Page 19 of Silent Schemes

He glares.

I already know the answer.

Make him say it anyway.

“Cross. The girl.”

He doesn’t mean Theo’s wife.

He means Sienna.

The daughter.

The only one worth the air in that rotten family tree.

Will shoves a sheaf of photos across my desk.

Surveillance, high-res.

Sienna crouched on a ledge, shadowed by sunset, one knee up.

She’s holding binoculars, but not looking through them.

Just thinking.

Her hair is knotted back, that silver streak gleaming like a scar.

She’s wearing black again.

Functional, but always tailored.

If you zoom the right way, you can see the knife on her thigh.

“She was up there forty-one minutes. She checked every exit twice.” Will’s pacing is tighter now, like a noose. “She’s planning something.”

I slide the photos back. “She’s always planning something. That’s the point.”

He snatches up the glass of whiskey I left for him, downs it, then slams it back so hard it leaves a ring on the obsidian desktop.

“She’s going to kill you,” he spits.

“Or fuck me,” I say it softly, just to watch him flinch. “Possibly both. The question is which first.”

He slams his palm on the desk. “You think this is funny? Sienna Cross doesn’t bluff, Varrick. She’s a goddamn shark. She doesn’t even have a pause between the hunt and the bite.”

I finish cleaning the barrel, slide the Sig back together, rack the slide.

Safety on. Set it down, right next to the edge of the desk, where he can see it.

“She’ll make her play at The Black Crown,” I say. “Tonight. I’d put money on it.”

Will scrubs at his face. “She’s not coming for a sit-down. You know that.”

“Maybe.” I tilt my chair back. Let the light catch my eyes, let him see there’s not a flicker of fear. “She’s not like her father. She’s better.”

“That’s the problem.”

I pick up the whiskey bottle, pour myself two fingers. “You’re not worried about me, Will. You’re worried about what happens when I’m gone.” I gesture to the room, the empire it oversees. “But you and I both know she’s not going to win.”