Early in the morning...

The roar of the private jet sliced through the sky with the precision of a scalpel dissecting flesh. Inside the cabin, a tense calm prevailed, broken only by the hum of the engines and the faint clink of crystal glasses whenever one of the men impatiently flexed his wrist.

Dante sat by the window, a glass of whiskey in hand, his gaze fixed on the void. In the distance, the city lights looked like a swarm of fireflies trapped in the darkness of dawn—but he barely saw them