Djaany_x_milioni_prada_prod_by_andy_golden_offi...

Luka didn't care about the fabric; he cared about what the fabric hid. In the dimly lit corridors of the city's outskirts, the logo on his chest wasn't a fashion statement—it was a shield. It told the world he was no longer the kid who shared a single room with three brothers. It told his rivals that his pockets were as heavy as his reputation.

Andy Golden’s beat hummed through the speakers—a cold, metallic rhythm that felt like the pulse of the city itself. It was the sound of a machine that never stopped eating. djaany_x_milioni_prada_prod_by_andy_golden_offi...

Luka looked at the bag, then back at the city skyline. They were dressed in the finest threads money could buy, but as the sirens began to wail in the distance, he realized they weren't masters of the city. They were just its most expensive prisoners. The Prada didn't make them untouchable; it just made them easier to spot in the dark. Luka didn't care about the fabric; he cared