Bruto

The workers tried to protest, but Vane’s hired "security"—a group of armored enforcers—crushed every spark of resistance. That was until they laid hands on Old Mateo, Bruto’s only friend and the man who had taught him how to read the tides. The Awakening

The struggle lasted weeks, but eventually, the syndicate realized the cost of fighting Bruto was higher than any profit they could make. They moved their project elsewhere. The workers tried to protest, but Vane’s hired

Bruto worked the heavy lifts where the machines couldn’t reach. While other men used forklifts, Bruto hauled rusted anchor chains over his shoulders, his veins tracing maps of struggle across his arms. He spoke rarely, his voice a low rumble that sounded like stones grinding in a riverbed. The Conflict They moved their project elsewhere

He reached the front line and stopped. He looked at Vane, who sat safely behind the tinted glass of a black SUV. Bruto didn’t use a weapon. He reached down, gripped the bumper of the two-ton vehicle, and with a grunt that seemed to shake the very foundations of the pier, he tilted it onto two wheels. He spoke rarely, his voice a low rumble

In the rust-caked docks of Old Genoa, there was a man known only as . He wasn’t a villain, but he wasn’t a hero either. He was a force of nature, standing six-foot-five with hands that looked like they had been forged in a shipyard rather than grown in a womb.