The East End of Monterio was a place where the city’s ambition went to die. Known as "The Heights," the district was a skeletal remains of industrial warehouses and cramped, low-income tenements. Here, the streetlights were either smashed or flickered with a dying orange pulse, casting long, jagged shadows across the cracked pavement.
Dante sat in the rear of the armored SUV, his eyes fixed on the rain-streaked window. The transition from the gleaming glass of the Military District to this wasteland was jarring. This was the territory of the "Heights Association," a g**g of legalized thugs who functioned as the enforcement arm for Virelli Holdings' lower-tier interests.
"The Rossis are in Unit 4B," Enzo said, his voice a low rumble over the hum of the engine. "The building is technically
