The warehouse was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside, as Vincenzo stepped through the door. His eyes scanned the room, every corner shadowed, but he was unbothered; his reputation had already done the work of incapacitating any would-be threats. A cold smile tugged at his lips as he walked toward the desk, where Carlo sat, trembling. The betrayal was clear, and Vincenzo knew what he had to do.

"You thought you could double-cross me and walk away?" Vincenzo's voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. Carlo stammered, begging for his life, but it was too late. With a swift motion, Vincenzo slammed his hand onto the desk, and two of his men closed in on Carlo.

In a matter of seconds, the former ally was incapacitated, lying motionless on the cold concrete floor. Vincenzo knelt beside him, his gaze unwavering as he whispered, "This is where your story ends." The finality in his tone solidified the outcome—the message was clear. The mafia always gets its due.