The silence between us was unbearable, the kind that felt sharp enough to cut. People walked past—tourists laughing, snapping photos—completely unaware that in the middle of all this noise, three people stood locked in something far uglier. A murderer. A man planning one. And me, stuck between them, trying to stop both.
“You know,” Brennan finally said, almost casually, “this reminds me of Monaco, about eight years back. Same kind of night. A journalist got too close to me. We met in public, just like this, to… discuss options.”
I didn’t want to ask, but the words slipped out anyway. “What happened to him?”
Brennan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “He fell from his hotel balcony later. Tragic accident. Too much wine, shaky railing.”
I felt my stomach twist. “You killed him.”
“I protecte
