The drive back to Matt's penthouse was silent. The weight of what he had done pressed against his chest, but he shoved it down. Vince made his choice. Matt just finished it.
Miriam sat in the passenger seat, watching him out of the corner of her eye. She wasn't the type to offer comforting words—she knew better. In their world, regret was a weakness, and weakness got you killed.
Finally, she broke the silence. "Dominic will want confirmation."
Matt gripped the steering wheel. "He'll get it."
Miriam exhaled, leaning back. "And the feds?"
That was the real problem. Russo had lost his informant, but that didn't mean he'd back off. If anything, he'd push harder. The FBI didn't just go away.
Matt pulled into the underground garage and cut the engine. "I'll handle Russo."
Miriam studied him. "How?"
Matt didn't answer right away. His father used to say that in war, you had three options: Kill, negotiate, or disappear.
Matt wasn't the disappearing type.
And Russo wasn't the negotiating type.
That left only one option.
He finally looked at Miriam. "I need to know if you're with me on this."
Miriam held his gaze. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."
Matt nodded. That was all he needed to hear.
Tomorrow, he would set the trap.
And by tomorrow night, Agent Russo would be dead.