"We have nothing," I say. My voice is flat. Dead.
"We have eight captured alive." Igor shifts in his chair.
"And they've told us what, exactly?"
"Nothing useful. They were hired through intermediaries. Paid in cash. Given instructions through encrypted messages that self-deleted."
I close the laptop. Too hard. The screen cracks slightly.
Fuck.
"The warehouse," I say. "My warehouse. He knew about it. Knew the codes. Knew it hadn't been used in over a year."
"Someone gave him the information."
"Someone close." I stand. Pace to the window. "Only three people have those codes. You. Aleksander. Me."
"It wasn't me."
"I know." I turn. Look at him. "And it wasn't Aleksander."
"Then someone hacked your system."
"Vittoria checked. Twice. No breach. No unauthorized access. Nothing."
Igor drums his fingers on the armrest. "Then someone got the codes another way."
"How?"
"I don't know."
I resume pacing. My office feels too small. Too confined.
"The attack itself," Igor continues. "Twelve men willing to die. Professional. Coordinated."
"And not a single civilian casualty." I stop. Face him. "That bothers me."
"Why?"
"Because it means they had excellent intelligence. Knew exactly where everyone would be. Who was family. Who was business. Who was innocent."
Igor nods slowly. "They targeted only our people."
"Exactly. Twenty-three dead. All soldiers. All connected. Not one bystander caught in the crossfire."
"That level of precision requires?—"
"Inside information," I finish. "Someone told them the layout. The guest list. The security positions. Everything."
My phone buzzes. I ignore it.
"The police investigation went quiet fast," Igor says. "Too fast."
"I paid them well." I return to my desk. Sit. "Lorenzo handled the official story. Robbery gone wrong. Gang violence. The usual bullshit."
"And they bought it?"
"They were encouraged to buy it." I lean back. Close my eyes. "The mayor's office received a generous donation. The police commissioner's retirement fund got a boost. Everyone's happy."
