Page 62 of Sexted By a Stranger
Dead silence. Only Antonio's heavy, suppressed breathing came through the communicator. After several seconds, he practically whimpered his assurance, "Understood, boss. I'll handle it perfectly. Please, my wife and kids—"
"Handle it right, and they stay safe." I cut him off coldly and severed the connection.
"Bait's in the water." I tossed the communicator back onto the table, scanning my two most trusted lieutenants. "Ragnar."
"Boss." Ragnar immediately straightened his spine.
"Take Alpha team and set up an ambush around Bluebird Textile Mills. The Marcheses and Direwolf Bratva are both stationed there. Antonio's intel will draw their main force to hit the casino, but Direwolf will keep reserves behind." My finger stabbed the map at Bluebird's location. "The moment their main force moves, hit them hard. I want that place wiped clean."
"Copy that."
"Lennox." My gaze shifted to him. "You're on Pier Three warehouse. Malkovich's crew will be concentrated there—theythink we're caught off guard. Once we confirm the casino assault has launched, move in immediately."
"Consider it done, Boss. They won't know what hit them."
"After you clear the rear positions, both teams converge and pin them in a crossfire." I continued the briefing.
"Finally," my eyes fell on the Lower East Side fight club, "as for Connor's rat hole, I'll personally lead a team to 'visit.' Tonight, I'm playing his game—but by my rules."
With the deployment complete, Ragnar silently began his final equipment check. Lennox rapidly typed on his tablet, coordinating personnel and confirming comm channels and extraction routes.
I closed my eyes, and Sheila's image immediately surfaced, unbidden—what was she doing right now? Probably already asleep, curled up in that wide, soft bed, maybe clutching a pillow, her long hair spread across the pillowcase.
"Boss," Lennox's voice cut through the silence. He handed me the tablet. "Convoy's ready, all operatives online, encrypted comms confirmed. Antonio's making his move—the fish is biting."
On screen, Antonio was moving quickly toward Connor's emergency safe house.
The last trace of warmth in my eyes was replaced by cold killing intent.
"Move out."
Dawn Manhattan—neon still flickered, but there was something eerily dead about the silence. The convoy finally stopped in the back alley behind the shabby-signed Red Knuckle Fight Club.
I gave the signal. The battering ram slammed into the heavy fire door—a thunderous crash, and the lock exploded.
"Go! Go! Go!"
Deafening explosions echoed through the narrow corridor, bullets ricocheting off metal pipes and concrete walls with sharp, screaming whines.
"Left corridor clear."
"Bar area suppressed."
"The VIP section has a fire point."
We cut through Red Knuckle's heart like a red-hot blade.
Ragnar's cold voice crackled through my earpiece: "Boss, 'Blue Bird' is cleaned out. All Direwolf Bratva eliminated, seized a large cache of weapons and cash, and the building was destroyed."
Then Lennox: "Pier Three warehouse secured."
"Converge on the Golden Crown," I ordered.
"Roger." both responded in unison.
Both flanks were severed. Now it was Connor's turn.
The team pushed forward like a juggernaut, reaching the heavily guarded door marked "Manager's Office" at the very back. I stepped aside and kicked the severely damaged door panel open with one brutal strike.
