THE ITALIAN MISSION

mentarily blinding Charlie Croker as he stepped out of the concrete cocoon that had been his home for the past five years. The world outside, once a familiar playground of adrenaline and

his eyes. His once-youthful face, hardened by prison life, bore the stoic mask of a man who had stared into the abyss and found o

; he'd been a mentor, a father figure in a world devoid of genuine affection. John looked older, frailer, with a cough that rattled his chest like a dying engine. The year

s voice gravelly with disuse. "Thought

was a feeble attempt at humor, a bridge built out of nostalgia towards the shared experiences that had

, the familiar rasp of the paper a comforting reminder of the world he'd left behind. John lit

s voice low and urgent. "Got a pr

ken promises and potential dangers. He knew John – knew his penchant for grand schemes that often

voice a low rumble. "But make it good,

ping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Full of gold bars recently liberated from the clut

on his features. "Sounds ambitious,

ng under a midnight moon. In the center, a red circle pulsed with an intensity that sent chills down Charlie's spine. The Venetian Dream

ubsided, his eyes met Charlie's, a desperate plea shimmering in their dep

ive years in the joint had dulled his edge, but his instincts were beginning to stir, the familiar thrill of the game coursing through his vein

lly said, his voice firm

Venetian Dream shimmered before him, a glittering mirage that promised salvation and redemption. But the path to that dream was p