The air was thick with tension, the kind that made the back of my neck prickle. We were parked in an abandoned warehouse near the docks on the outskirts of Grosthe. The floors were slick with oil, and the scent of rust and gasoline mingled in the air like a funeral dirge.
MacGregor had taken the lead on security detail— silent, precise, eyes never blinking. I was grateful for his presence, even if I didn't say it aloud. I'm sure he knew how these kinds of men moved.
I also hoped his presence wouldn't upset the Mafia.
They arrived in a blacked-out SUV, their boots clicking like ticking clocks as they stepped out. The Mafia. Not the typical Italian type, but a hybrid breed that had long outgrown old traditions. Suits, scars, and silenced weapons. One of them yanked Kent out of the back se
