That’s what his life would become. X would die, and the warden’s family would find its heart again. They would travel; they would heal. Eventually, they would choose a place to start over, France or maybe Italy, some high, windswept place with views of the Mediterranean.

First, he had to manage the day.

“The last day.”

He offered his reflection a solemn nod, then turned off the bathroom light, and moved quietly through the still-sleeping house. At the bedroom door, he peered in at his wife. She knew only that X would die the following day, nothing about the money or the new life it would afford them. He wanted to surprise her with the news, to make the grand gesture. Maybe she would look at him like she used to. Maybe her eyes would sparkle.

More determined than ever, he took his heavy heart into the light, sweet air of a perfect daybreak. The car started easily. The drive was thoughtful but pleasant. At the prison, he cleared security, and was ushered through an armored door, and into an underground parking garage beneath the administrative building. It was a small garage—eight spaces—and he only allowed a few others to use it. One of them was there and waiting.

“Warden.”

The warden locked his car, frowning. “Captain Ripley. Is there some kind of problem?”

“Not necessarily a problem. Something you should know about, though.”

“Walk with me.”

So early in the morning, the subbasement corridors were empty, not that the warden worried about Ripley’s discretion. They’d both endured too many hard lessons for that. It was no accident that X had contrived to live as he had for so many years. The warden, alone, could not guarantee the liberties X enjoyed. No warden could. But if a guard spoke out of turn, he paid a heavy price. Same with other prisoners. Even rumors were quashed without mercy, and the first time a reporter had come sniffing after a story of favoritism and graft, he’d disappeared as quietly as a setting sun. A second reporter showed up six months later, and died within the week. No one knew how many informants X had on the inside or how many enforcers worked for him beyond the walls. He knew so many things, touched so many things.

Ripley waited until they were in the corridor, then said, “X has had four visitors already.”

“Four?” The warden stopped mid-stride.

“It makes me nervous.”

It made the warden nervous, too. Surviving X was about understanding X. “He’s never had so many in one day.”

“And never so early.”

“What’s his mood?”

“Like he could eat a baked baby for breakfast.”

“Explain.”

“White-lipped. Agitated. I’ve never seen anything like it.”