"I'm not the enemy, Mr. Bonaccorso. I'm just the messenger."
"And if I don't take the message?"
"Then I'll deliver a different kind of message. One you won't enjoy receiving."
He laughs. Genuine, surprised. "There it is. The teeth behind the smile." He picks up his wine and takes a long sip. "I appreciate the honesty, Mr. Harrison. It's rare in our respective lines of work."
"Then we understand each other."
"We do." He sets down the glass and stands, moving to the window. The city stretches out below us, glittering and indifferent. "I'll pull back, for now. But I want you to know something."
I wait. Men like Aurelio don't make concessions without attaching strings.
"The Castillo war isn't about territory. It's about something deeper. We have people working on figuring it out." He turns to face me, and underneath the charm, I see something cold and patient. The kind of cold that waits years for the right moment. "When I do, the balance of power on this coast will shift. And when that happens, I'll remember who delivered messages and who delivered threats."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Please do." He crosses back to me, extending a hand. "It's been a pleasure, Mr. Harrison. I hope our next meeting is under better circumstances."
I shake his hand. His grip is firm, controlled.
"One more thing," he says, not releasing my hand. "Kreiss is dirty. Not just Silent dirty. He's running his own game on theside. Skimming. Redirecting. Building something that doesn't belong to the people who think they own him."
I keep my expression neutral. "Is that so."
"Just information. Take it or leave it." He releases my hand and steps back. "I have a feeling we'll be seeing each other again, Mr. Harrison. When we do, I hope you'll remember that I could have made this difficult, and I chose not to."
"I'll remember."
"Good." His smile returns, sharp and knowing. "Now get out of my hotel room. I have calls to make."
I turn to leave, and his voice follows me to the door.
"Back off Kreiss," I say without looking back. "You're encroaching on territory you aren't ready for."
"Yet," he says. "Territory I'm not ready for yet."
I don't respond. Just walk out, past the security, into the elevator, and down to the street where my car is waiting.
The drive back takes longer. Traffic, or maybe I'm just not in a hurry. I think about Aurelio Bonaccorso and his old eyes. Think about the way he said "yet".
He's going to be a problem eventually. Men like that don't back down. They just wait for better timing.
When I get back to the apartment, it's dark. My stomach is growling and I’m surprised to find that I’ve been missing Jonah while I’ve been away.
Three hours. I was gone for three hours and I missed him like a sad sack. Absolutelypathetic.
I check the security feeds first. Habit. The cameras show empty rooms, undisturbed spaces, everything exactly as I left it.
Except for Jonah.
He's asleep on the couch, documents spread across his chest, one hand dangling toward the floor. His legal pad has slipped off the cushions, and sticky notes litter the carpet around him like fallen leaves. He's still wearing the clothes from this morning, though his feet are bare and there's a coffee mug on the table that's long gone cold.
He waited up for me. Or tried to at least.
I’m touched. People don't wait up for me. People don't worry about me. I'm the one who handles things, manages situations, solves problems. I'm the one who comes and goes without explanation because explanations are vulnerabilities and vulnerabilities get you killed.
But Jonah fell asleep on my couch with my files in his hands, and my chest aches at the sight.
