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The night sky stretched above like spilled ink, vast and depthless, pricked by stars that glittered like shattered glass. A low wind swept across the open field, whispering through the tall grass and stirring the leaves of the black oaks at the edge of the trees. Overhead, the moon hung full and heavy, casting a silvered, dreamlike pallor over the quiet city. The streets lay empty, not a soul in sight. Donatello Valentino, alongside four of his trusted men, had just concluded a debt collection—the persuasive kind. His black pinstripe fedora cast a sharp shadow over his dark crimson eyes as he straightened his striped tie, a delicate golden chain from his pocket watch gleaming against his vest. "That should serve as a lesson for anyone thinking of crossing the Valentinos. Fine work, gent…