Luca Moretti parked his sleek black Maserati in front of the unassuming "East Garage" on the outskirts of town. The recommendation had piqued his curiosity, but the rundown sign made him doubt. As he entered, the smell of oil, metal, and paint hit him. The hall was chaotic, tools on the walls, engine parts scattered. A half-finished Mustang gleamed in the center. Hip-hop music blared in the background. "Hello? Is anyone here?" Luca's voice cut through the beat.
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