"We move tonight," one of them said, his voice low but firm, cutting through the tense silence like a blade.
"Isn't that too soon, boss?" another asked cautiously, shifting uneasily. "You said we'd wait. You said we'd be careful."
"Forget waiting!" the leader snapped, his teeth clenched, eyes flashing with anger. "When I say we move, we move. No discussion. Understood?"
A tense silence followed, but the men didn't argue.
They knew better than to challenge him when he was like this.
But there was more driving his fury than impatience or recklessness.
Deep inside, the leader's anger was intertwined with a personal obsession—a silent, gnawing frustration he could barely admit even to himself.
Every time he thought of Sabrina, his control slipped.
She had been a constant image in his mind for weeks: her laugh, her smile, the way she moved.
He had wanted her for himself, and the idea that she might already be close to someone else—someone like Ross—was unbearable.
