The sun was a rumor beyond the thick curtains of Max's apartment, the kind of place where light was an unwelcome visitor. The events of the previous night left a lingering haze of tension in the air. Rachel was safe for now, but Max knew their reprieve was temporary. Moretti wouldn't rest until he reclaimed what he believed was his.
Max sat at his desk, the morning light casting long shadows across the room. His fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the oak surface, the weight of Moretti's threat pressing down on him. John and Evelyn were in the kitchen, discussing their next move over coffee that tasted like regret.
Max's phone buzzed, shattering the fragile silence. He picked it up, a sense of dread curling in his gut. It was a message from an unknown number, a photo attachment. He opened it and felt the blood drain from his face. It was a picture of Rachel, taken from a distance. Moretti's reach was longer than he'd anticipated.
