Roman’s study smelled of tobacco and old leather, the scent made sharper by the fury that seemed to hum in the air. Lorraine stood just inside the door, her arms crossed tight, while Roman paced behind his desk.
Maps lay spread across the surface, routes drawn in black ink, arrows marking paths through the bayou and over the river. He stabbed one finger at a point near the docks.
“They knew exactly where to be,” he growled. “That wasn’t luck. That was precision.”
Lorraine’s stomach knotted. “Which means someone told them.”
Roman’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look at her. “Or something told them. Magic, money—it doesn’t matter which. What matters is cutting the vein before the next run.”
One of his lieutenants, a broad man with graying temples, leaned against the wall. “Boss, if we re
