The air in the vehicle curdled. Dmitry didn't move, but the tension was palpable. Outside, the city hummed, oblivious to the fact that two men were deciding its financial fate in a parking lot under the Olympic Freeway.
Tony didn't flinch. "In my world, Dmitry, the only thing that matters is who pays the most. Now, do we close this, or do I make a phone call?" BP-DmitryOsten-TonyKeit.mp4
Tony smirked, leaning forward into the light. "I have more than codes, Dmitry. I have the keys to the Union Depository’s backdoor. But the price just went up. There’s a third party interested, and they don't care about 'professional courtesy.'" The air in the vehicle curdled
Opposite him, looked far too comfortable for a man about to betray his own. Tony was a fixer—the kind of guy who knew which palms to grease and which throats to cut. He held a silver flash drive between his fingers, clicking it against his thumb rhythmically. Tony didn't flinch