The alley smelled like blood and wet garbage.Dante Cross crouched behind a rusted dumpster, his Glock pressed against his thigh. Two bodies lay fifteen feet away. Both had their throats cut. Both were his people.He counted the seconds since the last gunshot. Thirty-one. No more rounds. No footsteps.The attacker was still out there.Dante's shoulder throbbed where the bullet had grazed him an hour ago. He'd been running since the phone call came in. The dead drop was supposed to be clean. A simple pickup. Intelligence on the prisoner transfer route.Instead, he found a slaughter.He moved fast, keeping low, weapon raised. The alley was narrow, flanked by brick walls covered in faded graffiti. One exit ahead. One behind. He was trapped in the middle.A shadow shifted on the fire escape above him.Dante fired twice. The body dropped hard, smacking against metal before crashing to the concrete. He approached carefully, kicked the weapon away. Dead man. Late twenties. Tattoos on his nec

Dante pressed his palm against the wound on his side.The bleeding slowed but didn't stop. He'd need stitches. Medical supplies. And a place to think.One name kept surfacing. Gary Price.The retired analyst lived in a rundown apartment building on the south side. He was the only person Dante trusted completely. The only one who knew the full story.Dante left the garage and moved through backstreets for forty minutes. He took three different trains. He switched direction twice.Paranoia kept him alive.Gary's building was dark. The hallway light had been broken for months. Dante climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, his boots silent on the concrete.He knocked twice. Paused. Knocked once more.No answer.His hand went to his weapon.He tried the handle. Unlocked.The door swung open.The apartment was destroyed. Furniture overturned. Papers scattered across the floor. A chair lay broken against the wall.Dante stepped inside, clearing corners. Kitchen. Bathroom. Bedroom.Empty.But

The port stretched across two miles of industrial waterfront. Cranes loomed like skeletons against the grey sky. Shipping containers stacked in endless rows.Dante found a position on a rooftop two blocks away. He'd been watching for three hours.The command post was a converted office trailer near the main dock. Sasha Kral ran operations from inside. Viktor's men patrolled the perimeter. Armed. Professional.Dante counted twelve guards. Two on the roof. Three at the gate. The rest circulated in pairs.Too many for a direct assault.He needed information. A way inside. Someone who could get him close.His phone buzzed.Unknown number. The same one from before.He answered but said nothing."Dante." Webb's voice. Calm. Familiar. "I know you're watching the port."Dante stayed silent."I also know you killed two of my men at the Silo. And you let one live. Sent a message.""You sent one first," Dante said. "Gary didn't deserve that.""Gary was a liability. He found things he shouldn't h

The west gate was unlocked.Dante pushed through, Naomi close behind him. The warehouse loomed ahead, dark and silent. No guards visible. No patrols.Too quiet."Something's wrong," he whispered.Naomi checked her phone. "Webb's team isn't here yet. We have forty minutes.""Where are Viktor's men?""Inside. Rotating shifts. They're sloppy."Dante didn't like it. Sloppy meant easy. Easy meant bait.He moved to the loading dock. A metal door hung slightly ajar. He slipped through, weapon raised.The interior was vast. Stacked containers rising to the ceiling. Narrow corridors between them. Dim emergency lights casting long shadows.Naomi pointed left. "The prisoners are in the center. Cage area."Dante moved forward, clearing corners. His footsteps echoed.Then he heard it. A low hum. Generators maybe. Or something else.He froze. Listened.Footsteps. Multiple sets. Coming from the right.He pulled Naomi behind a container. Pressed flat against the metal.Three men walked past. Viktor's

The Harbor Hotel rose twenty stories above the waterfront. Glass and steel. Cold and indifferent.Dante watched it from a coffee shop across the street. He'd been sitting there for two hours, nursing a cold cup and studying the entrance.Suite 1400. Aldrich's invitation. Webb's trap.Both knew he'd come. Both were waiting.His phone buzzed. A text from Naomi."Safe. Drive secured. Meet when you can."He replied with a single word: "Stay."Then he turned his attention back to the hotel.The entrance was active. Businessmen. Tourists. Staff. But also shadows. Two men in suits by the revolving door. Another near the valet stand. Webb's people, pretending to be guests.Dante counted four visible. There would be more inside. At least eight. Maybe ten.Aldrich was on the fourteenth floor. Webb would be there too. Waiting.The direct approach was suicide.Dante needed another way in.He crossed the street, keeping his head down. Entered the hotel through a side entrance meant for staff. A se