Page 66 of Madness & Mercy

“Three o’clock,” I mutter, tilting my chin subtly. “Black jacket, grey cap. That’s him.”

Nico follows my gaze. “You sure?”

“Positive. Same guy I saw tailing your runner last week.”

Nico doesn’t speak for a second, watching the man walk along the edge of the loading dock like he’s not doing anything shady. But I know better. Guys like him don’t just stroll through warehouse yards in the middle of the afternoon for fun.

“He’s alone,” I say. “No backup in sight. Could be waiting for someone.”

“Or scouting a drop,” Nico mutters. “Stay sharp.”

I glance back at him. “That supposed to be motivational?”

He smirks. “It’s either that or slap you.”

“Try it, Vitale.”

His smile widens, dangerous and dark. “Don’t tempt me.”

I turn back toward the dock before I say something stupid. My heart’s still steady, but everything else feels… tense. Tight. Like I’m being strung up between loyalty and the noose I built for myself.

I’ve tailed suspects before.

I’ve killed men before.

But I’ve never done either with the guy I’m supposed to kill standing two feet behind me, practically breathing down my spine.

The man in the black jacket stops near a shipping crate and pulls out a cigarette. Lights it. Takes a slow drag. Then starts moving again, same loop as last week. He’s not just loitering. He’s waiting.

“Could be a meeting,” I say.

“Could be bait,” Nico counters. “You bring a piece?”

I shoot him a look. “Your guys took everything I had when they locked me in your fucking mansion, remember?”

He doesn’t flinch. Just reaches into the back of his waistband and pulls out a sleek matte-black Beretta—custom grips, silencer-ready, clearly not off-the-shelf.

Definitely his.

He offers it grip-first.

“If shit goes sideways, I want you to pull the trigger.”

My jaw tightens. “You giving me permission to kill someone on your watch?”

He shrugs, calm as ever. “If you’re smart enough to know the difference between a threat and a witness? Be my guest.”

It’s sick, how easily we talk about it. Death. Lies. Strategy.

But that’s the job. And Nico breathes this shit like oxygen.

I chamber a round and shove it into my jacket.

The guy in the cap takes another turn past the containers and checks his watch.

“Ten minutes,” I say. “If no one shows, he’s either paranoid or trying to look like he’s not.”

Nico hums. “You ever think maybe he knows he’s being watched?”