Preston is a coward,' Cassian had spat. 'He doesn't have the stomach for a direct strike. Unless someone is pulling his leash.'
That was why Cassian had asked me to dig through Rico. Marcelli Lorenzo was a ghost.
He was the kind of man who survived for decades by never staying in the same bed two nights in a row, never using the same car, never letting his own lieutenants know where he was sleeping.
Cassian had all the money and resources in the world, but he was outside looking in.
He couldn't track a ghost through official channels. He needed someone on the bottom, someone who could hear the quiet rumors passed down through the lowest ranks.
Rico took a long drag of his cigarette, the tip glowing bright orange in the dim room, before ash dropped onto the floor.
"I don't have a location for Marcelli," Rico said bluntly. "If you came here expecting me to give you an address so your boy Cassian can go shoot him, you can turn around right now."
