Giovane was organizing his desk when a man suddenly entered the room. But something felt off—he didn't allow the man to step further inside. The stranger said nothing, his face completely concealed beneath wraps.
The man reached into his jacket.
Startled, Giovane pulled out his gun.
Gunshots rang out—several rounds fired in rapid succession.
Giovane jolted awake.
A dream? he thought, rubbing his forehead. His desk was messy again, papers scattered across it.
What a strange dream.
As he sat up, something caught his eye—a brown envelope at the edge of the desk. He was certain it hadn't been there before he took his nap. Frowning, he reached for it.
No return address. Sealed tight.
He opened it and found photographs inside.
Flipping through them, he scanned each image closely. One photo in particular caught his attention—a man in a mask, hat, and sunglasses speaking with his cousin, Jake.
Who is this? Giovane narrowed his eyes.
He continued examining the photos, hoping for a clearer view of the mystery man's face.
In the last photo, the man was no longer wearing sunglasses. Just for a moment, his eyes were visible.
Giovane stared at them—unsettled, though not sure why. Something about those eyes…
Is this Jake's contact? Giovane wondered. His instincts told him this man was connected to the failed transactions and recent ambushes.
But who sent the envelope?
It couldn't be Charles. Charles would've waited for him to wake up before delivering anything.
Just then, his phone rang.
"Dad," Giovane said as he answered.
"Did you receive the envelope?" his father asked.
Giovane looked at the envelope again and smirked. "Yeah. I got it."
"Find out who that man is—the one Jake's talking to," his father ordered.
"I've been trying to clean up the mess with your name on the line, Dad." Giovane sighed.
"Don't worry about my reputation—my secretary will handle that. What matters is that you identify that man. My spies say he's behind the failed operations," his father said sternly.
Giovane sat quietly, absorbing the information.
"Let Charles handle it," he suggested.
"Tsk, tsk," his father scoffed. "No. You do it yourself. I don't trust Charles."
Giovane clenched his jaw. He still couldn't understand why his father hated Charles so much. But arguing was pointless.
"Yes. I'll investigate—for your peace of mind," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Good. That's what I want to hear. Now goodbye."
As the call ended, Giovane sighed again and stretched his limbs. His body was still sore from sleep.
It was already evening when he stepped outside. The warehouse was unusually quiet—for now.
He lit a cigarette and stood in the darkness, thinking through the mission.
Find the man in the photos. Find the connection. Clean up the mess.
He glanced out over the thick forest surrounding them.
If Mom hadn't discovered Dad's secret… would we have stayed together? If she had just endured him, would I still have a mother?
He shook his head. Stop thinking about that.
If they weren't weak… if they hadn't broken, we'd be here now—celebrating Dad's success instead of surviving in pieces.
His fist clenched.
He blinked, realizing the cigarette had already burned down.
Two shadows approached.
Giovane raised his phone to illuminate the figures—still haunted by the strange dream earlier.
He shook his head. I don't believe in dreams.
"Boss?" someone called.
The voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned toward the speaker and recognized the face.
"William?" he asked, unsure.
"Yeah, boss?"
Giovane shook his head. "No orders right now."
Without another word, he walked past William and the other man.
"I'll handle it tonight."
"Boss, should I bring a flashlight?"
"Yes," Giovane replied.
"Where are you headed, sir?" the man asked.
"I'm handling this myself. You all stay here," he ordered.
They obeyed.
He needed space. He needed air. His thoughts were spiraling.
With the flashlight in hand, Giovane wandered deeper into the forest.
Why am I even here? he wondered.
Suddenly—he heard it.
Footsteps. Soft. Careful.
They were getting closer.
He froze.
Then he slipped silently into the trees, hiding himself in the dense brush—waiting to see who was coming.