Leonardo descended the stairs with slow, deliberate steps. The air in the basement was cold and heavy, the dim lights casting long shadows on the concrete walls. Chains clinked faintly in the corner, and the smell of blood, metal, and fear lingered in the air like a curse that never left.
And there he was.
Tied to the chair, bloodied and barely able to lift his head, was the same man who had aimed his weapon at Leonardo when he first stepped out of the car. The man had a scar running across his jaw and a smirk that was long gone now replaced with trembling lips and swollen eyes.
Leonardo said nothing. He didn't need to.
He walked slowly to the corner of the room, where a metal table stood against the wall. On it were tools, not the kind found in a mechanic's garage, but the kind no one ever wanted to see up close. Blades. Clamps. Wires. A hammer.
