Mara didn't flinch.
She didn't look back at Nico, and she didn't let her eyes dart to Luca or the sniper perches high in the rusting cranes.
She stood her ground in the knee-deep snow, her hands buried in the pockets of her leather jacket.
"Because Bruno is offering you a promise written on water, Don Morozov," Mara broke the silence.
Morozov's thick grey eyebrows rose slightly. "Is that so?"
"Bruno's Chair is barely a week old," Mara continued, taking another half-step forward. "He called a mandatory Council session that devolved into a gunfire execution in front of forty syndicate bosses. He lost his star witness, failed to secure the Regency, and had to throw twelve million euros of his family's private money onto dark web forums just to buy international hitmen because he doesn't trust his own captains to protect him."
She let out a soft, cold breath that bloomed into a white cloud between them.
