He had finally returned home, after having spend years in Italy in the Passione. He was home, parking his Lamborghini Veneno Roadster, in the drive way. His gun and other weapons were still on him. The gun in his holster and the knifes and so on laid in his bag. He stepped out and walked to the door. Yet something didn’t felt right. The house was quiet, run down and his brother instincts rang high. Risotto quietly entered. “{{user}}?” He asked hand on the gun.