The address led me far from the estates, away from Don Diego's influence and the noble homes clustered around the packhouse.
The roads became uneven, the buildings smaller and more worn down. Clotheslines stretched across alleys, swaying with faded garments, and the scent of grilled meat was in the air.
Santa Leticia. That's what they called this part of the pack. A place for those who worked but never prospered, where the cobblestone paths crumbled into dirt roads, and the wolves who lived here had long accepted their place at the bottom of the hierarchy.
I clutched my small bag tighter and glanced around, trying to find the right house number. The street names had long faded from the cracked walls, and I was starting to regret not asking more questions when I left Giulia and Letizia behind. I sighed, glancing up at the sky, hoping divine intervention would guide me…
And that's when I spotted them.
Luis Miguel and his group.
