Page 100 of Brox Boar

“Anything else?” he asks.

“End the connection with Morty. End everything connected to Alessio,” I say.

“Understood,” Sol replies.

I hang up and lean back in my chair, hands resting flat on the desk.

I glance at the folder again, then close it. My attention drifts, inevitably, back to last night, not the violence, or the blood, but the stillness afterward. And Lana.

She didn’t flinch when most people would. There’s something unteachable in that. Something that can’t be installed or trained. It either exists or it doesn’t.

I push the thought aside before it goes anywhere unnecessary.

This isn’t the time.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I say.

No one enters. The knock repeats, firmer this time.

I stand, cross the office, and open the door myself.

Morti stands there, shoulders tight, eyes scanning the space like he expects Alessio to materialize out of thin air. He looks smaller without his shadow.

“You didn’t see Sol on the way in?” I huff, then turn and head to my desk, leaving the door open. My cell buzzes, and I check. It’s a message from Sol.

‘He was asking questions. I thought he better see you.’

Morty steps inside, glancing around, then settles into the chair opposite my desk. He lifts the envelope in his hand and nods. “I did.”

“Anything else?” I ask.

“It’s weird,” he says. “Him just disappearing.”

“People do that,” I reply. “When pressure builds.”

Morti snorts. “Pressure builds around Alessio all the time. He usually survives it.”

“Meh.”

Morti watches my face, searching for something. Or calculating something.

“Thank you,” he says again, and stands, tucks the envelope inside his jacket. “Please say my goodbyes to Georgina for me.”

He gets my full attention now. “Georgina?”

“The pet. Your nurse,” he sneers. “She really is something.” He thinks he got me. The fuck he does. Sol was right. He’s talking too much. “You know,” he sits back in the chair. “I wouldn’t mind fucking her again. I know they’re all up for sale.”

He’s dangerously bold. It will get him in trouble. Like, right now. I pull open the drawer under my desk, and take my gun from it.

“Morty, why did you come here?” I point my gun at him.

“Oh, shit!” he freezes, his eyes fix on the black circle that promises nothing good. “I-I only wanted a night with G-Georgina. Nothing else. I-I heard you give good deals to friends. I–” His hands already lifted.

I stop the barrel inches from Morty’s forehead. Close enough that he can’t miss what it means. I watch his face drain, see the moment he understands the line he crossed. I pull the trigger, the sound cracking the room open, and Morty drops, his body hitting the ground with a dull, empty weight. I lower the gun and put it back in my drawer. I take out my cell and text Sol.

‘You were right. Morty asked too many questions. I need this cleaned up.’