Vaska’s gaze flicks to me at last, steady and unreadable. “He’s right.”
I let out one slow breath through my nose.
It doesn’t help.
Nothing helps.
The daylight is brighter now. Higher. Meaner. Every second of it feels like a knife dragged over nerve.
I look at Gabriel in the chair. At the blood in his teeth. At the swelling on his face. At the smug edge he keeps trying to wear over desperation.
This is not power.
This is a man trying to crawl out from under the boot on his throat by offering me the only thing I can’t afford to refuse.
I hate him for it.
I hate myself more for standing here still thinking about pride when Ayla is somewhere with Arsen Sarkisian.
When I finally speak, my voice is calm enough to chill the room.
“You’ll have your truce.”
Gabriel goes still. I step closer until I’m standing right in front of him again.
“But hear me carefully.” I lean down, close enough that he can smell the violence on me. “You get one chance to make this worth the oxygen you’re wasting in my house.”
His throat works once.
“You lie to me, stall me, send me somewhere dirty, tip him off, play both sides, or do anything—anything,that makes this harder than it already is…” I let the threat hang there between us like a weapon. “The truce dies with you.”
Gabriel’s gaze stays on mine. Blood-red. Hollow. Tired.
Then he nods once.
“Done.”
“Not yet.”
I straighten and look at Pietro. “Map.”
He’s already moving, spinning the laptop around, keys clicking fast. Street maps flash up. Warehouse grids. Industrial pockets. Transit routes. Shipping lanes. Security overlays where we have them.
Angelo moves to the table beside me. Dimitri comes off the wall. Vaska steps closer without a word. Ivan stays where he is, but the room has changed now—less argument, more purpose. The air sharpens.
“Talk,” I say.
Gabriel licks blood off his lip and looks at the screen.
“Old freight depot near the river,” he says. “South side. Used to be a shipping transfer point before the city shut half of it down. Arsen’s been using one of the back buildings as a temporary hold site.”
Pietro zooms in.
“Here?” he asks.
Gabriel nods. “That cluster. The farthest one from the road. Loading access in the back. Chain-link perimeter. Half the cameras are for show. Two are real.”
“Men?” Angelo asks.
