(Alessandro’s POV)
The night was a canvas of neon and shadow. From the tinted windows of the armored SUV parked across from the opulent facade of The Empyrean Club, I watched the dregs of Chicago’s elite underworld come and go. Politicians, judges, and rival capos all passed under the discreet gas lamps, their expensive cars purring at the curb. They were entering the O’Malley’s sanctuary to indulge their vices, blissfully unaware that a predator was using their neutral ground as his personal hunting blind. Somewhere inside, Viktor, the snake we had come for, was sitting at a poker table, feeling untouchable.
“He’s been inside for two hours,” Matteo, my team lead, murmured from the passenger seat, his eyes fixed on a tablet displaying the club’s heat signatures and compromised camera fee
