Across the city, Dominic sat in the dim confines of a nondescript warehouse near the docks. The place reeked of oil, rust, and the ever-present dampness of sea air. Heavy beams loomed overhead, casting long, fractured shadows as light filtered in through a broken window high on the wall.
Grigor was already there, leaning against a steel column, smoking something foul and too strong for the early hour. His leather coat hung open, revealing a gun holster and a low-slung blade strapped to his hip.
"Your girl looked shaken," Grigor muttered without looking at him.
Dominic didn't reply. His fists were already clenched. There was something dangerous about the stillness in his jaw, the twitch in his temple, like violence brewing in silence.
Grigor took another drag, exhaling smoke that danced like ghosts between them. "You think Viktoria sent them?"
Dominic turned to him with a glare. "If she did, I'll put a bullet in her head myself."
Grigor raised a brow. "That wasn't a denial."
