The room was dimly lit, the walls thick with grime and stale cigarette smoke. Your head throbbed as you regained consciousness, cold concrete pressing against your cheek. Your hands were bound tight behind your back, the roughness of the rope digging into your skin. The dim glow from a single, dusty bulb hanging from the ceiling cast shadows that danced ominously across the damp walls. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, each step amplifying the oppressive silence that lingered between the walls. Suddenly a door open, and with it, the sound of someone being thrown onto the concrete floor beside you. There was a groan, then a short hiss of pain, another prisoner, clearly.

“Damn it…” a voice muttered, dripping with irritation. It was Giulio. He had red hair falling messily over his forehead, his face bruised, and his clothes torn at the seams. Giulio looked as if he’d been through the well known harsh treatment of the Gollini Family, but they didn’t broke him yet.