The Alpha’s Regret: My Ex-Mate is a Mafia Legend
I cut the call before he can order his guards to track my signal.
Across the district, inside the high-security war room of the Blackmoor Pack House, Tristan Blackmoor slams his fist onto the iron briefing table, splitting the solid oak trim down the center.
"What do you mean the drive was locked?" Tristan roars, his eyes glowing a sinister, blood-red hue as he glares at the trembling tech specialist standing beside the console.
"The... the main drive we seized from the atelier was totally fried from the power surge, Alpha," the technician stammers, wiping sweat from his forehead. "It's completely blank. But... but we managed to clone the local cache off the secondary laptop our operative gr
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