Chapter 19 Delilah's Next Move

• The warehouse on the East River was dressed in shadows. Cold steel beams rose like skeletal fingers into the rafters, and pale shafts of moonlight slashed through cracked windows. Dust hung in the air, catching the silver gleam of overhead lights, and the hum of distant water lapping against the docks echoed like a threat.
• Delilah stepped from the back seat of a black SUV, her heels clicking sharply on the concrete. The air was tinged with motor oil and rust, but she didn't flinch. Her fitted black jumpsuit hugged her frame like armor, the satin lapels catching the light. Gold hoop earrings gleamed beneath her waves of chestnut hair, and the blood-red of her lips drew every eye like a blade unsheathed.
• She walked with deliberate grace, chin tilted in challenge, hips rolling in smooth defiance. The four men waiting inside the warehouse straightened instinctively. Among them, Dmitry Markov, captain of a splinter Bratva faction, lit a cigarette and narrowed his eyes as she approached.