The tram tracks in Bucharest glisten with cold light in the midnight rain.
Ferrara raises the collar of his black coat; the espresso in his coffee cup has long grown cold.
It was the fifth time he passed the Saint Stavron Cathedral when he finally noticed the tracker had made a fatal mistake—the man in the leather jacket had bought Pravda three times from the same newsstand.
He stopped at an abandoned dock by the Danube River, his right hand naturally hung at his side, ready to draw the dagger from his waist in the quickest of motions should the other make any move.
The man did not pause, he walked slowly along the cement brick road by the riverbank railing, still holding the copy of Pravda that had exposed him.
Ever since he got off the plane last night, he had realized he was being watched.
Ferrara suddenly realized that ignoring Henry's warnings to come to Eastern Europe was indeed a huge risk.
But he had no choice.
Because this time, he came for his sister Catherine.
Everyone has a weakness.
Even a man as wise and composed as Ferrara is no exception.
Ferrara's weakness is his family.
His father's early death made Ferrara realize at a young age that he was the only man left in the family and had to shoulder the burden of providing for them.
So starting from college, Ferrara naturally began working part-time to support his family.
He has a smart mind, making money wasn't difficult for him.
His sister is eight years younger than him, born half a year before their father died in an accident.
Thus, Catherine never got to enjoy much fatherly love.
For her, her brother Ferrara is just like a father.
Being depended on by his sister and mother was not a burden to Ferrara; he even felt it brought him a sense of achievement.
A few days ago, his mother called to inform him that his sister Catherine had gone missing, making Ferrara restless.
The distance between the two grew closer.
Ferrara knew the principles of tracking very well.
If the target stops, you can't stop immediately.
Doing so would make you conspicuous like a fly on a bald man's head.
The best approach is to keep walking casually, passing the tracking task to a nearby ally.
Clearly, this man had adopted this strategy.
Not long after, the man had already arrived by Ferrara's side.
He looked straight ahead, appearing as a mere passerby, without even glancing at Ferrara.
But precisely because of this, Ferrara determined that the man was indeed a tracker.
In such a sparsely populated and secluded area, a normal person passing by someone standing by the river holding coffee and staring at them would at least cast a glance.
Yet he didn't even look.
That means something's amiss.
The oil floating on the water reflected the neon lights, distorting the man's reflection into twisted patches of color.
Just as the man passed Ferrara by, Ferrara suddenly spun and flung the coffee cup.
The moment the scalding liquid splashed onto the tracker's face, his knee had already slammed into the man's abdomen.
The man, with his face plastered with hot coffee, his eyes stinging, hadn't had time to react as Ferrara's knee landed solidly in his abdomen.
"Ugh—"
He immediately bent over, doubling over as he retched on the ground.
Ferrara reached behind him and pulled out a Makarov pistol.
The wear marks on the grip indicated that the owner is left-handed; in the magazine, the 9mm bullets were all filed down to points—a torture tactic commonly used by Balkan gangs.
Gangs?
His mind flashed through the intelligence Henry had gathered for him earlier.
The intelligence indicated that his sister Catherine's disappearance might be related to the local gangs.
This time, she was in Romania investigating local gang involvement in human trafficking, intending to use it as material for a news feature.
The business of human trafficking in Eastern Europe originated in the late eighties and early nineties; before that, most local gangs were involved in smuggling activities.
Such as cars, appliances, and even cigarettes.
Back then, due to the Cold War still lingering, certain Western European goods were highly sought after in Eastern Europe's underground black markets, often fetching several times their price.
After this smuggling route was established, it gradually evolved into facilitating illegal immigration.
Gang members transformed into snakeheads.
Later on, the Cold War ended, the Soviet Union disintegrated, and the economies of many former CIS countries collapsed, casting a shadow over the nation contrasting the allure of Eastern European women.