“If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have to lure you into my construction site to make it happen,” Roman said dryly. “I’d stop answering your calls and let Tesauro keep kicking over your businesses until you were too weak to resist when I came to collect your scraps. You know this, Alice. Besides, we have a decades long partnership. You saved my son, Dante. I would never betray that.”
“That’s almost sweet,” 8-Ball muttered.
Roman ignored it. “My men are not moving on that building,” he said. “Not unless I tell them to. The ones who were already there are either dead, tied up, or hiding and praying they aren’t next.Everyone else is at pre-set stations watching Tesauro’s other properties. His mother’s house. His son’s apartment. Isabella’s favorite restaurant. If I call them in now, I pull those eyes off places I might need them more and they’d never get here in time anyway.”
“So, you want us to walk into what might be a Vincino kill box with nothing at our backs except your good intentions,” Snake Eyes said, voice mild but eyes sharp.
“I want you to walk into a building at the far edge of a boardwalk you already ride,” Roman replied. “A building where my family might be held. Where Vladimir might be waiting. Where Tesauro may or may not have started stacking kindling. I want you to look. To tell me what you see. To bring my wife and daughter back if they’re still in there. And if you find Vladimir…” His voice went soft in that way that was worse than any shout. “You drag him to me so I can finish the conversation we were supposed to have tonight.”
“And if the Vincinos are in there?” Blackjack asked.
“Then you do what you do best,” Roman said. “You burn them.”
Blackjack’s fingers tapped on the desk once. Twice. Then he reached forward and hit a button on the phone, muting the line.
The office went very still.
8-Ball cleared his throat, pushing off the filing cabinet. “Well,” he said. “That sounds like a party.”
“Nobody say anything loud and stupid,” Blackjacksaid. “Think.”
“It’s a trap,” Snake Eyes said immediately. “Has to be. Vladimir loses his nerve right when Roman’s ready to cut his head off and conveniently walks into the one building on the strip that’s half-finished and empty enough to stage something in? With the wife and daughter as a plus-one? That’s a stage. Question is who’s the audience?”
“It’s more than that,” I said. “They hit Dante’s club. That wasn’t random. Tesauro’s testing Roman’s edges. Pushing into his kids’ spaces. This is bigger. This is the monument. The legacy piece. You burn that or bloody it with his women inside it, you don’t just hurt his wallet. You humiliate him.”
“Assuming they’re not already dead,” Spade added. “If they went in with Vladimir and nobody’s answering… That clock’s already ticking.”
Miami shifted, the chair creaking. “If we don’t go,” he said, “Tesauro still did what he wanted. He disappeared Roman’s family. He ghosted his Russian. He made the old man hesitate. And when Roman falls apart, they come for us next. Or, this war explodes more, and we get caught in the crossfire. If we do go, worst case we walk into a shitstorm and get ventilated. Best case we pull his family out and maybe catch Vladimir with his pants down. He’s expecting Roman. Maybe he’ll make a ransom call. Have demands. Maybe we have a chance if we slip in before that call gets made. Before they expect a moveto even be made.”
“I agree,” Snake Eyes said. “It’s about leverage. Tesauro or Vladimir is either about to send Roman a very pretty video or they’re waiting for the right moment to light the fuse. If we can cut in before that, we change the script.”
My fingers found the key at my throat without thinking, metal cool and familiar under my thumb. The ledger back at home. Liberty’s safe in the basement sitting heavy like a bomb we’d already pulled the pin on.
Jersey hadn’t spoken yet.
He stood with one shoulder against the wall, arms folded tight, eyes on the map behind Blackjack’s head like he could see the boardwalk building from here. The muscle in his jaw ticked once. Twice.
“We go,” he said finally.
Blackjack’s gaze slid to him. “You sure?” he asked.
“Roman’s right about one thing,” Jersey said. “If Tesauro’s got his hands on the wife and the daughter, this isn’t just about money. It’s about pride. Men like that do their worst shit when they feel insulted. If we don’t at least look, he’s going to drag us into the fallout anyway when he starts burning things in response to whatever Tesauro sends him. I’d rather be in front of it than behind it.”
I nodded. “Same,” I said. “We’ve been playing catch up since this started. Feels nice to walk into the fire on purpose for once instead of just showing up to count bodies.”
8-Ball let out a breath. “Then the question isn’t if orwhen,” he said. “It’s how.”
Blackjack hit the mute button again.
Roman’s voice came back in mid-exhale. “—and in case you’re wondering, yes, I have already considered that you might say no,” he was saying. “If you do, that’s your right. It will just make the funeral more crowded.”
“We’re going,” Blackjack said, cutting him off. “We’ll mobilize and take a look.”
“Good,” Roman said. The word wasn’t warm. Just satisfied. “You’ll take the boardwalk in from the beach side. Fewer eyes that way. The construction site has two active entrances right now. One on the street side for deliveries. One accessed from the boards. My wife would have insisted on using the boardwalk door. She likes the view.”
“Any of your men still on the outer perimeter?” Blackjack asked. “Anybody we might run into that isn’t tied up in there or face-down already?”
“Two were posted a block down from the street entrance in a car,” Roman said. “I’ve tried them. No answer. Either they’re smart enough not to pick up while someone’s pointing a gun at their head, or they’re already part of the décor.” A pause. “I will not be sending additional men in your wake. Not unless you call me and tell me you want the building to come down.”
