Owned By The Mafia Lord
His face was pale, the kind of look that told me something was wrong before he even spoke.
I looked up slowly. “What is it?”
He shut the door behind him. The noise outside faded, but the tension didn’t. He stepped closer, hands in his pockets, jaw tight.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said.
I dropped the pen and leaned back. “Say it.”
“The Genoa shipment,” he said. “It’s gone.”
The words didn’t register at first. I frowned. “Gone?”
“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “Not hijacked. Not delayed. Gone. The trucks left the port and never showed. The trackers went silent halfway through. No distress signal, no call, nothing.”
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