Lucian's pov
The whiskey burned a familiar trail down my throat, but tonight it did nothing to dull the static in my head. I stared into the amber liquid, swirling it slowly in the glass, lost somewhere between Alina's face and the weight of everything else pressing down on me. The silence in the room felt heavier than usual.
The door slammed open.
Ragnar strode in, boots heavy on the wooden floor, his usual smirk missing. "Operation went smooth this time. We moved everything."
I lifted my head. "But?"
"But the cops might be onto us. We sold way more than we planned. Word spread too fast."
A jagged laugh tore out of me before I could stop it. Sharp. Bitter. "That's good news, Ragnar. Means we all eat well this month. Profits are profits."
