Cillian The warehouse sits at the edge of Red Hook like it already knows it’s going to die tonight. Good. It saves me the trouble of imagining it.Rain slides down the windshield in crooked lines while the SUV slows half a block away. The streets are almost empty, soaked black beneath the streetlights, industrial buildings looming on either side like rotting teeth. Old brick. Rusted shutters. Chain-link fences. Perfect places for men like Vittorio Bellini to hide and convince themselves they’re untouchable.He isn’t. Not anymore.I sit in the back seat, one hand resting on my gun, the other curled into a fist against my thigh. Declan is in the front, one earpiece in, tablet balanced on his knee, eyes moving over feeds and heat signatures. Liam sits beside me, silent, calm, death wrapped in a black coat. Ronan is in the second SUV behind us because if I let him sit in this one, he’d spend the entire drive begging me to let him kick the front door in.Not tonight. Tonight is mine.“Fif
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