The Ritz Carlton gleamed like a jewel against the Paris skyline as Crystal chandeliers cast warm light across marble floors. Men in thousand-euro suits sipped champagne beside women who cost twice as much.Santino walked through the lobby like he belonged there. With his Custom suit, Italian leather shoes. But underneath, his shoulder a holster pressed against his ribs.The elevator climbed smoothly to the twelfth floor as Classical music played softly through hidden speakers. The kind of music that made murder sound elegant.Room 1247 was at the end of a long hallway with thick carpet swallowing the sound of his footsteps.He knocked twice. "It's open," a voice called from inside it was Mia's voice as Santino drew his gun before turning the handle.The suite was larger than most apartments. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Seine. A bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket beside two crystal glasses.Mia stood with her back to him, her silhouette against the city lights. S

The Geneva office building gleamed like a glass monument to money. Thirty floors of banks, law firms, and shell companies. All perfectly legal but inwardly completely corrupt.Santino rode the elevator to the twenty-third floor. The doors opened to reveal a reception area that looked like a spaceship. All white surfaces and blue lighting. A blonde woman behind a curved desk smiled at him like he was her favorite customer."Mr. Leandro? She's waiting for you in Conference Room B."Santino followed her down a hallway lined with abstract art. Each painting probably cost more than a house. But they all looked like someone had sneezed on a canvas.Conference Room B was smaller than he'd expected. A glass table. Four chairs. Wall-mounted screens showing financial data from around the world.And sitting at the table, typing on three different laptops at once, was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.Zara Mbeki looked up as he entered. Dark skin with a Natural hair in a short afro. Eyes t

The plane touched down in Dubai at sunset as the city rose from the desert. Glass towers that scraped the clouds. Gold-plated everything. Money flowing like water in a place where water cost more than blood.Santino stepped off the private jet into air that tasted like heat and ambition. His new territory stretched from the Mediterranean to the Persian Gulf. Ports in Spain. Warehouses in Morocco. And now, a foothold in the Middle East.The expansion had been swift and Efficient.Three rival gangs eliminated. Two corrupt officials replaced. One shipping magnate who'd refused to cooperate found floating in the harbor with his throat cut.Business was good.Hassan waited beside a black Bentley with Designer suit. Gold watch. Smile that never reached his eyes."Mr. Leandro," he said in accented English. "Welcome to Dubai."They drove through the city in air-conditioned silence. Past shopping malls the size of small countries. Past hotels that looked like spaceships. Past construction site

The first thing Santino noticed was the smell. Copper mixed with expensive cologne.His head felt like someone had taken a hammer to it. The room spun when he tried to sit up as everything hurt.Where was he?The bed beneath him was silk. Expensive silk. The walls were cream-colored marble. A chandelier hung from the ceiling. This wasn't his apartment. This wasn't anywhere he remembered being.Santino looked down at his hands.Blood. Dark red blood covered his palms. His knuckles. Under his fingernails."What the hell?"He tried to remember. The penthouse. Mia. The drink that tasted wrong. Men in tactical gear. Hassan alive. His fatherNo. That couldn't be real.Santino wiped his hands on the sheets but the blood was dry. Old. How long had he been here?He stood up too fast as the room tilted sideways. He grabbed the bedpost to steady himself.That's when he saw the clothes.His shirt was gone. His chest was bare as scratches ran down his arms like he'd been in a fight. But he wore

The Barcelona penthouse felt different when Santino returned. The same marble floors. The same expensive furniture. But everything looked smaller now. Like a cage.He poured himself a whiskey. His hands were clean but he could still see the blood. Still smell the copper.Judge Manuel Cortez. Father of two. Dead because of him.The whiskey burned but it didn't burn away the memory."You look like hell." Santino turned as Salvatore stood in the doorway. He wore an expensive suit but his face looked tired. Older."How did you get in?""Same way I always get in. You gave me a key, remember?"Salvatore walked to the bar as he poured himself a drink and Sat down across from Santino."Where have you been? I've been calling for two days.""Business trip.""What kind of business?"Santino looked at his friend. His childhood friend. The one who'd brought him into this world."The kind you don't ask about."Salvatore studied his face. "Something happened.""Nothing happened.""Don't lie to me.