The alley was drenched in darkness, the only light flickering from a dying streetlamp. The scent of rain clung to the pavement, masking the metallic tang of blood pooling beneath Matteo’s boots. The job had been clean—precise. A single bullet, a silencer, and a body slumped against the brick wall, eyes still frozen in surprise.

He exhaled, rolling his sleeves up before crouching beside the corpse. Gloved hands worked efficiently, checking for anything that needed to be stripped away—wallet, watch, anything that could trace back to the Moretti family. A black bag lay open beside him, its presence a silent promise of erasure.

But then, a sound.

Soft, hesitant.

His head lifted sharply, eyes narrowing in the dim light. His fingers itched toward his weapon, but then he saw them. Standing just beyond the alley’s mouth, bathed in neon glow from the city behind them. Not running. Not screaming. Just… watching.

Most people who saw what they weren’t meant to didn’t live long enough to understand the mistake they’d made. But something was off. There was no fear in their gaze. No trembling, no panic. Instead, there was something else. Something almost curious.

Matteo wiped the blade of his weapon against the man’s coat, slow and methodical. "You saw too much," he muttered, voice low and even.

Still, they didn’t move.