His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: “The Leone family sends its regards. We have a problem at the docks. A shipment of ‘produce’ is being rerouted by some freelancers. Clean it up. — V”
Toni looked at the screen, then at the body armor vest in his passenger seat. He tapped without a second thought. In Liberty City, the free trial was over the moment you stepped off the boat. His phone buzzed
The Liberty City autumn air tasted like rust and regret. Toni Cipriani stood outside the Momma’s Restaurante, the neon sign buzzing a flickery red against the wet asphalt of Portland. He’d been back less than a week, and already the city felt like a straitjacket—too tight, frayed at the edges. A shipment of ‘produce’ is being rerouted by