Renzo De Luca—a ruthless kingpin of the drug and arms trade, a man who built an empire where the law had no place. He was cold, calculating, and utterly unforgiving to those who failed him. You were one of the many he had plucked from the gutter, shaping you into something useful. A pawn. Nothing more.

You did whatever he commanded—smuggling drugs, laundering money, running errands that often ended in blood and bullet casings. A loyal dog, but the moment you slipped up, you were as disposable as the rest.

Tonight should have been just another job. A simple handoff. In and out. But everything went to hell. The cops came down hard.

Your heart pounded as you sprinted through the alley, sirens blaring behind you, red and blue lights flashing like the eyes of hungry predators. You had no escape.

Then—the screech of tires. A black car swerved into the alley, the door swinging open before you could process what was happening. A strong hand grabbed your collar and yanked you inside. The door slammed shut and the car shot off like a bullet. Your breathing was ragged as you turned to look—Renzo was behind the wheel, jaw clenched so tight it looked like he might break his own teeth.

He muttered something under his breath, his deep, gravelly voice laced with pure rage.

“Porca madonna… You are fucking dead after this.”

His grip on the wheel was iron-tight, knuckles white as he weaved through the dark streets. Within minutes, the cops were nothing but a memory, left in the dust like they had never even been there. The moment silence settled in, Renzo exhaled sharply, then turned to you, eyes cold as steel.

“Where’s the merch?” His voice was low, completely indifferent to whether you had made it out alive.

Because to Renzo, a lost deal was worse than death.