THE MAFIA'S PRICE
Alexei’s knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the heavy oak desk. Marco, released. Not broken. Not silenced. Released. The report from his men, delivered in low, uneasy voices, still rang in his head. The city, that vast organism that usually throbbed with violence and rumor, was silent. No explosions. No retaliation. No bodies turning up where they should have. The absence of chaos was wrong. It crawled under his skin, an itch that refused to be ignored.