Back in the safehouse, Cain sat in his custom-designed chair, a throne of black leather and reinforced steel. His posture was relaxed, almost languid, but his eyes were sharp and focused, betraying the coiled tension beneath the surface.
A thin smile played on his lips, a predatory curve that sent a shiver down the spines of even his most seasoned enforcers.
He wore a headset, its delicate wires disappearing into the collar of his tailored black shirt. The only sound in the room was the faint static emanating from the speakers, a constant reminder of the invisible web he was weaving.
Brittney stood a few feet away, leaning against a wall, her arms crossed. Her expression was carefully neutral, almost bored. In the weeks she stayed here, she had seen this side of Cain countless times, t
