If there was anywhere in the world more corrupt than Santa Notte’s Fisherman’s Bay, Angelo struggled to name it. The bay itself was polluted with all sorts of plastics and chemicals, despite any half-hearted movements to get it cleaned up by the city. It was so rancid that Angelo was almost positive there wasn’t a single fish brought in that wasn’t farmed somewhere far beyond the City of Night’s waters. Once, he had heard, the bay was home to small family boats and hardworking immigrants. Now, it was a point of entry for drugs, guns, stolen artwork, rough diamonds, you name it. And occasionally some high end sushi if you got lucky.
Currently, it was Angelo’s destination. Sitting in the back seat of his car, he thumbed through his phone with bored eyes. No new information on their rat prob
