The abandoned factory stood like a ghost in the shadows, its broken windows reflecting the faint glimmer of twilight. The silence was deafening. Tension hung thick in the air, broken only by the crunch of tires rolling over gravel.

Mike stepped out of the black SUV, a bulletproof vest hidden beneath his shirt. His jaw was clenched, fists curled tight. Behind him, Marcus coordinated silently with two armed men disguised as part of a utility crew. The briefcase of cash was secured in Mike's grip—marked with a tracker inside the lining.

He wasn’t here to play games. He was here to end it.

"Mike, wait!" Isla burst out from the...