The plan was agreed that morning.
Six of them. One mission. One body meant to carry the truth.
Elara stood at the riverbank at night, bruised and bleeding—not from illusion, but from real pain carefully placed to make the lie believable.
Behind her stood the girl everyone would believe was her sister.
Her voice shook on cue.
Her hands didn't.
Around them, hidden in the dark, the mafia and local hooligans watched—silent witnesses to what looked like a family betrayal.
A final argument. A final push.
Elara fell into the river.
No scream. No struggle.
Just disappearance.
The crowd slowly began to disperse, convinced.
But not everyone turned away.
From the shadows, a man stayed longer than the rest.
The right-hand man of the Godfather's son.
His eyes followed the river current… not with certainty, but suspicion.
Because something about her fall didn't feel like an ending.
It felt like a decision.
And without a word, he stepped forward—
and went after her.
"Some lies are staged to deceive the world… others are staged to survive it."