—the word echoed in his head like a mantra. Every deal brokered under the flicker of dying streetlights was a step closer to that magic number. He and his partner, Djaany, moved like ghosts through the nightlife. While others were blinded by the strobes and the bass, they were watching the exits, counting the players, and calculating the risks.
"We made it," Djaany said, tossing a heavy duffel bag into the backseat. djaany_x_milioni_prada_prod_by_andy_golden_offi...
Luka looked at the bag, then back at the city skyline. They were dressed in the finest threads money could buy, but as the sirens began to wail in the distance, he realized they weren't masters of the city. They were just its most expensive prisoners. The Prada didn't make them untouchable; it just made them easier to spot in the dark. —the word echoed in his head like a mantra