“You’re telling me you didn’t order the hit.”
“I’m telling you,” he says calmly,
“I’m here to prevent the next one.”
Behind me, chairs scrape.
Trigger.
Wolf.
Havoc.
The team forms up automatically.
Trigger crosses his arms.
“Proof.”
Marco doesn’t move until I ease just enough pressure off his throat for him to reach into his jacket.
My grip tightens instantly.
But he moves slowly.
Carefully.
He pulls out his phone and sets it on the bar.
“Accounts,” he says.
“Shell companies.”
He scrolls once.
“The broker she used.”
Another file appears.
“The contractor she burned.”
I don’t release him.
ButI look.
Numbers.
Transfers.
Names.
Too clean to be fake.
Too detailed to be coincidence.
Trigger leans in beside me.
His eyes scan the screen quickly.
