The alley was filled with the rhythmic thud of flesh hitting bone and the ragged breathing of men who realized they had picked the wrong target. Michael moved with a terrifying fluidness, his custom-tailored suit jacket flaring like a shroud as he dismantled the attackers. One man swung a stick; Michael didn't flinch, catching the wood with his forearm and snapping the attacker's wrist with a sickening crack before sending him to the pavement with a knee to the solar plexus.
"Boss! The sirens! They're two blocks away!" Dominic scrambled out of the way of a flying body, his phone finally connecting to the local precinct.
Michael didn't stop until the last man was pinned against the hood of the silver Mercedes, his throat caught in Michael's iron grip. The man's eyes were wide with terror, his feet dangling inches off the ground.
"Who sent you?" Michael's voice was lower than a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a death sentence.
