The words settle over me like frost.
"He give a name?" I ask, though my pulse has already shifted.
A pause. Then, quieter, "Yeah."
I open my eyes and look back out over the city as the first line of sun cuts across the skyline. Already guessing his answer.
"El Recaudador."
Of course.
"When?" I ask.
"No deadline," Gabe replies. "Which feels intentional. Like he assumes you'll understand the urgency on your own."
I almost smile.
"He knows me," I wager.
"Yes," Gabe agrees. "That's one of the things that worries me."
"Oneof the things?" I repeat, dragging the words out.
There's a pause on the line. Too long. I shift my weight and lean back against the railing, the cool metal biting into my spine as the city wakes below me. Of course there's more.
"Gabe," I say quietly.
He exhales. "I wasn't the only one who got the call."
I close my eyes for a beat. "Who else?"
Another pause. Then, flat. Controlled. "Everyone."
My fingers tighten around the edge of the railing. "Define everyone."
"All four of us, Me, Enzo, Damiano, and Alessio," He fills me in. "From there, it kept going. Lieutenants. Runners. Dealers. As far down as we can trace it." My jaw locks. "Further," he adds. "Strippers. Hookers. Cocktail waitresses. Anyone even loosely tied to your operation."
I let out a short, humorless breath. Not a laugh. Not quite. "Jesus Christ."
Gabe lets out a nervous laugh. "Whoever this fucker is, he's thorough."
I open my eyes and stare out at the Strip, watching the sun climb higher, gilding the very thing someone is trying to shake apart.
"He's not just trying to get my attention," I conclude. "He's rattling the foundation of my empire, seeing what cracks first."
"Yes," Gabe agrees. "He wants you to look over your shoulder and not trust anyone."
I rake a hand through my hair. "Any idea who it is? Voice recognition? Accent? Anything?"
"If I had that," Gabe snaps, then catches himself. "If any of us did, I would've led with it."
I let the comment go. He's on edge. I have a feeling we all will be until this fuck is found. And we will find him.
"Alessio's still tracing?" I ask.
"He hasn't stopped."
I look back toward the glass behind me, where Jenna sleeps, where my son is dreaming, unaware that the ground beneath us just shifted. This isn't about territory. It isn't even about me. This is about destabilization. About planting doubt. About making every single person under my roof wonder if loyalty is a death sentence. And fuck me—it's working.
