The rain hadn’t stopped for hours. It streamed down the tall windows of the penthouse like a curtain of glass needles, the gray sky outside smudging the city into a blur. Raven stood near the far wall, arms folded tight, watching as Jaxon’s men dragged a bound figure across the floor and shoved him into the chair in the center of the room.
The man’s name was Dominic Sabatini. On paper, he was nothing, a low-level earner, one of a hundred faces working under Jaxon Morreau, but two nights ago, intel had surfaced that someone inside Jaxon’s crew had been feeding information to outsiders. Names, routes, payment trails. Jaxon had spent exactly thirty-six hours combing through phone records, shipment logs, and whispered rumors, and this morning he gave the order, "bring me the rat."
Now Domini
