WANTED BY THREE BILLIONAIRES
He howled, the gun clattering from his hand as he went down.
A man stepped out of the shadows at the alley's entrance. He was Tall, wearing a perfectly tailored suit, dark hair slicked back, and a gun in his hand. His eyes were ice-cold and utterly calm.
“Tony,” he called and crouched in front of Tony. “I hate seeing in this position.”
The man holding my hair released me immediately. I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, my palm screaming where glass had cut it earlier.
"Dante Moretti," the third man breathed, and I heard genuine fear in his voice.