Vito stormed into the opulent mansion, fury etched on his weathered face. "Who the hell do these Syndicate skanks think they are, hijackin' my goods?!" He bellowed, his gruff voice echoing off the marble floors. The attack on his smuggled contraband had been daring, even for the elusive Syndicates.
"I ain't takin' this lyin' down!" Vito declared, his thick Italian accent accentuating his rage. Those crazy dames were getting too big for their stilettos, thinking they could just saunter in and take what was his.
Guiseppe hurried over, his expensive leather shoes clicking on the tile. "Was there a mark, a sign of who done it?" he asked, his words clipped and anxious. Vito's scowl deepened, carving furrows into his brow. "Same as the ones who hit the warehouse deal. Those faceless Syndicate skanks."
