“How?” Stefano asks.
“We stage it,” Foster replies. “Controlled chaos.”
Maverick’s eyes sharpen. “Go on.”
“We arrange a fake exchange in New York between your people and some random no-name group,” Foster continues. “Make it loud. Gunfire. Ambulances. Enough noise to catch attention. Then we leak the rumor that several of your men were killed because of defective Iron Shadows guns.”
The room goes very still.
“You want us to let the world think we sold bad product that got Italians killed?” Skip asks.
“I want whoever orchestrated this to relax,” Foster says. “To think their plan succeeded. That we turned on each other. That blood was spilled.”
Stefano studies him.
“And what happens when they believe that?” he asks quietly.
“They move,” Foster answers. “They reach out. They celebrate. They reposition. People get sloppy when they think they’ve won.”
Spike’s jaw tightens. “And our reputations?”
Maverick waves a hand slightly. “Reputations can be repaired. Wars cannot.”
Stefano nods once. “In New York, rumors spread faster than bullets. If word gets out that my men died because of faulty guns, someone will talk. Quiet inquiries will turn into bold ones.”
“Competing suppliers might approach you,” I add. “Trying to ‘help’ fill the gap.”
“Exactly,” Foster says, already ten steps ahead. “Or someone reaches out to the Shadows directly. Offersusa better deal. Cleaner product. Faster turnaround. Either way, this smells like a supplier trying to climb the ladder by using one of our names as the rung.”
Bones’ mouth curves into something dark. “Then we follow the money.”
“While freezing real inventory,” Skip says. “No shipments. No exchanges. Nothing leaves our hands until we know who’s playing games.”
Spike’s gaze shifts to Maverick.
Maverick’s shifts to Stefano.
“Controlled scene,” Stefano says finally. “No actual casualties. Trusted men. Quiet hospital chatter. Enough noise to be convincing.”
“I’ll handle the staging in New York,” Maverick replies smoothly. “A warehouse. A few ‘injured’ men transported. Nothing fatal. But believable.”
“And we make sure the rumor spreads the right way,” Foster adds. “Defective Shadow’s guns. Italians furious. Tension building. Let it circulate in the right circles.”
“Not too loud,” Stefano cautions. “Just loud enough to reach the ears that matter.”
Spike looks at me.
“Thoughts?” he asks.
I don’t answer right away. I let it settle. Let the angles line up.
“We need to contact our buyers,” I say finally. “Before the rumor hits.”
A few brows lift.
“Once word starts spreading that the Palm Springs Shadows are pushing defective guns, it won’t take long for half a dozen pissed-off crews to show up at our gates demanding blood. Andthey won’t care that it’s a setup. They’ll care that their product might get their men killed.”
The room stills.
