I exhale through my nose. “Then don’t tell me the name.”
He raises an eyebrow again.
“Pull the contract,” I request. “Tell them circumstances changed or whatever you want about it falling through. I don’t need the name. Just take her off your board.”
The room falls very quiet.
The chief stares at me for a long time, long enough that the guy in the corner shifts his weight slightly, and I track it without moving my head.
“You remember,” I say slowly, “the house situation. Three years back.”
“Yeah,” he answers.
“Three Mercy boys came over the wall on your property at two in the morning,” I say. “You weren’t there, but your cousin was.”
He says nothing. A small movement at his jaw, and no denial.
“I got there in eleven minutes,” I continue. “My men and I cleared the place and made sure nobody came back or touched your cousin.”
His gaze stays on me. Flat. Waiting.
“And before I left, you gave me that private job. The one you didn’t want near normal channels.” I keep my voice even. “I did it. Clean. No noise back on you. And when your client got ugly about how it was handled, I took that heat and kept your name out of it.”
The room stays quiet, and I let it. He stares deeply at me, then I say, “So don’t sit there and pretend this is me walking in cold-asking for a favor. It’s not.”
He picks up his glass, takes a slow drink, then sets it down with care. “You think that buys you the right to dictate terms in my office?”
“I think it means you owe me the courtesy of hearing this properly.”
“Okay, fine.”
“This woman isn’t a loose end. She isn’t collateral or some job sitting in a notebook waiting for a tick beside her name.” My hands stay loose at my sides, but every muscle in me is pulled tight. “She’s under my protection. Mine, Luca’s, and Ace’s. That is me telling you where the line is.”
He stands then. “You’re making a mistake,” he says quietly, “if you think your history with me puts you in a position to draw lines.”
“I’m making myself clear.”
He comes toward me and stops close enough to make the point. “I don’t burn contracts.”
Neither of us moves for a moment, but then I get to my feet, and the bouncer tenses.
After a beat, I say, “Name your number.”
His expression doesn’t change, but I know I’ve got him listening now.
“Contract fee?” he says.
“Done.”
He watches me in silence, his face giving away nothing. The pause drags on long enough to feel deliberate. “Plus interest,” he says finally.
I don’t hesitate. “Done.”
His stare doesn’t break. A muscle works once in his cheek. “You don’t walk in here and start negotiating for her?”
“I’m paying what’s owed. That’s all.”
He stands there for a second, saying nothing, letting the weight of the room press in around us before he gives a single nod. “Then, if I pull her name, it vanishes. No one in this place touches it again. No one speaks about it. No one revives it. It dies here.”
