The Don’s Indebted Stripper
A switchblade.
My grip tightened around it.
Showtime.
Owen moved first, stepping behind Eric and gripping the back of his chair. “We’ll make it quick,” he said. “Blood on the floor, enough to sell it. Then we get the body out, let Joan’s guys find what they need to find.”
Eric exhaled sharply. “This is fucking insane.”
Marco chuckled. “Yeah, well. Welcome to our world.”
I tuned them out. My pulse was steady, my fingers curled tight around the knife. I moved closer, slow, deliberate. The moment stretched, thick with tension.
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