Cleaning

Scared silence settles across the city like ash.

It is the kind of silence that hums under the skin. That keeps dogs from barking. That makes children cry without making a sound. No shop is open. No bar. No corner vendor selling cigarettes or boiled eggs at the intersections. The neon lights are off. Even the red district has gone dark.

The people know.

Something has shifted.

And this time, the terror isn't hidden in whispers or coded in politics. It walks the streets in broad daylight and now moves like a shadow through the night.

All across the city, those who once dared to profit from Castellano's weakness are being dragged from their homes.

The doors don't creak open. They're kicked in.

By men in black.

Unmarked vans sweep through the neighborhoods like predators. The loudest voices go silent first. Rival dealers, opportunists, street captains of the fake truce factions—all pulled from their hideouts and onto their knees.