Morning light leaked weakly through the half-closed blinds, cutting across the smoke-filled room. The air smelled of cigar and whiskey — the usual scent of Lorenzo DeLuca’s mornings. He sat in his black leather chair, shirt half-buttoned, gold chain resting on his neck.
He took a slow drag of his cigar, eyes cold, watching the smoke twist in the air like it carried his thoughts.
The door opened quietly. One of his guards stepped in — tall, clean-cut, dressed in black. “Boss,” he said, bowing his head. “Everything’s done. Lucian believes Liam Knight is behind the missing women and the tip to the police.”
Lorenzo’s lips curved in a faint smile. “Good.”
The guard continued, “The police have frozen his Raven route. He thinks someone tipped off customs. Marco and the rest are cleaning up th
