He gestured to his guards.

“Take the gun from the lady,” Vance ordered.

One of the guards stepped forward, his boots squeaking on the concrete floor.

I held the pistol tight against my thigh, refusing to drop it.

Giovanni raised his hand, holding up the black radio.

“Before you do that, Marcus, you might want to listen to this,” Giovanni said.

He pressed a button on the side of the radio.

A static hiss filled the room.

Then, a clear voice came through the speaker.

It was Vance’s voice, recorded in a quiet room.

“Once we have the Boston accounts, we cut the mercenaries loose,” the recorded Vance said.

“No severance. No offshore transfers.”

“If they complain, tip off the state police to their safe houses in Worcester.”

The guard who was walking toward me stopped.

He looked back at Vance, his brow furrowing.

The other guard with the rifle slowly lowered his barrel.

“That’s a fake,” Vance said, his face turning pale. “He’s bluffing.”

Giovanni swiped his finger across the tablet in his pocket.

“I just sent the full ledger to every man on your payroll,” Giovanni said.