Demetrio's POV
Eight men.
That was how many the Bratva had sent to my warehouse on the south side, the one that ran legitimate import logistics on paper and something considerably more profitable underneath. They had come in at three in the morning with accelerants and a plan, and they would have succeeded if my security rotation had been on the schedule it was on last month instead of the doubled coverage I had ordered three days ago.
Valentina's information had been good.
I sat behind my desk in the quiet of my office and looked at the report Dominic had put in front of me and felt the cold, particular fury of a man who had been underestimated. Not the hot anger that made people sloppy. The cold kind, the kind that settled in and made decisions with a clarity that hot anger never could.
