Asa’s POV

The warehouse was alive with noise per usual. There was the scrape of crates on concrete, the whine of forklifts and the bark of orders shouted in Italian.

This is the kind of place where loyalty was measured in tons of cargo and betrayal in ounces of blood.

I stood at the center of it, watching men twice my size move like ants at my command. The trucks were backed up against the loading docks, drivers waiting for the all-clear.

Marco, my underboss, approached, his forehead ...