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... t the party hosted by the underground bosses.
The laughter had settled into low murmurs now, swirling between the clink of glasses and the hum of ice shifting in expensive whiskey.
But the conversation hadn’t died.
If anything, it had only changed lanes.
"So..." the man in the white shirt leaned forward, his voice dropping a little, eyes gleaming. "If we were to hit her—really hit her—what’s the angle?"
"Simple," said the bald man, swirling his drink. "We ...
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