"I knew you couldn't stay away from the money, Bisma," a familiar, raspy voice sneered from the darkness of the corridor.
Bisma froze completely in his tracks, his boots planted on the polished mahogany floor of the lower deck corridor. The cool, damp air coming off Lake Zurich drifted through the ventilation shafts, carrying the faint scent of saltwater and refined engine oil. He didn't turn around right away. He knew that voice all too well from his past life inside the syndicate. It belonged to Marcus, Zuan's most trusted operational commander and chief enforcer on the water.
"Marcus," Bisma said, his voice level and devoid of any panic. "I am surprised you are still guarding a sinking ship instead of packing your bags."
"The only thing sinking tonight is you, Bisma," Marcus repl
