Gonda's wine glass would not stay still.
He was sitting in the private room behind his main base, with the television muted on the wall and the news text still running below the screen. The glass in his hand trembled enough that the red wine touched the rim twice.
Kundra stood behind him.
He was silent, but even he looked shaken.
Only a short while ago, Gonda had sat across from the old man of World Zone and heard him speak of Maren Voss like a piece already placed on their side. Maren was supposed to be part of their arrangement. Maren was supposed to help World Zone enter the local underworld properly.
Now Maren was dead, and not quietly or in some personal fight. He had been hit on the road in a way that every gang in the province would hear about before night.
To normal people, it would look like another gang fight. One more violent man killed by other violent men. They would talk for a day and move on.
Gonda was not normal people.
He knew what this meant.
