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PREVIEW
... crunching on the gravel-strewn pavement. The night was thick, the air heavy with the acrid tang of industrial decay and the faint spice of Hell’s Kitchen’s distant restaurants. Two Russian enforcers stood guard at the entrance, their automatic rifles gleaming under the sodium glow of a flickering streetlight. Their eyes locked onto Paul, cold and predatory, as he stepped out of the car, hands raised in a gesture of surrender.
"I’m here for Vladimir," Paul said, his voice steady despite t ...
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