Nina grabbed his arm. “No. You don’t get to play hero. You’re a murderer.”
“There’s a third option,” she said. gangster the cop the devil
The devil, licking his wounds in the dark, smiled. “Good game,” he whispered to no one. “See you in the sequel.” Nina grabbed his arm
Behind them, slow applause. Mr. Morning stepped from the shadows, unhurried, unarmed. He looked at them both like a father disappointed by gifted children. You’re a murderer
Nina looked at her daughter’s face in her mind. Then she looked at Vico—not as a criminal, but as a mirror. She holstered her gun.
Nina got the call: bloodbath at the docks. By the time she arrived, Vico was standing over Dario’s body, weeping—not for the traitor, but for the contracts, now scattered in the wind. Nina drew her gun. Vico raised empty hands.
Mr. Morning raised an eyebrow. “There is no third option.”