The supercharged Dodge Charger screamed through the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel, tires screeching against the wet tiles as Marco wove through midday traffic with reckless, surgical skill. Elena sat in the passenger seat, working her smartphone to reach Don Carmine's private security detail. "No answer on Carmine's direct line," Elena said, frustration tightening her jaw. "The cellular repeaters around Wall Street are being jammed. Ares has flooded the area with broad-spectrum RF…
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