Pooling beneath the chair where the old priest sits with his throat cut, his kind eyes staring at nothing.
I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t process what I’m seeing.
Mikhail pulls me against his chest, turning my face away from the horror.
But I’ve already seen it.
Already seen the message written in Father Miguel’s blood on the wall behind him.
No sanctuary for sinners.
20
MIKHAIL
The warehouse on the south side reeks of motor oil and rust, but it’s secure.
More importantly, it’s off Lorenzo’s radar.
I stand at the head of a makeshift table constructed from shipping pallets, studying the faces of the six men who answered my call.
Six.
Out of an organization that once numbered in the hundreds.
“This is what we have left?” Marco asks, his voice tight with barely controlled anger.
He leans against a support beam, arms crossed, his ponytail loose from our flight from the city.
Melinda wanted to come, but I insisted she stay back, back where she has guards and medical care.
No reason to expose her to anymore of the business than necessary.
“This is who we have that we can trust,” I correct, my gaze sweeping over each man.
Sophia moves to stand beside me, and I feel the warmth of her presence like a physical touch.
She’s wearing jeans and a simple black sweater, her hair pulled back, and no makeup.
She looks nothing like the terrified college student I kidnapped weeks ago.
Now she looks like a woman who’s walked through fire and emerged stronger.
“We need more men,” one of the guys says, his scarred face grim. “Six against Lorenzo’s army is suicide.”
“Seven,” Sophia corrects quietly. Every head turns toward her. “I can fight.”
Pride swells in my chest, mixing with fear. I’ve seen her handle a weapon, seen her courage under fire. But the thought of her in danger makes my hands clench into fists.
“We need more than numbers.” I force my attention back to the map spread across our makeshift table. “We need allies. People who have as much reason to hate Lorenzo as we do.”
“The Castellanos,” someone suggests, and several men nod. “Lorenzo’s been moving in on their territory for months. They’ve lost three warehouses and at least a dozen men.”
I consider this.
The Castellano family runs the docks and most of the smuggling operations in the eastern district.
They’re powerful, well-armed, and they have no love for Lorenzo. But they’re also cautious.
