Chapter 196

• In the midst of able-bodied killer-machine men, she was the only woman. And the only person with a Styrofoam cup of black coffee on the table. No pressure. It just made it look easy, like we were in the middle of fingers hovering over triggers and eyes glaring murder at each other.
• Among the selection of my men were Maxim and Vasili, and neither of them looked as enraged as I thought they would be. But others had it bad to draw blood.
• The room was tense, thick enough to smell the testosterone in the air. Russians and Italians in one room never made a good mix. We had history. Bad history. And what was the saying about history?