The shattered glass lay forgotten at my feet.“Say that again,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.The guard didn’t look at me this time. He looked at Lorenzo, waiting for permission that came in the form of a single, terse nod.“The man we pulled off sublevel three was carrying a burner phone with a contact list,” the guard said. “Three numbers, all routed through shell accounts. One of them traces back to a private security firm that’s been drawing a salary from an offshore account under the name Arthur Moretti for five years running.”The room tilted. I gripped the arm of the chair to keep from sliding out of it entirely.“That’s not possible,” I said. “He’s a mechanic. He fixes cars. He drinks cheap beer and yells at the television during football season. He is not—” My voice cracked. “He is not a man who hires mercenaries to shoot up a mafia estate.”“He is exactly that man,” Lorenzo said, quiet and final, “and has been for longer than you’ve been paying rent on that apartment I
Last Updated : 2026-07-15 Read more