Bruto -

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.

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. He reached the front line and stopped

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 He reached down, gripped the bumper of the

When Bruto saw Mateo being shoved into the mud, something shifted. He didn’t scream; he didn't charge. He simply walked. Each footstep cracked the pavement beneath his boots. The enforcers stepped forward, batons raised, but Bruto moved through them like a gale through tall grass. Bruto worked the heavy lifts where the machines

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.

The peace of the harbor was shattered when a corporate syndicate, led by a man named Julian Vane, arrived to "modernize" the docks. Modernization was just a fancy word for demolition. Vane wanted to tear down the old piers to build glass-walled luxury condos, which would leave hundreds of dockworkers—men who had spent their lives in the salt air—homeless and jobless.

"Leave," Bruto rumbled. It wasn't a request; it was a physical law. The Resolution