Zero
After leaving the scene, I head straight to Club image to have a talk with Mr Lamberto.
When I step into Mr. Lamberto’s office, the scent of cigars and old leather fills the air.
The faint hum of the city beyond the tall windows gives the place a soft ambience, one that can lull you out of your worries.
Mr Lamberto sits behind a mahogany desk, his expressions calm and unreadable as always.
His sharp eyes settle on me when I step in and slowly follow my every step.
I stop before his desk and tip my head in respect. Not only is he the age of my father, his position as the patron awards him as much respect.
“Zero,” he says, motioning to the chair across from him.
“I was expecting you,” he says.
His voice is steady but I can feel the lingering pain and frustration hidden i
