As soon as Axel stepped into his apartment, he didn't pause to catch his breath or peel off his bloodied jacket. The first place he headed was his computer room—his private war zone. Every screen blinked to life as he entered, humming softly like the heartbeat of an old friend welcoming a fallen soldier back into battle.
He shrugged off the borrowed jacket, tossing it aside. The bloodstains underneath were already beginning to dry, but that didn't bother him. Everything was going according to plan.
There was a reason he told those gangsters to report to the police exactly 28 days later. It wasn't random. It was strategic.
