The dimly lit room reeked of cigar smoke and expensive whiskey. At the head of a long table, a man in a sharp black suit leaned back in his chair, a thick cigar burning between his fingers. His gaze was sharp, calculating. This was Vincenzo Moretti—Don of the Reaper Mafia.
His voice was calm but laced with irritation. "Who the hell is screwing with our operations?"
Around him, powerful men sat in tense silence. These weren't small-time criminals—these were the big shots. The ones who ran the streets from the shadows.
One of them, an older man with slicked-back hair, cleared his throat. "It doesn't matter anymore. We've already hired the best assassin for the job."
He smirked. "Ghost. First super soldier ever created. There's nothing he can't handle."
The room fell into a brief silence. Then—
THUD.
Something heavy hit the floor.
All eyes snapped toward the entrance.
There, standing in the doorway, was Adam.
