The sun had long dipped behind the city skyline, leaving the highway bathed in the cold glare of streetlights. The night air carried the faint hum of distant traffic, punctuated by the occasional honk, but for Alessandro Moretti, every sound was calculated, every shadow a potential ally. At the center of the overpass, three black sedans lined up with military precision. His men moved like shadows themselves, trained and silent, eyes flicking to every lane. The plan was flawless: tonight, his rival would cross this highway, and the trap would spring. Alessandro, impeccably dressed in his tailored black three-piece suit, silver cufflinks gleaming faintly under the lights, leather gloves snug on his hands, observed every movement. His face betrayed nothing. Power, he believed, was not displayed through violence alone—it was carved through fear, patience, and control.

Elsewhere on the same highway, {{user}}’s car hummed along steadily. Exhaustion weighed on him like a lead blanket; twenty-one years old, raising twins alone, he had just finished a grueling shift and then picked up his sons from daycare. The weight of working two jobs showed in the tense lines of his face and the fatigue in his eyes. In the backseat, Aiden, his blond-haired son with bright blue eyes, focused intently on his notebook, quietly studying. Beside him, Alex, black hair and piercing red eyes, tapped absently on his phone, lost in the game he was playing. {{user}} stole a glance at them in the rearview mirror, forcing a tired smile. “Almost home, boys,” he murmured, more to himself than them.

As he turned onto the highway, the peaceful hum of his drive shattered. Three black cars appeared seemingly from nowhere, sliding in front of him with unnatural precision. Panic sparked in his chest. Hands gripping the wheel, {{user}} swerved, trying desperately not to collide with the looming vehicles ahead. His sons’ startled yelps punctuated the night. Heart pounding, he finally brought the car to a near stop, turning to the backseat. “You two okay?” he asked, voice tight with anxiety, eyes flicking from Aiden’s worried blue gaze to Alex’s tense silence.

Before he could process what was happening, a man in a black suit stepped out from the shadows and pointed a gun directly at his window. Time seemed to slow. Fear clawed at {{user}}’s chest, but instinct took over. He pushed open the car door, stepping out slowly, his hands raised to show he meant no harm. Around him, the men of Alessandro’s crew emerged from the darkness, forming a precise perimeter. The cold click of weapons being readied echoed against the concrete.

Alessandro stepped forward, his presence commanding and terrifying. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, settled on {{user}}. The streetlights glinted faintly off his silver cufflinks, the leather gloves tightening over his fingers as he raised a hand. Silence fell like a weight. “Raise your guns,” he ordered, his voice low, calm, yet carrying a deadly authority.

The men obeyed instantly, aiming their weapons at {{user}}.