Killian’s face went pale under the harsh fluorescent light.

“That mill is owned by your uncle, boss,” Killian whispered. “It’s a closed supply chain. No one gets near those looms.”

Aries stood perfectly still, his chest rising and falling slowly.

The silence in the room became heavy, suffocating.

“My uncle,” Aries said, his voice barely a breath.

“He manages the entire Italian operation,” Killian said, his hand trembling slightly on the edge of his holster. “If the wool was treated at the mill, it means—”

“It means the betrayal started at home,” Aries said.

He turned toward the small window that looked out over the dark, rain-swept harbor.

“Sienna,” Aries said, not looking at me. “Are you absolutely certain of this?”

“The chemical reaction doesn’t lie,” I said. “The fibers were saturated during the washing and carding process. It’s the only way the poison could be this evenly distributed through the core of the thread.”

Killian walked to the heavy metal door, his eyes scanning the security monitors mounted on the wall.

“We have to move,” Killian said. “If the mill is compromised, then the shipments coming into the port tonight are already flagged.”