“She tried to kill my sister under my name.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
“Understood.”
I end the call and look down at the man gasping on the pavement.
“You just became bait,” I tell him quietly.
8
Saint
The money trail doesn’t point to Italy.
It points to New York.
Trigger drops the file on the table.
“Shell company,” he says. “Clean. Professional.”
He taps the highlighted section.
“But the source account?”
He looks up.
“U.S. private bank.”
Wolf frowns.
“So not Rossi.”
Havoc shakes his head slowly.
“Not Marco.”
The room goes quiet.
I stare down at the paperwork.
The numbers.
The account routing.
Something about it twists my gut.
Then I exhale slowly.
“So Laney’s been running from the wrong devil.”
“Looks like it,” Trigger says.
Wolf leans back against the table.
“Then we’re dealing with someone who wanted this to look like Rossi.”
