Roman did not flinch, his eyes remaining fixed on the black plastic rotary phone.

“Nobody has that number,” Declan muttered, his voice a low growl.

“Only the inner circle,” Victor murmured, his silver cuffs catching the red glow of the neon light outside.

The phone rang a third time, the sound echoing off the bare concrete walls.

Roman finally stepped forward.

His long coat brushed against the edge of the desk as he reached for the receiver.

He picked it up and held it to his ear.

He did not say a word.

He just listened, his dark eyes fixed on the rain-streaked window.

The room was silent except for the whistling wind and the static hum leaking from the earpiece.

I held my breath, watching the tight line of Roman’s jaw.

“When?” Roman asked.

His voice was cold enough to freeze the rain outside.

There was another long pause.

“Understood,” Roman said.

He placed the receiver back on the cradle with a heavy click.

He turned to look at Victor.

“Your men at the western docks are dead,” Roman said.