POV: DIMITRI
The West Village was still dark, that pre-dawn darkness that made the city look like it belonged to someone else entirely.
Marco stood in the command center, a nondescript van parked two blocks from the yoga studio with surveillance equipment that cost more than most people's houses. Banks of monitors showed feeds from four different angles: the studio entrance, the interior main room, the reception area, and the water bottle/personal items zone.
On his earpiece, he heard the confirmations coming through from his operatives.
"North position set," came the first voice.
"East position set," came the second.
"Café interior secured," came the third.
"Delivery van staged," came the fourth.
Six operatives total, positioned in a net around the yoga studio. Two more inside, already there before Angela and Eve arrived...positioned as early morning yogis.
