“Desperate times, Alice,” Roman said. “I’m not stupid enough to think this ends with everyone I love still breathing. I just want to make sure the right people die first. And if that means one of my own, I want it to be whoever thinks they’re bold enough to betray our blood.”
Then the line clicked dead.
The office felt too small all at once.
I realized my grip on the chair had gone so tight my fingers ached. I forced them to uncurl.
Blackjack sat back, exhaled slowly, stared at the dark phone for a second like he wanted to crush it and didn’t see the point.
“Well,” Mirage said. “That sounded healthy.”
“He is right about one thing,” 8-Ball said. “Whatever he’s cooking up is going to drag Tesauro’s eyes to one spot. Question is whether that helps us or just gives them somewhere convenient to stack more bodies.”
“We’re not waiting for the invite,” Blackjack said. “We got our own shit to handle before Roman plays his hand. We can’t keep waiting.”
He looked at me and Valkyrie.
“The ledger?” he asked.
“Still buried,” I said. “Valkyrie and I tucked it back in before the cartel decided to redecorate the Viper’s bar with bullets and broken glass.”
“It’s still valuable,” Valkyrie said. “Just… differently now. Not for stopping the start. But for showing us where their money sleeps. Where their fronts are. Wheretheyfeel safe. And wheretheymay hit next.”
Blackjack nodded slowly.
“Roman’s going to be busy cutting his own people,” he said. “We can help make Tesauro’s life harder in other directions. Since the ledger’s got Vincino businesses, shell companies, quiet little side scams mapped, we can pick a few that mean something and put pressure on them.”
“Use it against him the way he’s trying to use it against everyone else,” I said.
“Exactly,” Blackjack said. “But the book doesn’t move. Not yet. I don’t want that thing breathed on unless Liberty’s got her finger on one end and I’ve got mine on the other.”
Valkyrie dipped her chin. “Liberty likes that plan,” she said. “Even if she’s not here to roll her eyes at you.”
Blackjack’s mouth twitched.
“I’ll call her,” he said. “Have her start pulling from her own sources. Photos. Recon. Anything she’s got on Vincino-linked properties that line up with names in those pages. We can cross-reference, pick targets that hurt but don’t tip our whole hand yet.”
He drummed his fingers once on the desk, then stopped.
“In the meantime,” he said, “we can’t just sit here licking our wounds while Tesauro’s boys take selfies in front of our busted windows. We sendbodies out to lock down what’s left.”
He glanced at 8-Ball. “You split crews. Sin City, the Lodge, the armory. I want members at every site, not just bouncers and managers. Anybody tries to come back for seconds, they’re going to catch bullets with their names on them.”
8-Ball nodded. “On it,” he said. “I’ll send Priest and Snake Eyes to the armory. Voodoo and Jabs to the Lodge. Ace, Mirage, you two can babysit Sin City and make sure the girls don’t panic themselves into quitting.”
Mirage saluted. “On my list of dream assignments, sitting at a strip club all night wasn’t actually that low,” he said.
“Don’t enjoy it too much,” Blackjack quickly shot back. “You’re there to shoot, if need be, not tip.”
He then looked at me.
“Dante’s club was on one of those pages you had sent me,” Blackjack said. “Warn Dante that a storm might be coming his way.”
“Diamond’s not going to be happy,” I replied.
Dante “Diamond” Giorlando was exactly what his nickname suggested—flash, shine, and more money than sense. Last time I’d seen him he was wearing a red suit that cost more than some people’s cars and shoes that had never seen a sidewalk.
“Good,” Blackjack said. “Maybe a scare’ll make him listen for once. You’re gonna go up there, make sure his security is on high alert. If anyone’s circling, you call it in. You don’t be the one to start a solo war insidehis club.”
