Finally, it started raining.
At seven in the evening.
A cigarette was lit in the rain.
The flickering light illuminated Ethan's face.
Today he wore a long coat dark enough to be pitch black, black leather gloves on his hands, and a bowler hat, a very typical Mafia ensemble.
He took a deep drag of the cigarette.
He rarely smoked, but this cigarette had more of a ritualistic meaning.
He placed the cigarette by the dock's edge, then walked into the rain.
Though the night was warm, the rain was nothing like real spring rain; the moment it fell, it was already intense.
It was the accumulated moisture of the whole winter, released from its solid form in torrents.
The loading of the ship was reaching its end. Ramon glared at the sluggish servants and couldn't help but yell fiercely, "Move faster, if you slack off any longer, you'll all stay in Wenster!"
He controlled the families of these men, all of whom were on board, so no one wanted to stay behind.
