Liam The hits keep coming.Not clean strikes. Not decisive blows. No this is like slow torture, Death by a thousand calculated cuts.Phones have not stopped ringing since dawn — captains complaining, shipments delayed, dealers spooked, profits bleeding. The Morettis are responding exactly as expected: precise, relentless, humiliatingly efficient.I stand at the window of my office, staring at the pristine grounds while Ronan waits behind me. “They’re escalating,” he says carefully.“No,” I reply. “They’re correcting the balance.” My jaw tightens. “They think fear will slow us.”I turn, my eyes meeting his. “It won’t.”Ronan nods once, already understanding where this is going.“The Mexican deal cannot be compromised,” I continue. “Move the weapons and arsenal immediately.”He blinks surprised. “To the secondary site?”“Yes. Full relocation.” My mind is already calculating risks.His brows lift slightly. "That location was always meant for emergencies only. Like a crackdown."I glow
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