“They pay much better than the Blackwells,” Elias said.

A twig snapped in the darkness to our right.

One of the rogue guards turned his flashlight toward the sound.

Roman stepped out of the shadows, his face smeared with dirt and blood.

He didn’t have his gun in his hand, but his posture was rigid, dangerous.

“Step away from my wife, Elias,” Roman said.

Elias laughed softly, though he kept his gun trained on me.

“You’re outnumbered, Mr. Blackwell,” Elias said. “And the rest of your loyalists are still thirty minutes away.”

“I don’t need them to handle you,” Roman said.

“Maybe not,” Elias said. “But the Moretti syndicate wants that ledger, and they’re willing to clear the board to get it.”

The guard to Elias’s left took a step toward Roman.

“Search him,” Elias ordered the guard. “Maybe he found it before she did.”

As the guard moved toward Roman, I saw Roman’s hand twitch near his jacket pocket.

He still had a backup weapon.

“Don’t do it, Roman,” Elias warned, tightening his grip on his gun.

“You made a mistake coming here, Elias,” Roman said quietly.