Tonight was different.
“Not mine,” hissed Mikhael from the Bratvas. mobtop
Yuri called back, laughing. “Sponge. The sky is yours. Name your price.” Tonight was different
Lev Tarasov didn’t need a gun. He had gravity. Tonight was different. “Not mine
A fourth blip appeared. No color. No IFF code. Just a hungry, silent dot moving straight toward the city’s gold depository.
He killed the line, poured a vodka, and watched the sirens race toward Viktor’s burning chandelier. Above it all, his own drone—a silent, unmarked thing—hovered and watched. Because the man who controls the air above the crime owns the crime itself.