Mark
The past couple of weeks have settled into a rhythm, the kind that feels both exhausting and grounding. Days are spent at the warehouse, Luke and Tony shoulder to shoulder cleaning up the Moretti aftermath. The mess, the lingering tension, the potential for someone to get careless—it’s all mine to manage.
“Nothing’s happened,” Tony muttered one afternoon in the office, tossing a folder onto the desk. “I don’t get it. We cleaned up fast, we tightened security… and still, not a peep.”
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing at the bridge of my nose. “We did what we could. Sometimes it’s about patience, not action. Let’s not invite trouble by overthinking it. Let’s keep the perimeter tight and stay smart.”
Tony grunted, shaking his head. “You’re always the calm one, Mark. I’d be sweating
