It was both.
At 1:03 a.m., Orsi’s office pinged with a break-in that looked a lot like a cleaning crew who’d learned to open safes. Nora sent the police a tip from an account registered to a cat that had a better credit score than some aldermen. At 1:23, a barge under the old bridge switched its lights on and off three times like a man trying to swallow.
“Rybak,” Nora said. “Our karaoke saint.”
“Leone’s names were good,” Rafael said, checking the mag in his weapon and then not looking at it again.
Emilia tightened her gloves. “We’re not killing the Pike.”
Rafael arched an eyebrow. “Mercy?”
“Witness,” she said. “Men who sing remember lyrics. We need him alive enough to talk.”
The quay was slick with river breath. Two men smoked by a stack of pallets like they wanted to be the first t
