Alex POV
The city night had a hard edge to it when we moved. The warehouse was one thing; but pulling apart a network that had waited decades to be cruel required time and teeth. I felt every minute like a bite.
Milo's report came in fragments and then in a clean line: Castel's lieutenants were scattered around three old sites; there were payments on shell accounts traced to two docksmen; a catering van had been flagged in a routine sweep. I listened and ordered and moved my brain turning the pieces into a grid I could act on. There was no poetry in it. There was only logistics. Only leverage.
The streets blurred into a smear of lights and rain. My mind was a pinwheel of images Isabella, her face when she screamed, the ropes biting into her wrists, Ian's silhouette hauled away. The guilt tasted like iron. The worst of it was that every logical move I had made to protect my world the contracts signed, the edges cut had only widened the target.
