–Damon–
Sleeping? Nah. But my wife needs rest. So I make sure the room's dark, windows shut, curtains drawn. I help her with her eyedrops, tuck her in, and once she's settled, I head downstairs—only to find my best soldier, Francis, face-to-face with Sophia.
"Francis," I called. He turned sharply, crisp as ever, stepped forward, and saluted. I gave him a nod, and he pulled a letter from his coat pocket, handing it to me.
"Our trackers found traces of the snipers," he reported. "They're working for the Madrigal. Mexican mafia."
"Madrigal?" I tilted my head. There's always someone called Madrigal in this game. But this one? Big enough to send snipers after us—in our hotel room? Maybe they caught a glimpse of us fucking and thought it was a good time to pull the trigger. A little voyeurism before the job? Classy.
"I want those snipers alive," I muttered.
Sophia sighed loudly beside him.
"Sophia?" I looked at her. "What would you like to add?"
