The obsidian Maybach sliced through the rain-slicked asphalt of the city’s industrial underbelly, its headlights cutting twin white paths through the drizzle. In the back seat, Enzo Falcone sat in total, suffocating silence.

The bloody trail of digital footprints and terrified informants finally converged on a sprawling, abandoned cathedral perched on the industrial edge of the harbor. The stained-glass windows were shattered husks, letting in the cold, howling wind of the bay.

Enzo walked through the massive, rotting oak doors completely alone, his trench coat sweeping the concrete floor, a loaded Beretta held loosely at his side. At the far end of the nave, standing beside the ruined altar, was a man with sharp features and cold, calculating eyes. Bound tightly to a stone pillar nearby was Elena, while little Mia sat huddled in terror on a wooden crate behind them, her mouth taped shut.

"You took your sweet time, Falcone," The Architect sneered, pressing the cold barrel of a pistol against Elena's temple. "I expected the great beast to arrive much sooner."