Truths aren’t Justice
The vibration buzzed sharp against the silence, tearing through the candlelit calm like a blade. I glanced down at the phone on the marble counter. Encrypted line. No ID. Only a few people had this number. And none of them called for small talk. I crossed the room in two strides and picked it up. “Yeah?” Static. Then a voice I hadn’t heard in weeks. Malik. “We’ve got a problem.” My spine straightened. “Talk.” “One of Rico’s boys was found. Dead. Tortured. Dumped in the port waters.” His voice was low, clipped, cold. “It wasn’t us. Someone’s playing the board, Saint.” I clenched my jaw. That wasn’t just a message—it was a provocation. Someone was using my methods, my signature, to stir war between crews. Someone wanted to start a fire. “Where’s Rico?” I asked, already scanning throu
- Writer
