“That is not the plan.”
“It’s my plan.”
Her eyes flash. “Don’t even think about it Stefano, we stick to Raven’s plan. We have our assignments to follow.”
I shift closer.
“Maya.”
“What?”
“If Leon says anything about Alice, do not let him use it.”
Her countenance stills, and the fight leaves her face for a moment. Then she nods, and steps back, and I let my hand fall. Outside the conference room, Raven calls her name.
Tonight, Leon will see her again. Tonight, he will learn exactly how much he failed to break. And if he mistakes that strength for mercy, Boston will be the last city he ever sees.
Chapter Seventeen
Maya
By the time we reach the club, Boston has turned itself into a stream of rain.
It needles across the black pavement and gathers in the gutters beneath the curb, throwing the gold wash of the entrance lights. The place is buried in the lower floor of an old building, with no sign above the door and two men in dark coats standing below the awning. Nothing about it says nightclub unless you know where to look. Nothing about it says federal operation unless you know what tension looks like beneath a man’s jaw.
Raven’s team is already in position.
One agent works the bar. Another stands near the hallway to the restrooms, a drink in his hand, with the blank expression of someone who has spent too many nights pretending strangers do not matter. A third sits at a side table with a woman who is definitely not his date.
Stefano’s hand rests at the small of my back as we enter.
I know it is part of the role.
That does not make my body understand it as one.
The club is dark and narrow, all exposed brick and velvet booths, with a jazz singer somewhere near the back of the room and enough low light to make bad decisions look expensive. Men sit in private alcoves, partially concealed behind smoked glass. Women drift between tables with trays of drinks. No one looks surprised to see Stefano Savarese walk in.
They just make space.
He does not need to announce himself. His presence moves through the room in small adjustments: conversations stop, shoulders straighten, eyes drop and rise again when they think he is not watching. I have seen him do this in Miami. I have watched rooms bend around him before.
Tonight, it makes me cold.
Because Leon is waiting at the far end of the club.
He is seated in the booth beneath a wall of dark mirrors, one arm draped along the backrest, a drink untouched at his elbow. Two men flank him. A third stands near the wall, broad enough to be useful and stupid enough to think size is a replacement forawareness. But it is the children who make the room dangerous. Leon is not alone, and he is not here to talk.
Leon looks older than he did in Miami.
Not softer. Not diminished.
Just worn around the edges, as if the last few weeks have stripped away whatever polish made him look respectable from a distance. His hair is combed back too carefully. His suit fits too perfectly. His mouth curves when he sees Stefano, but his eyes move past him almost immediately.
To me.
Every muscle in my body remembers him before my mind catches up.
The photographs. Alice’s fear. Erin’s voice cracking when she asked whether the doctor knew her father. Heath’s nightmare, that small broken plea in the dark.
