Lorenzo drove alone, the engine of his car roaring like a beast unleashed. The city blurred past him, its neon lights streaking like fireflies in the dark, their glow reflecting off the wet pavement. Rain hammered against the windshield, the wipers struggling to keep up as the storm outside mirrored the tempest within him. His grip on the steering wheel was iron, his knuckles white, his pulse a war drum pounding in his ears. Every second felt like an eternity, every mile a battle against time itself.
Marco’s hideout wasn’t hard to find.
Of course, it wasn’t.
Marco *wanted* him to come.
And Lorenzo would.
By the time he reached the compound, the timer on his phone showed less than ten minutes remaining. The hideout was a sprawling, decrepit warehouse on the outskirts of the c
