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Zum fünften mal dürfen wir uns auf euch und eure schicken Fahrzeuge freuen Wir präsentieren an einem Tag zwei Treffen auf über 15.000m2 Fläche! Diese teilen wir in in den Bereich US Car und Oldtimer auf! Das US-Car-Treffen ist für alle Arten von US-Fahrzeugen! Egal ob neue oder alte US-Cars! Und das Oldtimer Treffen für alle Fahrzeuge (Autos, Motorräder, LKWs, Trecker, Mofas...) ab dem alter von mehr als 30 Jahren. Der gesamte Erlös wird an das Kinderhospiz Balthasar gespendet! Alle die gerne mit ihrem US-CAR oder OLDTIMER auf das großzügige Gelände möchten, sind herzlich eingeladen. Eine Spende / Eintritt von 10€ fällt für jedes Fahrzeug an (inkl. Fahrer, zzgl. 5€ für jeden weiteren Insassen), der aufs Gelände fährt und mit gleichgesinnten den Tag verbringt:-) Für Besucher unter 10 Jahren ist der Eintritt frei und alle darüber spenden / zahlen 5€ am Einlass als Eintritt. > Foodtruck mit Getränke und Süß-Speisen > Pokalvergabe für die weiteste Anreise (Bitte an der Zufahrt melden!) > Pokalvergabe größte Gruppe (Bitte an der Zufahrt melden!) > Musik und Moderation > Hüpfburg (bei schönem Wetter) > Sanitäranlagen >Pokalvergaben um 15 Uhr >>>DB Contest um 14 Uhr<<< Für unsere Motor begeisterten gibt es die AGA Messungen! Auspuff Messung Anmeldung am Eingang bis 13:45 Uhr "VOR ORT"! Location: Möbel Knappstein Neuenkamper Str. 71, 42855 Remscheid ___________ - Austeller & Sponsoren können sich gerne melden! - Bei Fragen oder Anregungen können Sie sich gerne melden: E-Mail: info@esta-loca.de Tel. +49 2721 840179 ___________ INFO: *Es gibt keine Corona Auflagen mehr! * Der Erlös wird an das Kinderhospiz Balthasar gespendet! Beim Befahren der Event-Fläche werden unsere Regeln anerkannt! – Sämtlichen Anweisungen des Orga-Teams sind Folge zu leisten. – Im Bedarfsfall werden durch den Veranstalter Platzverweise ausgesprochen. Anspruch auf Rückerstattung von bereits entrichteten Einfahrtsgeldern besteht nicht. – Müll gehört in die dafür vorgesehenen Abfallbehälter oder wird wieder mitgenommen. Jegliche Verunreinigung des Geländes ist untersagt. – Es wird nicht gegrillt. – Sanitäre Anlagen werden sauber hinterlassen. – Gesonderte Umstände höherer Gewalt, die zu einem Abbruch des Treffens führen könnten, können leider nicht vorhergesehen werden und müssen in diesem Fall auch in Kauf genommen werden. – Auf dem gesamten Gelände gilt besondere Rücksichtnahme und Schrittgeschwindigkeit bei Fahrten über den Platz. – Burnouts und Drifts sind nicht erwünscht und werden mit Platzverweis und dementsprechenden Reinigungskosten geahndet. – Fotografien und Videos, die während des Treffens gemacht werden, dürfen im Sinne der Öffentlichkeitsarbeit verbreitet werden. Jeder Teilnehmer muss sich bewusst sein, dass auch Bilder von ihm selbst entstehen könnten und diese veröffentlicht werden. – Befahren und Betreten für alle Besucher und Teilnehmer auf eigene Gefahr! – Es wird keine Haftung für Diebstahl, Sach- bzw. Personenschäden übernommen. Es bestehen keine Ansprüche auf Schadensersatz. Jeder Teilnehmer handelt eigenverantwortlich und haftet für die von ihm verursachten Schäden

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Five years as a mafia wife, and my husband kept me locked in a gilded cage. Tonight, I found out why. I wasn't his wife. I was his collateral. "You were never supposed to find out like this, Valentina." Dante Moretti didn't even look up from his desk, shuffling documents like I hadn't just walked in on a room full of men deciding my fate. "But since you're here — sit down." Six men sat around the table in our dining room — my dining room, in my family's ancestral estate that Dante had taken as part of the merger between our families. I recognized every face. Capos. Underbosses. Men who kissed my hand at parties and called me Donna. And in the center of the table was a photograph of me, paper-clipped to a contract I'd never seen before. "What is this?" I asked. Dante finally looked at me. Cold. Bored. The same look he'd given me on our wedding night before he walked out and didn't come back until morning. "It's a transfer agreement. Your father owed the Calabresi family a debt he couldn't pay. So he paid with you." He tapped the photo. "You were the deal, Valentina. Not a bride. A transaction." The men around the table shifted uncomfortably. None of them met my eyes. My stepsister, Gianna, leaned against the doorframe behind me — I hadn't even noticed her there. She was wearing the silk robe I'd bought in Milan. The one that had disappeared from my closet last month. She smiled. "Don't look so shocked, Val. Everyone knew except you. I mean, Dante and I tried to be discreet, but—" She shrugged. "Five years is a long time to pretend." I looked at Dante. "You and Gianna." It wasn't a question. He didn't deny it. He leaned back in his chair. "She understands this world. You never did. You were always too soft, too idealistic. Your father's daughter." "My father—" "Your father was weak," Dante cut in. "He ran the Serrano family into the ground, sold you to save himself, and drank himself to death six months later. That's the man you keep defending." The room was silent. Something inside me should have shattered. Five years of loyalty, five years of playing the perfect Donna, hosting dinners, keeping secrets, turning a blind eye to blood and bullets because I believed — believed — that Dante and I were building something together. But nothing shattered. Something ignited. "So I'm free to leave," I said calmly. Dante blinked. "What?" "If I was collateral for a debt, and my father is dead, the debt dies with him. I'm no longer bound to this arrangement. I'm leaving." Gianna laughed. "And go where? You have nothing, Val. No money, no family, no connections. Dante owns everything — this house, the cars, your clothes. You'll be on the street by morning." I looked at her. Really looked at her — the smugness, the cruelty dressed up as pity, the way she draped herself over my life like she'd earned it. "You're right," I said. "I'll take nothing." I turned and walked toward the door. "Valentina." Dante's voice hardened. "If you walk out that door, you don't come back. And I will make sure every family in this city knows you were discarded. No one will protect you. No one will touch you." I paused with my hand on the doorframe. "Dante," I said, without turning around. "You have no idea what I am. And by the time you find out, it will be far too late." I walked out into the night. What none of them knew — not Dante, not Gianna, not a single man at that table — was that the Serrano family's empire hadn't died with my father. I'd rebuilt it in the shadows. And the most feared name in the underground wasn't some mysterious ghost they'd been hunting for three years. It was me.

Five years as a mafia wife, and my husband kept me locked in a gilded cage. Tonight, I found out why. I wasn't his wife. I was his collateral. "You were never supposed to find out like this, Valentina." Dante Moretti didn't even look up from his desk, shuffling documents like I hadn't just walked in on a room full of men deciding my fate. "But since you're here — sit down." Six men sat around the table in our dining room — my dining room, in my family's ancestral estate that Dante had taken as part of the merger between our families. I recognized every face. Capos. Underbosses. Men who kissed my hand at parties and called me Donna. And in the center of the table was a photograph of me, paper-clipped to a contract I'd never seen before. "What is this?" I asked. Dante finally looked at me. Cold. Bored. The same look he'd given me on our wedding night before he walked out and didn't come back until morning. "It's a transfer agreement. Your father owed the Calabresi family a debt he couldn't pay. So he paid with you." He tapped the photo. "You were the deal, Valentina. Not a bride. A transaction." The men around the table shifted uncomfortably. None of them met my eyes. My stepsister, Gianna, leaned against the doorframe behind me — I hadn't even noticed her there. She was wearing the silk robe I'd bought in Milan. The one that had disappeared from my closet last month. She smiled. "Don't look so shocked, Val. Everyone knew except you. I mean, Dante and I tried to be discreet, but—" She shrugged. "Five years is a long time to pretend." I looked at Dante. "You and Gianna." It wasn't a question. He didn't deny it. He leaned back in his chair. "She understands this world. You never did. You were always too soft, too idealistic. Your father's daughter." "My father—" "Your father was weak," Dante cut in. "He ran the Serrano family into the ground, sold you to save himself, and drank himself to death six months later. That's the man you keep defending." The room was silent. Something inside me should have shattered. Five years of loyalty, five years of playing the perfect Donna, hosting dinners, keeping secrets, turning a blind eye to blood and bullets because I believed — believed — that Dante and I were building something together. But nothing shattered. Something ignited. "So I'm free to leave," I said calmly. Dante blinked. "What?" "If I was collateral for a debt, and my father is dead, the debt dies with him. I'm no longer bound to this arrangement. I'm leaving." Gianna laughed. "And go where? You have nothing, Val. No money, no family, no connections. Dante owns everything — this house, the cars, your clothes. You'll be on the street by morning." I looked at her. Really looked at her — the smugness, the cruelty dressed up as pity, the way she draped herself over my life like she'd earned it. "You're right," I said. "I'll take nothing." I turned and walked toward the door. "Valentina." Dante's voice hardened. "If you walk out that door, you don't come back. And I will make sure every family in this city knows you were discarded. No one will protect you. No one will touch you." I paused with my hand on the doorframe. "Dante," I said, without turning around. "You have no idea what I am. And by the time you find out, it will be far too late." I walked out into the night. What none of them knew — not Dante, not Gianna, not a single man at that table — was that the Serrano family's empire hadn't died with my father. I'd rebuilt it in the shadows. And the most feared name in the underground wasn't some mysterious ghost they'd been hunting for three years. It was me.