Lingyun had barely settled into the chair when the quiet lieutenant cleared his throat.
The man still stood near the window with his gun lowered, watching Lingyun breathe around what was probably more than one cracked rib. His gaze moved briefly toward Luo's body before returning to Lingyun.
"His death won't give you the market."
Lingyun adjusted his damaged shoulder against the uncomfortable chair and winced when the movement pulled through his chest. "I know," he shrugged.
The lieutenant's eyebrows lifted.
Apparently, he had expected an argument.
Head Luo had controlled the office, but the black market sprawled across most of the warehouse district beneath the red crane. Each building had its own crews, storage managers, brokers, guards, and people who believed their section was important enough to operate without interference.
Luo's death would create an opening.
And openings attracted idiots.
