“Rooney?” Needham exclaims, flinching in horror. “What the hell do you think—”

Before his second bodyguard can intervene, I head-butt Needham in the nose.

Then I swat his phone out of his hand, sending it skittering to the ground. It disappears somewhere beneath the feet of the boisterous crowd.

Whipping out my pistol, I grab Needham by his collar. Step in close so no one else can see. And jam the hard steel of my gun into his belly.

“Tell your men to back off or I shoot!” I shout into his ear. “Tell them!”

His face has turned as white as vanilla buttercream frosting. His nose is a spigot of blood, oozing down his upper lip. With a nervous flick of his chin, he signals to his second bodyguard to stand down.

“Now call off the attack, you piece of shit!” I shout again. “Give me the details and call it off!”

“Attack?” he says, puzzled. “What attack? What are you talking a—”

I dig my pistol deeper into his gut.

“I know about everything, David,” I say. “The threats you’ve been making. Your hit squad of ex-Mossad thugs. I know about the money you’ve been giving to Islamic radicals. I even found a goddamn picture of you mugging with a murdered terrorist!”

“I, I, I,” he stammers. “I can explain. Honest to Christ … ”

“Bullshit!” I say, my voice loud, the hand holding my pistol firm. “Lies! That’s all I’ve ever gotten from you. It stops right now.”

“Okay … fine … just calm down,” he pleads.

I feel his body trembling, hear his jagged breathing. His bodyguards are still watching me with sharp, experienced eyes.

“Do I run my mouth sometimes?” he says. “Sure. But I wouldn’t hurt a fly. Ask my line cooks: I don’t even have the stomach to marinate raw meat. And yes, of course I’m going to have top-notch personal security. I run a restaurant group worth over sixty million—”

“What about Crescent Care?” I demand. “What about Farzat? You lied to me!”

“Because I was ashamed!” he cries out. “My cousin told me about the group. I thought they were a legitimate organization! I even catered some of their events! Ibrahim and I became friends. When I heard about his death, about all the rumors, I was horrified. I had no idea who he really was—or where my money might have been going. If he or anybody else were planning something, I don’t know anything about it, I swear!”

I hold his gaze for a few seconds, boring into his beady eyes. It’s not easy to get a read on this bastard, especially with all the music and cheering around us.

But something inside of me … tells me he’s finally being honest.

His admission feels genuine, his explanation reasonable, his terror real.