“He’s not thinking strategically right now,” I replied calmly.
“He’s thinking emotionally.”
I tilted my head slightly. “And probably physically.”
Roman snorted quietly. “And you’re confident he doesn’t suspect?”
“If he suspected I was Bureau?”
I shook my head slightly. “He wouldn’t have offered access. He would’ve tightened security.”
I met Roman’s gaze briefly. “He’s overconfident.”
A faint smirk touched my lips. “That’s our advantage.”
Roman stayed quiet for a long stretch.
His eyes scanned the road. Then he said quietly:
“Promise me something.”
I turned my head toward him. “What?”
“One hint of danger — any hint — and you pull out.”
His voice sharpened.
“You call me. You call backup. You don’t try to prove a point.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re my partner. I’m not letting a mafia boss secretly bury you in his backyard because you wanted better intel.”
The image was dramatic.
But the concern behind it was real.
I laughed — genuine, tired, and slightly cracked from adrenaline.
“That’s not happening.”
I paused. “Not quietly, at least.”
He shot me a look. “Not funny.”
“It’s a coping mechanism.”
He rolled his eyes. “Bad one.”
A sudden wave of exhaustion hit me harder than the adrenaline.
It felt like my body had finally acknowledged everything that had happened tonight.
The confrontation. The exposure.
I let out a long yawn that stretched uncontrollably.
“I feel so sleepy.” I muttered, blinking slowly
