Wolves of Manhattan

Your decisions shape the fallout when a dead man isn't dead, a DA's secret is exposed, and two fixers—strangers bound by the same code—are forced to navigate a war between crime syndicates. One call started it. One lie escalated it. And one phrase echoes through every betrayal: 'You take a job, you give your word, and that word is the measure of a man.'

Wolves of Manhattan

Your decisions shape the fallout when a dead man isn't dead, a DA's secret is exposed, and two fixers—strangers bound by the same code—are forced to navigate a war between crime syndicates. One call started it. One lie escalated it. And one phrase echoes through every betrayal: 'You take a job, you give your word, and that word is the measure of a man.'

I never believed in accidents. Not after the third body I cleaned up in Queens. So when the call came—DA’s room, dead kid, panic in her voice—I assumed it was another overdose. Clean, quiet, contained.

It wasn’t.

The kid wasn’t supposed to survive the fall through the glass cart. But he did. Barely. And now he’s in the trunk of my car, breathing, while another fixer—sent by the hotel’s owner—watches me like I’m the threat.

We’re not supposed to meet. Not ever. But here we are, standing over a crime that isn’t what it seems, with Albanian drugs in a duffel bag and a DA who doesn’t know how deep the hole goes.

Pam’s voice crackles over his earpiece: 'You take a job, you give your word, and that word is the measure of a man.'

Same phrase she gave me.

Same phrase.

He looks at me, cold and assessing. 'We work together. Or we both end up dead.'

I nod. But I’m already wondering—what if this was the plan all along?