“You really have to ask?”

“Do I know you?”

“I should hope so. After all, your men have spent a great deal of time shooting at me.”

Stell’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on the phone.

Marcella Riggins.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had something against me.”

“How did you get this number?”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “I’m getting tired of killing your agents. Are you getting tired of burying them?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Perhaps,” she continued, “we could find a more sophisticated solution . . .”

“Most EOs only get one chance,” said Stell. “I’m giving you two.

Surrender now, and—”

A soft laugh. “Now, Joseph,” she chided. “Why would I do a thing like that?”

“So you just called to gloat.”

“Not at all.”

“Then why?”

“I thought,” she said airily, “perhaps we could get a drink.”

That, at last, caught Stell off guard. “To what end?” he demanded.

“So you can try to kill me?”

“That would be pointless. If I wanted you dead, you would be. You think this number is the only thing I know? I have to say, your choice of decor is tragically bland.”

Stell’s head snapped up.

“Of course,” she went on, “you’re really not home much, are you?”

Stell said nothing, but shifted so his back was to the wall, his eyes on the windows.

“Only a few photos,” she went on, “—two sisters, I presume, by the way they look at you—”

“You’ve made your point,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Well, in that case, I’ll be at Canica Bar around seven. Don’t make me drink alone.”

Before he could answer, she hung up.

Stell slumped back against the wall, head spinning. He couldn’t go.

He shouldn’t go. Marcella was a target, an enemy, someone to be dispatched, not negotiated with.

But he had to do something.

He looked from the steel briefcase to the cell phone in his hand.

Stell swore under his breath, and grabbed his coat.

XVI

TWO WEEKS AGO

XVII

DOWNTOWN MERIT

SOME women spent years planning their wedding.

Marcella had spent the last decade planning a hostile takeover.

Of course, she’d always assumed Marcus would be the face of it, but this was far more satisfying.

With the four heads of the Merit mob so cleanly dispatched, and the factions thrown into chaos—a chaos bolstered by rumor and eyewitness testimony—the bulk were already scrambling for solid ground. So many, so willing to serve.

There would be scuffles, of course, and Marcella was prepared for those, ready to subdue the ones who would invariably vie for control, ready to pay off the officials who might get in her way.

There was still the matter of EON, but Marcella had a play for that, too.