Chapter 10 - Legends of the AsphaltSix months later, the streets of the city had changed.
The turf wars that Vane and the Geneva council had tried to spark never materialized. Instead, a new kind of peace settled over the underworld—one governed not just by fear and intimidation, but by an unwritten code of loyalty that even the most hardened criminals whispered about in awe.
They called it the "Legend of the Sedan."
Down at the old waterfront pier, people often saw a familiar sight: a silver sedan parked quietly against the sunset, driven by a man with a slight hitch in his left shoulder, and accompanied by a scarred, loyal dog who sat proudly in the passenger seat, watching the horizon.
One evening, as Tony stood leaning against the driver's side door, watching the seagulls dive into the cold Atlantic water, a young punk—new to the city, full of ambition and foolish pride—walked up with a smirk, eyeing the expensive car and the dog resting on the hood.
"Nice ride, old man," the punk sneered, resting his hand casually on his jacket pocket where the outline of a weapon showed through the fabric. "Looks like you're getting a little slow for these streets."
Tony didn't turn around immediately. He slowly lit a cigarette, taking a long, calm drag as the ocean breeze carried the smoke away into the fading light.
Beside him, Bruno lifted his head. The dog didn't growl. He didn't bark. He just stood up slowly, stretching his powerful legs, his eyes locked onto the punk with an absolute, terrifying stillness that screamed of a loyalty forged in blood, bullets, and absolute defiance.
The punk swallowed hard, took one look into the dog's unblinking eyes, and slowly backed away into the shadows without saying another word.
Tony exhaled a cloud of smoke, smiling faintly as he opened the car door.
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"Come on, boy," Tony murmured, sliding into the driver's seat.
Bruno jumped in beside him, settling comfortably against his knee, ready for whatever road lay ahead.
