MARCO
I pushed open the heavy metal door to Rafael’s office in the warehouse, the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and hitting me immediately. The room was dimly lit, maps and photos pinned across a large board dominating one wall; underworld routes, business fronts, enemy faces, intricate plans scribbled in red and black marker. Reaper stood in front of it, motionless, staring blankly at Viktor Kane’s photo right in the center. His shoulders were tense, fists clenched at his sides. He looked like a man one wrong word away from putting a bullet through the board.
I walked closer and stopped beside him, hands in my pockets. For a long moment, he didn’t acknowledge me.
Finally, without turning, he spoke, voice low and dangerous.
“Did you find anything on Viktor?”
I sighed, rubbing the
