Predictable Monsters

The night was still young, but the air already smelled of smoke and ambition.

In a high-rise penthouse, Di Stefano sat at a marble table, slowly turning a glass of whiskey in his hand. The amber drink caught the light, glowing faintly in the dim room.

His jacket hung on the back of the chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His face was calm, but his eyes carried a sharp, cold edge.

Beyond the glass