I walked back over to him so that we were standing face-to-face. “You see, Jonah, I could have killed you easily. But sticking my knife in your gut would have been a quick death—and far too good for the likes of you. So, in the end, I decided on a different punishment.”

“And what would that be?” he asked in a wavering voice.

“To watch you suffer,” I snarled. “You’ve spent the last few months planning how to take me out. You started back at Mab’s funeral, when you hired those dwarves to try to kill me at her coffin. They failed, but you still managed to set me up as a target for every wannabe criminal in town. You painted a great big bull’s-eye on my back, so I decided to return the favor and paint one on yours. What do you think will happen when all the crime bosses realize that you tried to rob them? Do you really think they’ll let something like that just slide?”

I clucked my tongue in false sympathy. “Really, Jonah. You should know the answer to that as well as I do.”

“They’ll come after me,” he whispered. “All of them. They’ll all come after me.”

I leaned forward, so he could see just how cold and wintry my gray eyes were. “Every . . . last . . . one.”

McAllister kept staring at me, that horrified expression still on his face. Such a lovely, lovely sight.

“Now you know how I’ve felt these past few months. But you’re exactly right. All the crime bosses will come after you—or send some of their goons to do the job for them.” I paused. “Of course, this is assuming that Mab’s mysterious heir doesn’t get you first for cheating him or her. Either way, you’re dead, Jonah. The only question is how long you can keep your head above water before one of the underworld sharks drags you under and gobbles you up. You know, it’s probably a good thing you embezzled all of that money from Mab. You’re going to need it. That might keep the sharks at bay, for a while.”

McAllister choked, coughed, and sputtered for a few seconds before he finally got his voice back. “You won’t get away with this. I’m Jonah McAllister! Nobody messes with me! Nobody!”

I shook my head. “Good luck with that. If I were you, I’d start working on your obituary. I’m looking forward to reading it in the newspaper real soon. Good-bye, Jonah.”

Bria stepped forward, a pair of silverstone handcuffs in her hands. “Jonah McAllister, you’re under arrest for the murder of Jillian Delancey, the attempted robbery of the Briartop museum and its visitors, and many, many other things. You have the right to remain silent . . .”