The East River was always colder at night, a biting wind sweeping through the rusted containers and dilapidated piers like a ghost hunting for its next victim. Marco stepped out of the black SUV, his coat billowing behind him as he approached the shadows where Marcus waited, crouched behind a stack of shipping crates.
“He’s here,” Marcus whispered, pointing to a figure further down the pier. “Anthony. Met with someone ten minutes ago. Couldn’t get a clean look at them, but they exchanged something.”
Marco’s gaze locked on the silhouette pacing near the end of the dock. Anthony Vega. His trusted legal advisor. The man who handled confidential files, signed off on multimillion-dollar contracts, and walked beside him through boardroom wars. Now? He was a traitor in Armani.
“Let me handle i
