Anderson knew what he had to do.
But before that, before anything irreversible, he had one card left to play.
Anthony.
Finding him had become harder lately. Nine was untouchable now, sealed behind layers of distance and reputation, and Anthony was beginning to resemble him more every day. You did not look for Anthony anymore. You waited until he allowed himself to be found.
Anderson did not wait.
He sent a single text. No greetings. No pleading.
I need to talk. Now. It is about Ren.
Then he waited.
Minutes passed. Then longer.
When the reply finally came, it was only an address.
Anderson frowned when he read it.
It was not a bar. Not a club. Not a back room or a private office.
It was a soup kitchen.
He stood across the street for a moment, staring at the faded sign above the entrance. People moved in and out steadily, shoulders slumped, hands clutching plastic bags and paper cups. The smell of broth and old bread drifted into the cold air.
This was not what he expected.
Inside, the room was warm and tired. Volunteers worked behind long tables, handing out bowls of soup to a quiet line of people who did not speak unless spoken to. The noise was low, respectful, almost reverent.
And then Anderson saw him.
Anthony stood behind the counter in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, ladling soup like it was second nature. He smiled as he handed a bowl to an elderly man who nodded in thanks. Anthony met his eyes and smiled wider.
Something twisted in Anderson's chest.
This was not an act.
Anthony looked comfortable here. Familiar. Like he belonged.
For a moment, Anderson considered leaving.
Then Anthony glanced up and saw him.
The smile shifted. Not gone, but sharpened. Acknowledging.
Anthony wiped his hands on a towel and nodded toward the back. "Come on. Let us talk."
They stepped into the alley behind the building. The city hummed faintly beyond the walls, distant traffic and sirens bleeding into the quiet.
Anderson lit a cigarette.
Anthony's expression hardened immediately. "I told you to stop those."
Anderson exhaled smoke. "And I told you I do not give a fuck."
Anthony watched him for a moment, then spoke quietly. "I don't want you dying before me, Andie. I wouldn't be able to live with that."
Anderson scoffed, but before he could respond, Anthony reached out, plucked the cigarette from his mouth, and crushed it under his shoe.
"What did Ren say?"
Anderson's jaw tightened. "She threatened my sister. Told me she would kill Mia if I did not align myself with her."
Anthony froze.
Only for a heartbeat. But Anderson saw it.
"That surprise?" Anderson asked. "Or concern?"
Anthony exhaled slowly and let out a soft laugh. "That is worse than I expected."
Anderson stepped closer. "I do not want to do what I normally do, Tone."
Anthony glanced at him sideways. "You want me to make it go away."
"She thinks I matter in whatever game you and Nine are playing," Anderson said. "I don't."
Anthony studied him carefully.
"Mia finishes school soon," Anderson continued. "After that, I am done. I walk. I don't care what Nine thinks."
Anthony shook his head. "You still believe leaving is something people are allowed to do."
"You think I am bluffing?"
Anthony's voice stayed calm. "I think you are lying to yourself."
"You think he would let me go?" Anderson snapped.
Anthony looked almost sad. "He sees you like family. You disappearing hurt him more than you know."
Anderson's fists clenched. "I'm serious."
"You have already crossed too many lines," Anthony replied. "There is no clean exit."
Anderson swallowed. "Then help me."
Anthony's eyes darkened. "You can't touch her. She is his assistant. You saw what happened to the man who killed Molly."
Anderson's chest tightened. "I wish I had been there."
"So do I," Anthony said.
Silence stretched between them.
"I don't care about your sister," Anthony said finally. His voice was low, unwavering. "I care about you. If Ren makes a move, I will handle it."
Anderson shoved him hard in the chest. "Fuck you."
Anthony laughed softly. "You see? You are not desperate enough yet."
Anderson turned away.
Anthony's voice followed him. "Don't take too long deciding."
Anderson paused.
Anthony took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes sharp despite the casual posture. "Because Ren doesn't seem to be hesitating."
Anderson walked off without replying.
As he reached the corner, his left hand brushed against his pocket. His fingers traced the space where his pinky should have been whole.
A reminder.
Of what hesitation cost.
Of what survival demanded.