“Six outside,” Gabriel says. “Maybe eight if he’s nervous. More inside depending on what he’s moving.”
My hands curl into fists at the words what he’s moving.
Ayla isnotproduct.
Ayla is not cargo.
Ayla is not one more breathing body in a bastard’s pipeline.
Gabriel sees something in my face and wisely keeps going.
“He won’t keep her there long. It’s almost been twenty-four hours. If he thinks anyone is looking, he’ll move her before dark.”
Every muscle in my body locks.
I knew that.
Still hearing it out loud makes something murderous slide colder under my skin.
“How do we get in?” Vaska asks.
Gabriel shifts against the chair, grimacing. “Front goes loud. Too exposed. Side fence has a dead angle near the back loading dock. There’s a drainage strip that cuts behind the east wall. If you move right, you can get men close before they see shit.”
“Police response?” Angelo asks.
“Depends how loud you get and how fast you’re gone,” Gabriel says. “It’s industrial enough that you’ve got minutes, not long.”
I look at Pietro. “Pull satellite. Street cams. Traffic flow. Everything around that depot.”
“Already on it.”
Dimitri is on his phone before I even tell him. “I’ll get cars ready.”
“No convoy,” I snap. “Too obvious.”
He nods once. “Then two teams.”
“Three,” Vaska says. “Front pressure, back entry, perimeter catch.”
I glance at him. He keeps his eyes on the map.
Good.
That’s why he’s here.
Angelo folds his arms, staring at the depot layout. “We wait till nightfall.”
Every muscle in my body locks. “No.”
“Yes,” he says, just as flat. “You go in there now, in daylight, and you risk noise, witnesses, cops, the whole thing going sideways before you even get to her.”
I stare at the map hard enough to burn through it.
He steps closer. “You know I’m right.”
I do.
That’s the worst part.
