Chapter 95 The Lieutenant's Last Lie

• Maria's heels scattered echoes through Ramirez's study as she strode in. The old man hunched behind his mahogany desk, nursing bourbon that caught the lamp's glow. His face, carved from decades of Chicago winters and bloodier business, held more darkness than usual.
• "Mi amor," Ramirez's voice held gravel and honey. "Tell me you got good news."
• Maria's red dress whispered silk against skin as she settled into the leather chair. Her mind compartmentalized – FBI agent, criminal lieutenant, family informant. Tonight's performance needed Oscar-worthy precision. She's got this show to hit every mark perfect, like a bullet between the eyes.