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⊰ 17.5 ⊱ Playing With Fire
⊰ Marcel ⊱
I sit at the head of the conference table, my gaze sweeping over the faces gathered before me. Levi, Santiago, and Guillermo flank me on either side, their expressions carefully neutral. Across from us, Ben and Pablo, the two CIA agents who have infiltrated my organization, the men who used my wife as a pawn in their game.
It’s been a week since Mercy’s breakdown, a week of watching her struggle through therapy sessions, of holding her as she cries herself to sleep. A week of barely contained rage simmering beneath my skin.
But I keep it in check, my face a mask of calm control. I need to play this smart, need to turn the tables on these bastards who think they hold all the cards.
It’s time to settle the score.
“So,” I begin, leaning back in my chair, my tone deceptively casual. “Where are we with the nano-drones?”
Pablo clears his throat, meeting my gaze with a confidence that sets my teeth on edge
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