CHAPTER 104

Pain still pulsed from Wilson’s cheek, but he barely felt it anymore.

Not with that box in the room.

Not with Giovanni’s smirk growing wider by every passing moment.

Not with the way R leaned against the desk, silent, watching.

The man holding the box placed it carefully on the table. It was sleek, black, and compact. Not large. Not meant to carry a body.

But Wilson knew better.

It wasn’t about size.

It was about the message.

Giovanni turned back to Wilson, dragging a chair closer. Slowly. Casually. Like they were old friends catching up.

He sat down, crossing his legs. “Cassius’ little dog,” he repeated, “Tell...