Max waited until Abby was asleep to slip out of bed. She’d had a long day — a difficult day — and he had no desire to add to the worry he’d seen in her eyes when she’d told him about her visit with Rosie.

He’d had to fight to keep his control when she’d told him. He’d wanted to rage, to tell her that putting herself anywhere in Jason’s orbit was dangerous, that she should know better after everything that had happened.

But they’d agreed not to have secrets and he didn’t want to give her any incentive to think she needed them. He’d forced himself to breathe while she recounted the conversation with Jason’s executive assistant, had reminded himself that Rosie was harmless, that according to Abby, the other woman was so worried she probably wouldn’t even tell Jason about the meeting.

The tactics had worked well enough to keep his anger under control — but just barely.

He watched her sleep as he pulled on his sweats and slid his phone into one of the pockets. She looked so young in repose, her skin like porcelain in the moonlight, one arm bent above her head like a kid who’d fallen asleep fast and hard. Despite his sleeplessness, he was tempted to crawl back into bed just to feel her next to him, but in the end he gave into his restlessness and continued downstairs to the living room where he poured himself a drink.

He took it out onto the terrace and sat in one of the lounge chairs. It was almost one in the morning, the sky inky overhead, the city glowing in the distance. It was comfortably warm rather than hot, the city’s only nod to the end of summer.

Of all the things Abby had told him about her meeting with Rosie, it was the fact that Jason was carrying a gun that unsettled Max the most. It shouldn’t have been surprising given Jason’s declining character — or the decline in his ability to keep up the facade of having character — but somehow Max still couldn’t imagine it.

Firing the weapon during the meeting with DeLuca at the Tangier and carrying it around all the time — being prepared to use it all the time — were two different things.

He wondered if Jason had been properly trained to use the weapon or if it was something he carried to make himself feel better, then thought about Bruce Frazier and decided Jason definitely knew how to use it.

Bruce had been trained in the military. He might be a mercenary with no moral compass, but he wouldn’t arm a client unless he was damn sure the guy wasn’t going to accidentally shoot a hole through his foot — or someone else’s face.

Max would have to keep it in mind when he created a strategy for breaching the Tangier. It wasn’t good enough to plan on taking out Jason’s guards — Jason himself was more dangerous now, and Max couldn’t assume he’d be given a pass the next time he was staring down the barrel of Jason’s gun.

It was a moment that haunted him: Jason pointing the gun at him, his eyes glassy and unreadable, the moment he’d turned the gun on Nico instead.

Why had he done it? Nico was nothing to Jason: it was Max he despised.

Wasn’t it?

He wasn’t sure anymore. Something had moved between them in that moment — the invisible thread of their childhood, their memories, their shared experiences. Was that what had stopped Jason from pulling the trigger? Did he still harbor some kind of affection for Max?

He didn’t know, but he couldn’t count on getting lucky twice. He would have Carlos contact the cyberlab in New York — Damian Cavallo, the leader of the New York territory, ran a lab almost as extensive as Christophe’s in Paris — and tell them to keep looking for information on Jason’s whereabouts over the summer. That knowledge could yield information that would be helpful to them now.

He drained the rest of his drink and was setting down the empty glass when his phone rang. It wasn’t as unusual as it once was to get late night calls. In the early days of bringing DeLuca’s businesses online for the Syndicate, Max had rarely slept through the night. He’d gotten used to the odd business hours.

“Yeah?” he said into the phone, wondering why an unknown caller was dialing him instead of Carlos after he’d made it clear that everything was supposed to go through his new underboss.

“Did you miss me?”

The voice stopped him cold.

“It was a lot quieter, I’ll give you that.”

Max kept his voice even, determined not to give in to the rage coursing through his body. This was the man who had sent someone to burn down Abby’s house, who had used her as a pawn against Max.

Jason chuckled on the other end of the phone. It sounded so close Max wouldn’t have been surprised to turn around and find Jason standing behind him on the terrace.

“I’ve always thought quiet was overrated,” Jason said.

“Not in this case,” Max said. “How was your vacation?”

He was trying to keep Jason talking, hoping he might divulge some detail that would help Max get a handle on his activities over the last three months, something that might give him insight into Jason’s current state of mind.

Jason’s sigh was exaggerated. “Not as restful as I would have liked, I’m afraid.”

“No long hours in the sun with an umbrella drink?”

“Business always comes first,” Jason said. “You know that. What about you? I hear you’ve been busy.”

“Like you said, business always comes first,” Max said.

“Not words I ever expected to hear you say.”

“I’ve changed.”

“I would say I’m surprised,” Jason said, “but if any woman can make a man change, it would be Abby.”

“Careful,” Max warned, his voice low. He didn’t want Abby’s name in Jason’s mouth, would have preferred not to have it anywhere in Jason’s mind, although he had less control over that.

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and Max knew Jason was weighing his next words, not out of fear, but out of his long-standing attention to strategy.

“I didn’t realize it was about you until that day at the Tangier,” Jason finally said.

“In what way?” Max knew what he meant, but he wanted to draw Jason out, to keep him talking.

“I thought it was about her. About Abby. But it’s been about you all along.”

“I don’t know why,” Max said. “We cut ties a long time ago.”

“It was a fragile peace, but peace nonetheless,” Jason said. “Just remember, it was you who opened that door.”

Max couldn’t deny it. He’d re-entered Jason’s life reluctantly — and only because he’d been worried about Abby’s safety — but he’d been the one to do it.

“Some things are more important than peace,” Max said.

Like Abby, who was more important than everything.

“That’s your call to make,” Jason said. “But it’s important to remember it was that judgement call that brought us here."

“We both know this has been coming for a long time. We wouldn’t have lived out our lives in this city without this happening eventually.”

“You’re probably right,” Jason said. “I just wish I’d finished it when I had the chance.”

“You should have.” Max heard the warning in his own voice. “You won’t get the opportunity again, and I promise you, when I’m on the other end of the gun, I won’t have a similar crisis of conscience.”

Jason’s laugh was low and intimate in his ear. “Is that what you think that was? A crisis of conscience?”

“What would you call it?” Max asked.

“History,” Jason said. “Memory.”

“None of that matters after what you did to Abby,” Max said. “That was an act of war that can’t be undone.”

Jason was silent for so long on the other end of the phone that Max thought maybe he’d hung up. Until he spoke.

“Then I’ll see you on the battlefield.”

There was a brief pause, then silence as Jason disconnected the call.

Max put down the phone and turned his eyes toward the city. He wondered if Jason was standing at the window of his suite at the Tangier, a king ensconced behind the walls of his castle.

It didn’t matter.

I’m coming for you, Max thought. And this time you won’t live to say Abby’s name.