The city streets were drenched in rain, the kind that clung to your skin and seeped into your bones. Max Hastings walked with purpose, his mind a tangle of thoughts. The Black Hand's plot had been thwarted, but the loose ends were fraying faster than he could tie them. The safehouse raid revealed more than just a plan; it unveiled a deeper, more sinister underbelly of the city's corruption.
Max turned the collar of his trench coat against the cold, his eyes narrowing as he approached the dimly lit diner on 42nd Street. It was an old haunt, a relic of better days. The neon sign buzzed overhead, casting a sickly green glow on the wet pavement. Inside, the smell of stale coffee and fried food greeted him like an old friend.
He spotted Lila Hart in a corner booth, her face hidden behind a veil of smoke from her cigarette. She looked up as he approached, her eyes hard but grateful. Max slid into the seat opposite her, shaking off the rain.
