Lorenzo arrived at a house outside the city with his security guards. He entered, flanked by them, and saw a man tied to a pillar, badly beaten. He looked around, taking in the scene: used syringes and drug remnants littered every corner, clothes lay scattered on the floor and sofa, along with leftover food. He looked at the man, put on his gloves, and lifted the man's head towards him.
"So, you're the driver who took my truck?"
The man looked at him, fear etched on his face. "I was only the driver, nothing more, sir."
Lorenzo continued to stare at him, a smile playing on his lips. He tilted the man's head to the side. "You may not know who I am, but I don't like traitors working for me. That means a death sentence, and you condemned yourself the moment you stole my truck. But you can still save yourself if you tell me who sent you to do this and where you took my truck."
The man, through tears, pleaded, "I don't know who the man was. He was wearing a mask and paid me in cash. He said there wouldn't be any problems for me since you wouldn't involve the police because of what was in the truck. He said I just had to divert the truck and I'd get double the payment."
Lorenzo stepped away, running a hand through his hair. He smiled. "So, where did you take my truck?"
The man, desperate to save himself, spilled everything he knew – the location of the truck and all the details. As soon as he finished speaking, Lorenzo shot him. "Get rid of the body," he ordered, and walked out.
Willy approached him. "What are you going to do?"
Lorenzo glanced at him. "I'm going to get my truck back. You take care of the rest," he said, getting into his car, followed by his men in the other vehicle.
At a warehouse in the Marina, several men were stationed, ensuring the security of other men inside. Inside, the men were inspecting weapons laid out in wooden crates, meticulously checking the ammunition and taking notes.
The man sitting at the table spoke on the phone with an unidentified person, assuring them about the quality of the weapons and their perfect condition.
"Make the transfer quickly," the voice on the phone commanded. "I don't want to be exposed and lose the merchandise." The call ended abruptly.
Outside, Mark was near the stairs, snapping photos. "What the hell is going on in there?" he muttered, adjusting his camera. He looked up as several black cars screeched to a halt.
Armed men in suits emerged from the vehicles, immediately apprehending the guards stationed outside.
Lorenzo stepped out of one of the cars, removing his sunglasses and adjusting his suit jacket. He surveyed the scene. "Let's get this over with."
His security detail swiftly took down the remaining guards, leaving them unconscious on the ground. They threw open the massive warehouse doors, only to be met with a barrage of bullets.
Lorenzo took cover behind a wall while his men returned fire, clearing a path for him.
Mark, witnessing the chaos, continued to take pictures, bewildered by Lorenzo's presence. Confused and seeking safety, he slipped inside the warehouse, hiding behind enormous crates.
The man who had been on the phone stood up, a smug grin on his face, hands in his pockets. "So, you really do exist. You're not just a name to scare off enemies. Since you're here, it seems you've come to your own funeral."
Lorenzo glanced around the warehouse. "You do realize these weapons are mine and you stole them using my own driver? I don't think you were thinking straight when you made this blunder that will cost you your life."
The man threw his head back and laughed. "Do you really think you can scare me? With what? This?" He gestured to the men around them. "Now, answer me something. Who's really behind you? Because I know this didn't just pop into your head."
The man continued to chuckle. "Don't be so arrogant, Mr. Lorenzo. You think you're the only intelligent one in your family?" He signaled to his men, and the warehouse erupted in gunfire, men falling on both sides.
Lorenzo found himself in a brutal fight with a giant of a man who slammed him hard against the ground and moved to crush him.
Reacting quickly, Lorenzo grabbed a nearby iron rod and struck the man's leg, bringing him crashing down. At that moment, the man Lorenzo had been talking to approached, aiming his gun to shoot Lorenzo from behind.
Seeing the imminent danger, Mark shouted a warning, giving Lorenzo just enough time to dive out of the way. The bullet meant for Lorenzo hit its mark, killing the man instantly. Lorenzo turned, surprised to see Mark standing there. "What are you doing here?"
Mark, still stunned by the shootout, stammered, "I was already here when you arrived."
Lorenzo glared at him. "You know this isn't going to end well for you, Mr. Mark," he said, ordering his men to restrain him.
Willy arrived with reinforcements, taking in the scene. "Sorry we're late, sir."
Lorenzo looked at him. "Did you take care of the other traitors?"
Willy glanced at where Mark was being held captive. "Yes, everything's been dealt with. But, boss, what's he doing here?"
Lorenzo's expression hardened. "I'm not sure yet. Take him to the mansion and don't let him escape. And don't even try anything stupid, Mr. Mark, or your problems will just get worse."
The guards took Mark away.
Willy looked at Lorenzo, concern etched on his face. "Sorry to say this, boss, but leaving him alive, knowing what we know about him… it's a huge mistake."
Lorenzo's gaze was cold. "Let me worry about that. You just do the job you're paid to do, Mr. Willy." He walked away.
Willy stared at the bodies littering the floor. "Clean this mess up and get all the crates back on the trucks," he commanded.
His men immediately got to work, removing the bodies and loading the weapons back onto the trucks.
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