The smell of gun oil and bergamot surrounded me, so familiar it physically hurt.
I clung to his overcoat for a single, desperate second, letting myself believe it was real. But the cold, metallic reality of the handcuffs hanging open against the pipe snapped me back. I pushed against his chest, stumbling backward on unsteady legs.
Marco immediately raised his weapon, the laser sight dotting my chest.
Don threw his hand up without even looking. "Lower it, Marco."
"Boss, she's a fed," Marco growled, his voice thick with hatred and adrenaline. "She's the reason we're standing in a rat-infested warehouse instead of the estate."
"I said lower it." Don didn't raise his voice, but the terrifying authority in his tone made Marco slowly lower the rifle, though he kept his finger firmly against
