Chapter 1
Julian turned away from the frosted glass, his expression unreadable.
He refused to give Dante Russo the satisfaction of a screaming, bloody street war.
Elias gripped his weapon tighter, his knuckles turning white under the harsh fluorescent lights.
He didn't understand how his boss could remain so incredibly calm while their men were being butchered.
But Julian operated on a different frequency than the rest of the underworld.
He knew that a predictable reaction was a fatal reaction.
Dante wanted them to march into Hell’s Kitchen with guns blazing.
Dante wanted a spectacle to prove his dominance to the aging Carmine Russo.
Instead, Julian planned to starve the beast from the inside out.
He ordered Elias to lock down all external operations and pull their hitters off the streets.
They were going to let Dante punch the air until he exhausted himself.
As Julian issued the commands, a soft knock echoed through the tense office.
Elara slipped into the room, balancing a tray of fresh espresso and mineral water.
She didn't look at the tactical maps scattered across the mahogany desk.
She didn't react to the smell of gun oil radiating from Elias.
She simply set the cups down with absolute precision, her face a mask of polite indifference.
Julian finally looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in three years.
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Something in the absolute stillness of her posture caught his attention.
It was the posture of someone who wasn't ignoring danger, but rather calculating it.
