Midnight.
Grand Palace Entertainment Complex top floor.
Cole Vale sat on the sofa, one hand propping his cheek, expression blank as he looked at the dozen-plus Ashmire bosses on either side. Silent.
Long silence—then a bald heavy, legs crossed, frowned first. “We botched this—already lost face. Sit here dissecting why we folded—that’s slapping ourselves again. No point. Street level fight rice bowl—we fight breath. No matter Sebastian gives channel or not—must kill him. Not for else—just slap Elliot face, adjust Elias mindset.”
“Reason.” Lean heavy instant nod. “We willing let Sebastian walk one thing—Elliot protect him another. Breath no fight—below men uneasy, above reassess our Salt Lake weight.”
“I handle.” Bald stood, eyes dark. “No matter cost—I no let Sebastian leave Salt Lake.
