The hospital room was quiet except for the soft hum of machines monitoring Jessica’s vitals. Armando sat at the small table near the window, his laptop open, the screen illuminating his sharp features. His tie was loosened, and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing the tattooed forearm that rarely saw the light of day. He was deep in an online meeting with his core team of the Prime Syndicate, his expression tense and commanding.
The faces of Cole, Alexander, Arthur, Matteo, Dante, and Antonio appeared in neat squares on the screen. They had convened for an urgent briefing after Armando’s unexpected absence from their headquarters.
“We’ve tightened security around the hospital,” Dante reported, his tone professional but concerned. “I’ve got men stationed on every entrance and patrols
