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The restaurant is fucked. But Crow and Claire are okay. And Bobby…

Nash waits at the mouth of the alley, clocks the scene, and stays where he is. Giving us space. Watching the perimeter.

After a while, an EMT comes and gently asks Claire if he can do a proper examination. She offers a timid agreement. I stand, roll my shoulders back, and go find out everything I can about who did this and how and what it’s going to cost them.

I already know the answer to that last part.

Everything.

Ten minutes later, I’m sitting on the ground against the wall with Crow, his arm around my shoulders, when my phone rings.

Unknown number.

But I can guess.

“Ramsey.”

“Mia.” His voice is exactly as I remember it: easy, almost warm, like we’re old friends catching up. Like there isn’t a lifetime of betrayal and death sitting between us now.

Crow jerks toward me, eyes wide.

“I hear the new sign was nice,” Ramsey says.

The fury comes up so fast it takes a physical effort to manage it. “Fottuto stronzo. You killed Bobby.”

“Collateral damage is regrettable,” he says. Clinical. Bloodless. Like he’s reading from an incident report. “Though I’d argue you could have prevented it.”

“Don't.” The word comes out vicious, and Crow snarls in agreement. “Don't you dare put that on me.”

“Is that Crow listening in like the little mouse in the corner?” Ramsey asks.

“Fuck you, Ramsey,” Crow snarls. “I’ll⁠—”

Ramsey just laughs.

I get to my feet and stalk a few paces away. My heart is racing. My blood is boiling. I want to hurt him like he’s hurt me.

“Why would you do this?” I demand quietly but no less viciously.

“I made you a very reasonable offer, Mia. You declined.”

“Your offer,” I say, my voice dropping to something that doesn’t sound like me at all, “was an insult. And burning down a restaurant full of civilians because I said no makes you exactly what I always knew you were.”

A pause. “And what’s that?”

“Your father’s son.”

Silence.

It's the cruelest thing I could have said, and I know it, and I said it anyway because I want him to feel something. I want him to not be able to use that bloodless clinical voice for thirty seconds.

When he speaks again, the warmth is gone, but so is the control. “Be careful, Mia.”

“Or what? You’ll burn something else down?” I can feel my hands shaking. I curl the one not holding the phone into a fist at my side. “Come find me yourself next time, Ramsey. Stop hiding behind accelerant and matches.”

“I'm not hiding.” He sounds almost amused again, which is worse. “I’m being strategic. There’s a difference. I thought you, of all people, would appreciate that.”

“What I appreciate,” I say through clenched teeth, “is that you just showed me exactly who you are and exactly how far you’re willing to go. So thank you for that. It makes what comes next very simple.”