"The Councilor demands the deed to Pier 14 on his desk before sunrise, or your head will be on a spike!"
The voice rasped over the speaker of the silver communicator, sharp with impatience.
Rafael held the device casually near his mouth, his silver-gray eyes entirely devoid of fear as he looked down at the corpse of Boss Garros resting on the mahogany desk.
"Garros is no longer handling dock acquisitions," Rafael said, his tone dropping into a smooth, icy baritone that commanded immediate silence on the line.
A heavy pause hung over the radio frequency, punctuated only by the faint hum of steam pressure.
"Who the hell is this?" the voice barked back, dropping its bluster for a colder, far more lethal edge. "What happened to Garros?"
"Pier 14 belongs to Vesper now," Rafael repl
