The night air reeked of salt, diesel, and rain-soaked smoke. The docks stretched endlessly, a maze of shipping containers, cranes, and shadows.

Enzo stood with Luca, Matteo, and a dozen trusted soldiers, the black sea churning against steel pylons. Every sense in his body was taut, straining.

“They’ll come,” Enzo said, his voice low, unreadable. “Russians don’t bluff. They bleed noise into silence.”

Luca cracked his knuckles, grinning like a wolf. “Then let them bleed.”

At first, only the whisper of waves filled the night. Then came the sound—a low hum of engines. Headlights flared in the distance. Trucks.

“Positions,” Enzo ordered, and his men melted into the shadows, weapons...