Roman's POV
The call came back faster than I expected.
“No one’s talking,” my contact said. “Nothing’s moving. No whispers, no loose ends. Whoever you’re worried about… they’re not making a play.”
I leaned back in my chair, frowning. “You’re sure?”
“As sure as I can be without breaking into confession booths. It’s quiet.”
I hung up and stared at the phone in my hand. Quiet. That should’ve been a relief but it wasn’t.
Mark hadn’t shown up tonight because there was a problem.
He’d shown up to be the problem. . . . .
To remind me of the dirt I’d buried for him. To twist the knife just enough to make sure I remembered whose fingerprints were on the handle.
I cleaned up his mess. His kill. His greed. And yet here he was, standing in my kitchen like he owned the air I breathed.
My jaw
