Ferro swallows. Sweat slides through grime along his temple. “He called himself Rook,” he manages. “Like chess. Rook. He said the client wanted distance. Said it was a test of ‘discipline.’ That’s the word he used.Discipline.”
“The client,” I repeat. “Which client?”
“I don’t know,” Ferro insists, too quickly. “I swear to God.”
Giovanni tips his head. “Payment?”
Ferro’s gaze skitters. “Half up front in crypto. Rest on delivery.”
“Phone,” I say.
He licks his lips. “Phone’s wiped.”
Nico reaches behind, pulls the cheap Android from the back of Ferro’s waistband, and tosses it to me.
“I wiped—” Ferro trembles.
“Can you crack it?” Luca asks.
Usually, technology is Antonio’s job, but I know my way around.
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” I say, slipping it into my pocket.
“Who’s Rook?” Giovanni asks.
Ferro’s breath shudders. “I never met him. Burner number. He used Signal voice notes. Disappeared after.”
“You rented a riverfront warehouse and stage pallets without seeing a face?” I say. “Made enemies of us? Do you understand who we are?”
Ferro’s eyes slide shut. I watch his throat move. When he opens them again, he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at Vito. Another bad choice.
Vito takes a step forward, and Ferro flinches again.
“I have a shell,” he says. “A shell. I have a—”
“The name,” Vito says.
“Northshore Logistics,” he chokes out.
Giovanni looks at me. “You?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head. “Could be a Russo shell.”
“Russos been quiet since the don’s brother had that unfortunate accident,” Giovanni says wryly.
“Why would they start up now?” Luca asks. “Leonardo is a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid.”
He turns his attention back to the rat tied up on the ground. “Where’s this Rook now?”
“Gone,” Ferro says. “He told me after the thing went sideways to disappear. He said there’d be cleanup.”
“Cleanup like what?” Vito says. “Like putting bullets in my uncle?”
“No!” It comes out high. “No, no— I don’t— I don’t do guns. I line up spaces. I make introductions. I thought—” He catches himself. “I thought it was about embarrassing you. That’s all anyone ever wants. You make a guy look slow once and the whispers start. That’s what ‘Rook’ said. ‘Put them on their heels.’ That was the phrase.”
“You expect me to believe you thought an ambush at close range was apublicity hit?” Luca asks.
He has no answer.
