Alessandro's POV
I stood on the rooftop across from Luke’s stronghold, the biting wind a slap in the face, a constant reminder of the time I’d lost, the time Illyana had been in his clutches.
The stronghold was a fortress. High walls. Reinforced gates. Armed guards patrolling the perimeter, their shadows stretching long and distorted under the harsh glare of the floodlights. Luke’s fortress. My target.
Lorenzo, Nico, Harrison and Petrov stood beside me, and the men I had brought with me stood behind us. Below, two more groups were assembling. The Irish: rough, restless, their loyalty bought and paid for, but their muscle, their knowledge of the city’s underbelly, a necessary asset. And the Russians, silent and watchful. Living demons in their own right.
“Security’s tight,” Nico murmur
