Sienna
Voices speaking Serbian come through the phone. Filip must have put it on hands-free mode because I can hear both him and another male. Their speech is rather quick, but I still understand some of what is being said. Nasty curse words, then something about the Romanians not being happy about the weapons business. I throw a sideways look at my husband. He’s been driving for twenty minutes in absolute silence. Weapons? I thought the Serbian syndicate only worked with drugs. I try to catch more of the conversation, but it’s mostly cussing again. Someone’s phone rings. The other guy, I think it’s Jovan, hollers something.
“Sienna,” Filip says, “we have the location. I’m sending you the coordinates.”
The phone in my hands vibrates. I put it on speaker, then copy and paste two large
