It was around 9:30 p.m. when Nicholas stepped into his car and drove off, alone and tense.
The night air was cool, but sweat still gathered at the back of his neck. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles almost turning white.
"I have to get to the root of all these things... I can't be caught even before I fire properly," Nicholas muttered to himself, his voice sharp with anxiety.
After about twenty-five minutes, he reached the usual hideout where Fernando was supposed to be.
But as soon as he parked, he noticed something strange. The bar was too quiet. No usual music. No laughter. No signs of any crowd.
His eyes narrowed. "Something's not right," he whispered.
Before he could open the car door, several men sprinted out from behind the shadows and surrounded him. They didn't say a word. Their faces were blank, cold.
Then Fernando stepped forward, emerging from the darkness like a storm.
