Polished brass nameplates gleamed on the mahogany stall doors.

It was the kind of luxury built on stolen money and broken bones.

We walked down the center aisle, Vesper stepping softly behind us.

Her hooves made barely a sound on the thick rubber mats.

At the far end of the aisle, a yellow bar of light spilled from the office door.

We heard voices raised in anger.

“The trucks should have been here twenty minutes ago,” Julian Sterling said.

“I told you, the driver said they were on schedule,” Marco replied.

I recognized Marco’s voice instantly.

He was the guard who had pretended to care for Vesper while secretly letting her rot.

“If Dante finds out about the ledger, we are dead,” Sterling said.

“He already knows,” Dante said, stepping into the light of the office doorway.

The two men inside froze.

Julian Sterling sat behind a massive mahogany desk, papers scattered before him.

He looked older, his hair thinner, but his eyes were the same cold gray.

Marco stood near the window, his hand instantly darting toward his waist.

“Don’t,” Dante said.