The Wolf in the Gray Uniform

By dawn, the leak had been plugged, Marco was on a cargo freighter bound for South America, and the Costa syndicate was more secure than it had ever been.

Harper stood on the private balcony outside Dante’s study, watching the sun rise over the slate-gray waters of Lake Michigan.

The wind caught her hair, but she didn't shiver.

The heavy wool coat she wore was expensive, tailored, and entirely unblemished by bleach or cleaning ash.

Dante stepped out onto the balcony beside her, resting his forearms against the stone railing.

“You know,” Dante said quietly, “most people who rise through the ranks in my world do it with a gun or a knife.”

Harper turned her head, meeting his gaze with a faint, confident smile.

“Guns make too much noise, Mr. Costa.”

“Call me Dante,” he replied, lifting his glass in a silent toast to the horizon.

Harper touched her coffee cup to his glass.

The maid from the basement was gone.

In her place stood the true architect of the Costa empire."