Page 216 of Ricardo

So there will be none of that.

There will be a call placed to his phone from a number he recognizes. There will be a message delivered that men like him understand. There will be a reason for him to leave the room by his own choice, smiling politely, perhaps even apologizing to the person nearest him for stepping away.

Then there will be the hallway, the elevator, the car.

Then me.

“Send it,” I say.

Tomasso taps his screen.

Across the ballroom, beyond the partly open service door, I can see only a slice of the room: gold light, black tuxedos, one end of the sponsor wall, a server moving with champagne. I cannot see Rusk from this angle, but I do not need to. Tomasso watches the feed.

His eyes lower to his phone.

“Message delivered.”

We wait.

Waiting is often the part younger men handle badly. They want action because action makes them feel like they’re doing something. It takes longer to learn that most things happen when seemingly nothing is happening at all.

Tomasso’s thumb moves over the screen.

“He’s reading.”

Another pause.

“He’s looking toward the exit.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

Rusk appears in the corridor two minutes later.

He comes through the ballroom doors without haste, phone in hand, expression casual. He does not look frightened. He does not look guilty. He looks like a man interrupted by business, which is exactly what we wanted the room to see if anyone happened to watch him leave.

He sees me only after the doors close behind him.

His step slows.

He knows, then, that the message was not what it seemed. Or perhaps he only suspects it. Either is fine. Suspicion makes careful men cooperative because they want to understand the threat before deciding how to react to it.

“Mr. Conti,” he says, slipping his phone into his jacket pocket. “I was told there was an issue with my substitution.”

“There is.”

His smile is mild. “I hope it hasn’t caused any inconvenience. Jerry Bradshaw was unable to attend at the last minute. The office assured me the change had been cleared.”

“Then this will be simple.”

“I would be happy to clarify anything from here.”

“No.”

The smile remains, but it becomes tighter.

Tomasso steps away from the wall behind him, and Lorenzo appears from the far end of the corridor as if he has been there all evening. Rusk sees both of them and understands now exactly the kind of threat he is facing.