The harsh, mechanical vibration of the burner phone against the glass coffee table shattered the quiet of the penthouse.
Ryan didn't respond to it immediately. His hand paused its slow, rhythmic stroking of Zara's calf.
He reached over, grabbing the device, the backlight casting a sickly pale glow over his face. He opened the encrypted inbox.
'A gas leak doesn't burn the ledger, Russo. Target 4,592 is now Priority One. Look over your shoulder.'
Ryan stared at the jagged, pixelated text.
The Syndicate wasn't just watching anymore; they were bleeding into his reality. Wiping out their local mafia crew hadn't severed the chain - it had simply forced the apex predators to acknowledge they were dealing with a genuine threat.
He pressed the power button, holding it down until the screen went dead, and slipped the phone into his pocket.
"Trouble?" Zara murmured, her voice laced with sleep. She shifted on the velvet cushions, pulling the cashmere throw tighter across her chest.
