truth. And for Juliet.