Roman had been sitting in the car for eleven minutes.
Engine off. Hands in his lap. Not on his phone, not on a call, not doing anything that could be described as productive. Just sitting outside Montague Industries in a parked car, which was not something he had a habit of and which he could not explain except that pulling away had required a decision he had not yet managed to make.
The knock on the window came without warning.
He turned. Dante Reyes was standing on the pavement, looking at him through the glass with the expression of a man who had come down from the building with a specific purpose and had already decided exactly what he was going to say.
Roman rolled the window down.
They looked at each other. Dante did not rush into it. He had the stillness of someone who used sil
