Mobtop -

Yuri called back, laughing. “Sponge. The sky is yours. Name your price.”

Lev leaned back, lit a cigarette, and did what he did best. He didn’t shoot the drone down. He didn’t alert the cops. He redirected . mobtop

He killed the line, poured a vodka, and watched the sirens race toward Viktor’s burning chandelier. Above it all, his own drone—a silent, unmarked thing—hovered and watched. Because the man who controls the air above the crime owns the crime itself. Yuri called back, laughing

The rain over Verensk had a name: Lev “The Sponge” Tarasov. He wasn’t a killer or a thief. Lev ran the mobtop —the clandestine airspace above the city’s five crime families. Name your price

A fourth blip appeared. No color. No IFF code. Just a hungry, silent dot moving straight toward the city’s gold depository.

Tonight was different.