, a sharp-featured man with eyes that moved like a hawk’s, leaned forward. Costa was the "Fixer." If Stelian provided the means, Costa provided the path. He knew every alleyway in Bucharest and every bored official from the Danube to the border. He smirked, sliding a folded napkin across the table.
The salt-heavy wind of the Black Sea whipped against the shuttered windows of the "Farul Vechi" tavern, but inside, the air was thick with the scent of roasted lamb and conspiracy. Three men sat in the dim light of a corner booth, their faces etched with the weariness of those who lived between the law and the horizon. Stelian Arau & Costa Daileanu&Costin Caraulani
"The underwater route is clear," Costin said, his tone icy and precise. "I’ve scouted the submerged pier. We bypass the yard entirely. I take the primary package through the inlet, and your trucks meet me at the salt marshes." , a sharp-featured man with eyes that moved
"Eyes can be blinded, Stelian," Costa countered. "I’ve already spoken to the night shift. They’ll be having a 'technical malfunction' with the yard cameras at 0200 hours. But we need someone who can handle the silent transit. Someone who doesn't leave a ghost of a footprint." He smirked, sliding a folded napkin across the table