Giovane turned toward the shadows beneath the trees, an uneasy feeling crawling over him—someone was following.
"Flashlight," he ordered curtly.
His companion quickly handed it over. Giovane swept the beam across the dense treeline, but nothing seemed out of place.
Still unsatisfied, he did one last sweep—only to freeze. Two silhouettes stood motionless among the trees.
He immediately motioned for a gun. Moving cautiously to avoid alerting anyone, he turned off the flashlight. The full moon provided enough glow to see the outlines of the figures.
He crept closer, raised his weapon, and aimed at the two figures.
One of them turned around.
"Whoa, boss, calm down," the man said, instantly raising his hands.
Giovane narrowed his eyes. It was Vince—and beside him, Zenne.
"Why are you here?" he demanded, lowering the gun but not his guard. These two were members of the organization.
"Just keeping watch, boss," Zenne replied with a sigh.
"We were also taking a breather. Want one?" Vince offered, holding out a cigarette.
Giovane declined with a shake of his head. "You can stop guarding this area."
Without waiting for a response, he walked off, his mind heavy.
Lately, something was always gnawing at him. He entered the warehouse, brushing past the noise and chatter echoing within.
He retreated to a private room—the one where he could rest when the weight of dealing with business partners became too much.
There, he sat down and scanned the folders on the table—data, documents, reports—but decided to pause. He needed a break.
His mind wasn't at ease. Too many questions remained unanswered—especially about Fernan's remaining contacts. After the massacre of his siblings, he suspected the data had been wiped clean.
Who are you working with, Jake? Giovane couldn't help but ponder.
Charles crossed his mind—a potential suspect. But he quickly dismissed the thought.
No, Charles wouldn't betray me. He shook his head.
A knock at the door disrupted his thoughts.
"Is that you, Charles?" he called out, scratching his head in confusion.
"Come in."
Charles entered, carrying more documents.
"Here," Charles muttered, placing a thick envelope on the desk.
"This might give you a clue. Your father's enemies—one of them might be sabotaging your family's business and destroying your father's public image."
He left as quickly as he came.
Giovane smirked slightly. Hardworking guy, he thought.
He picked up the brown envelope and opened it.
Too much on my mind right now.
He knew his father was swamped—unable to visit, unable to handle the partners. So Giovane had taken over. His father had entrusted him with the warehouse and all the "tasks" that only insiders knew how to carry out.
But sleep was tugging at him. He gave in, lying back for a short nap.
Then came the dream.
He was still in the same room—resting. But a heavy presence stirred him. Eyes were watching.
Startled, he looked up.
Three women stood in front of him—their clothes soaked in blood.
"You're here again, Ellese," Giovane said with a bitter laugh.
Ellese didn't answer. She only stared.
"You always show up in my dreams, Ellese. Do you really think you can scare me?"
He laughed again, mocking.
Ellese smiled softly—and then vanished like a bubble.
In her place, Felisa appeared.
"There's still time to change, brother," she said gently.
Giovane scoffed.
"Felisa, Felisa… Always the kind one. Even in death, you're still trying to save me."
He laughed bitterly. "But deep down, I know you want revenge, don't you?"
"Too bad. You can't take revenge—you're just a ghost now."
He smirked cruelly.
"Oh, and since you're here, tell your dear sister Ellese—Mikaela and Chesca will be joining you soon."
He stared directly into her fading face, a twisted grin curling on his lips.
Felisa clenched her fists. A violent gust of wind blew through the room.
"You will pay for everything, Giovane!" Ellese's furious voice echoed from nowhere.
Felisa vanished.
Then another voice—softer, maternal.
"Child," the woman called to him.
Giovane said nothing. He only stared—conflicted—and then the dream dissolved.
He awoke with a start.
Conscience? That thing left me long ago. He muttered under his breath.
He glanced at the clock. Almost 4 a.m.
He yawned, stretched.
I need real sleep. He shuffled to the bed and lay down.
He wouldn't think about any of that right now. His focus was clear: he needed to uncover the corrupt politician sabotaging his father's legacy.
I've been so busy lately.
Whatever.
And just like that, he drifted into dreamless sleep.