enz

e private Italian-American social club smelled of expensive cigars, roasted coffee beans, and the quiet, dangerous hum of power.

r table. His weathered face was heavy with genuine sympathy. "Antoni

ntly darkened, the perfect picture of a broken man. "Thank you, Dominic,"

the bridge of my nose. "Five years," I added, keeping

impossible euphoria of having my sister sleeping safely in her childhood bed. We played our parts flawlessly, but as Dominic nodded and walked away, a thoughtful,

er, the tight

he Chicago skyline, but the room felt like a crypt. Damien sat behind his massive ebony desk, the shadows clingi

is voice was a flat, emotionless drawl that sent ic

n the roo

his palm onto the desk, his face twisting in manufactured fury. "Who dares desecrate he

t bleed into my voice as cold, calculated rage. "We will mobilize

performance. But D

ng silence, I realized our fatal mistake. When he delivered the news, there had been a fraction of a second of pure, unadu

is paranoia was a living, breathing monster. I could see the twisted gears turning

quietness of his tone was far more terrifying than

n end. As the elevator doors slid shut, I caught sight of Damien's pe

irl; he was hunting for a stolen corpse he believed we were hiding. Every mov