Caleb, his face etched with concern, turned and left.

Bryson sat alone, the silence pressing down on him like a shroud.

He closed his eyes, but Hannah’s face, framed by the fiery glow of his memory, refused to fade.

At seven pm sharp, the ship reached its destination.

Hannah, a vision in a black dress, stood poised by the dock, her elegant suitcase a silent companion entrusted to Winston’s capable hand.

The air crackled with unspoken tension, thick with the scent of power and intrigue.

Around her, the movers and shakers of Lightby’s underworld mingled, faces etched with ambition and veiled secrets.

“He’s the kingpin of the western district,” Winston murmured, his voice low, “The notorious leader of the Lightby Lions.

He gestured towards a statuesque woman, dripping with diamonds and confidence.

“And that is Maria Courtenay, the kingpin’s partner of the eastern district.

three other groups, each radiating an aura

and bullets,” he explained, his

ignite chaos in

eyes, sharp as obsidian, flitted across the gathering, finally landing on a young man

and the air

her chin, a flicker of curiosity dancing

is that

a knowing smile playing on

Lyons empire, future head of the city’s financial behemoth,” he

inquired with

financial

in

taken an interest in

could reply, his voice continued, “His beauty is a

but not in the way you

not fit for

only asked

answer

voice, a soft velvet counterpoint to the grit around

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