I struggle and flail with all my strength. I might as well be punching a wall. He doesn’t seem to feel any of it.

“Don’t!” I beg him. “If you kill me, Nero’s gonna—”

“I don’t work for Nero,” Sione grunts. “I work for Levi.”

With that, he closes his massive hands around my throat and starts to squeeze.

In the two seconds of blood flow I have left, I close my eyes and try to picture what Nero would do in this situation.

I remember what he told me:

You’re always going to be the smaller opponent. So don’t even try to play fair. Hit them in the vulnerable spots: eyes, nose, throat, kneecaps, groin, feet.

With every bit of my remaining strength, I stomp down hard on Sione’s instep. Then I boot him again, right in the kneecap. His trunk-like leg buckles under him, and his hands loosen slightly around my throat. That’s when I kick him as hard as I can in the balls.

He lets go of me for an instant, doubling over. I grab the knife Nero gave me out of my pocket, and I whip it open just like he showed me. Then I stab it down into Sione’s shoulder.

I could have tried to stab him in the neck. But even in my desperation, I don’t want to kill him.

That turns out to be a huge mistake.

As I turn to flee, Sione grabs my ankle, jerking my legs out from under me. I crash down on my stomach, knocking the air out of my lungs. My chin hits the linoleum, cracking my teeth together and biting my tongue hard enough to fill my mouth with blood.

Sione is dragging me back toward him, his eyes rage-filled and murderous. I flip over and kick upwards at him, but it’s useless. He’s just too fucking strong.

He grabs me by the tattered remains of my shirt and jerks me toward him, swinging one massive fist at my face.

Wildly, I grab for the only thing at hand—a cast-iron fry-pan on the stove. The pan connects with the side of his head a millisecond before his fist can cave in my face. The blow jolts him, and his fist grazes off my forehead instead, still hitting me hard enough to fill my vision with stars.

Still, I manage to grab the handle of the knife and jerk it out of his shoulder.

We both stumble backward, in opposite directions. I’ve got the knife, and he’s got about a hundred and fifty pounds on me. We circle each other, Sione looking dazed but deadly.

Meanwhile, I hear somebody stomping up the steps.

Levi yells, “What the fuck is going on up there? Don’t tell me you need help with one little—”

At that moment, the front door explodes inward under the force of a police battering ram. Somebody tosses a metal canister into the house, and it rolls into the hallway between the kitchen and living room.

Sione stares at it, his brain not quite back to normal speed.

I sprint toward the back door. I wrench it open just as the canister explodes. The light and noise are blinding.

The force flings me down the back steps onto the grass. Even though I only caught part of it, I’m crawling around blind, my ears ringing. I know I don’t have a second to waste. I sprint for the back fence, only able to see a blurry outline of where I’m going. I vault over it, skinning both arms, but dropping down safe on the other side.

I’m flooded with adrenaline, my body telling me to run, run, run away from Levi’s house as fast as I can.

Instead, I army-crawl through his neighbor’s yard, circling back around.

I can see the cops swarming into Levi’s house, shouting, “GET DOWN! GET DOWN!” to everybody inside.

Looks like enough time passed that Schultz got worried. Or he managed to pick up some of the recording.

I don’t really give a shit anymore. Schultz is occupied, so I did my job. Or at least, most of it. There’s one more thing I need . . .

My vision is starting to come back, though everything still sounds muffled, with a constant high whine over top.

I’m creeping around to the back of the police cars, to the van at the edge of the roped-off street.

Taking a deep breath, and staying low, I jog out from the neighbor’s yard to the driver’s side door. It’s unlocked. There’s no key in the ignition, but that’s not a problem. Using Nero’s knife, I turn the screws on the steering column, then strip the insulation off the battery and ignition wires. Twisting them together, the dashboard lights up. I take a quick peek out the front windshield, to make sure that hasn’t attracted any attention. The cops are all facing the other direction, focused on the house.

I grab the starter wire and spark it against the other two.

The engine revs to life.

Fucking bingo.

Resisting the urge to burn rubber, I quietly pull away from the curb and drive off without anybody noticing.

24

Nero

I don’t particularly like sending Camille back to Levi’s house. Especially with only that idiot Schultz to protect her. But I trust Camille to take care of herself. And Schultz to look out for his own best interests by keeping his informant alive.

Still, I’m more distracted than I’ve ever been, heading into this job.

And that’s not a good thing.

Because this shit is complicated. In fact, I’d almost say that I’m nervous. If I were willing to admit to feeling an emotion like that.

Let’s just call it . . . tense. A tightness that runs from my scalp all the way down my spine.

I look at my watch: 10:02. Camille should be going into Levi’s house right now.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, I regret how we planned this. It seemed like the only way to make sure Schultz was occupied. But now it seems insane, pulling two jobs in one night . . .

We should have stayed together.

If we all get out of this alive, I’m not letting Camille out of my sight anymore. She can stay safe right by my side.

“You okay?” Seb says to me.

“Of course,” I reply.

I shake my hair out of my eyes, determined to focus.

Sebastian, Mason, and Jonesy are all gearing up. We’re at Jonesy’s house ‘cause we’re using his van. He’s got this nice white windowless electrician’s van, from his time working for Brickhouse Security. That was four years ago, but Jonesy hasn’t forgotten how to cut his way into most any electrical panel, including the one powering Alliance Bank.

I love Jonesy, but he’s twitchy as fuck. When he’s in a manic phase, he stays up all night hacking government websites, trying to prove his conspiracy theories. When he’s in a depressive state, he holes up in his basement and won’t let anybody come over unless they bring pizza and a six-pack, and agree not to discuss anything but Halo.

You have to catch him right in the middle of those two states, when he can actually be productive.

Today he seems in good spirits. He’s showered (always a good sign), and he’s got a new pair of glasses that make him look a bit like John Lennon during his bearded Jesus phase.

Jonesy drives us to 600 North LaSalle, where we use a stolen keycard to get into the underground parking garage.

This is a mixed-use building, with a bunch of law firms and private equity companies using the office space. It’s not the perfect access point, because lawyers and finance types like to work late at night, but it has one very special feature—a patio garden space that extends outward to within twelve feet of the Alliance bank.