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I let my mouth soften. I let my eyes do the tired, stressed thing that has gotten me out of worse rooms than this park.

“I’m sorry. I’m just stressed,” I say. “This whole thing has been a lot. Maybe we should go on a date once it’s over. When I can think. When I’m not looking over my shoulder every five minutes.”

It is a lie shaped like a promise. And true to form, Zane hears the part he wants. The smugness comes back. He stands and tucks the USB into his coat like it is already delivered and his bank balance suitably boosted.

“Don’t ever forget who got you in,” Zane says. “And don’t forget who can take you out too. I’ll be in touch.”

I watch as Zane walks away toward the gate. I stare at the back of his head until the path takes him away.

Then I wait sixty seconds, because that is what you do when a man like Dmitri is watching at a distance and you do not want to look like you might just run too. I know I wouldn’t run from Dmitri now. But can I honestly say that he trusts me fully? I can’t. Not yet.

When I start to walk, I find him on the far side of a stand of black trees. Dmitri does not ask if it went well. He can see it on my face.

“He took it,” I say. “He tried it on. I shut it down. I told him maybe a date when this is over so he wouldn’t sour. He left smiling.”

Dmitri’s eyes are winter. “And?”

I think of Zane’s hand on my knee. The reminder about money. The smug walk.

“I’ll have zero issue,” I say, “Zane will get what is coming to him. He needs to be out of my life. For good.”

The words come out cleaner than I expected.

I mean them. Truly. Definitively.

The park keeps breathing white around us. Somewhere behind those trees a scenario is already building where men who think they have my Pakhan’s hours in their pocket are ready to act.

I look at Dmitri and the bruise on my neck throbs once, like a reminder.

The trap is set. And I am the boy who laid it.

We do not linger in the park.

Dmitri walks me back to the car without touching me in the open. The city has eyes. And so do we. We both know that being spotted by the wrong person could compromise everything. Even being as close as we are is a risk.

By the time the private elevator opens onto the penthouse, Mackensie is waiting in the living area. He stands the way he always stands—where he can see the door, the stairs, the glass.

And Mackensie has not come for a drink. “Pakhan,” he says. Then, to me, a brief nod. “Elias.”

Dmitri does not sit. “Talk my friend.”

“Maxim and Nikolai asked me to pass on their thanks,” Mackensie says. “For the help. And for the warning about the Lucci clan. The West Coast mess is contained. They’re back in the city. They’re in a position to help you take on the Lucci family.”

I watch Dmitri’s face from the side. Pleasure moves through it, sharp and quickly mastered. He wanted the accords to mean something. He also wanted not to beg.

But what he says next takes me by surprise.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Dmitri says. “But I will handle the Lucci situation alone. At least for now.”

Mackensie does not argue. He simply waits for the rest.

“Once Tito is removed,” Dmitri continues, “they can come on board. At that point the plan is a total wipeout of the family. That is where Maxim and Nikolai supply soldiers. Not before. I will not have three flags on the first shot.”

Mackensie considers it the way he considers everything—like a man checking exits. “Solid,” he says. “The accord stays in place. No blurred lines. And it positions you as a man who can handle his own business. They’ll respect that more than if you asked them to stand in the doorway with you.”

“Deliver it in person,” Dmitri says. “Both of them.”

“I will,” Mackensie says, dutifully. “They’re in the city now. I’ll make sure they understand your stance.”