Chapter 39 · The Empty Chamber

"Don't wait for noon, sweetheart."

Victor's voice crackled through Renzo's radio. Tinny. Warm. Like a man calling from a backyard barbecue.

Nobody in the counting room moved.

Renzo sat zip-tied to the iron pipe. The color drained out of his face until he looked like chalk. His mouth opened, closed, but nothing came out.

"I've got eyes on Cinder Point," Victor said. "Three scopes. Light's coming up over the lake. Gorgeous sunrise. You should see it, Dom."

Dominic crossed the floor in two long strides and scooped the radio off the concrete. He didn't key the mic. He just squeezed it until his knuckles turned bone-white.

"Dom, I know you're there," Victor's voice purred. "I hear you breathing. Kitchen window's lit. There's an older lady in it. Gray braid. Making coffee like it's just another Tuesday."

My stomach plunged through the floor.

I'd eaten her eggs three mornings straight. She had grandkids in Racine.

"Here's the deal," Victor went on. "The capos are already at my elevator. Every last one of them. Coffee, little grumbling. Nobody likes a dawn meeting. You bring the girl. You bring the ledger. You come in with your hands empty.