“Yes,” Maverick confirms. “We allow the narrative to seep into the bones of those watching. We allow them to grow comfortable.”
“Comfortable men make mistakes,” Foster says quietly.
“Comfortable men reveal themselves,” Bones adds evenly.
I lean forward slightly. “Any bites yet?”
“A few whispers,” Maverick replies. “A broker in Jersey is suddenly very interested in ‘stabilizing’ supply lines. A mid-level distributor in Queens offering alternatives.”
“There it is,” Skip mutters.
“They are circling,” Maverick says. “Testing the waters.”
“And?” I ask.
“And,” Maverick says, eyes darkening just slightly, “we let them swim.”
Spike crosses his arms.
“How long do we let this play out?”
“As long as it takes,” Maverick answers calmly. “The first one to approach too eagerly… is the first thread we pull.”
Maverick’s gaze sweeps the room.
“We do nothing rash,” he says. “No retaliation. No correction of the rumor. Let the world believe the Shadows and the Moretti are on the brink.”
“And when someone steps forward thinking they can profit from it?” Bones asks.
Maverick’s lips curve faintly.
“Then we remind them why neither of us was meant to be tested.”
Outside, somewhere beyond marble walls and compound gates, the rumor is spreading.
Seven injured Italians.
Defective Shadows guns.
A fractured alliance.
But inside this room…the alliance is stronger than ever.
And we’re waiting.
“Did you reach out to warn your buyers?” Maverick asks.
“Skip handled it,” Spike answers.
Maverick’s gaze shifts. “Any complications?”
“Just one,” Skip admits, pushing off the wall. “My usual contact wasn’t available. I ended up dealing with his son.”
“That rarely goes smoothly,” Maverick says mildly.
“Kid didn’t know us,” Skip continues. “Didn’t trust us. Thought I was feeding him a story to cover our asses.”
Bones snorts. “Fair.”
