Rain in Naples.
Streetlight cutting into pieces.
Luca's car stops at the dockside warehouse.
Door opens—
salt wind, faint blood.
Inside: broken crates, velvet pouches.
BB – Belloni Blue.
Empty.
A man kneels.
"Three trucks. Two a.m.
Drivers, guards—gone. CCTV—"
"They're dead."
Luca's shoe grinds powder into the floor.
Old Belloni annex.
Alessandro on the phone.
Voice slow.
"Luca, we need profit, not war.
Blood makes a mess you can't mop up."
"They stole from us."
"Not stole. Warned you. Pay the cut."
"I don't pay."
"To keep the family,
sometimes you don't draw the blade."
"I'll talk to their boss,"
Alessandro said.
"You take Hong Kong. Singapore. Full."
"They cut my road.
Dropped four of mine into the sea."
"War costs more than four bodies."
"If it's small, I'll make it bigger."
Luca at the door,
short laugh—
"Best deals come when they're already dead."