He had dismantled the untouchable Zara Osei. He had pushed his Power and Reputation stats higher, bleeding the System for every drop of leverage it offered.
But the clock was still ticking.
The image of the Italian man with the cigar flashed behind his eyes. The matte-black submachine guns. The steel briefcase.
Zara was sitting on the floor, fixing her dress, preparing to reconstruct her armor before they walked back out into the flashing cameras.
She had no idea that her reputation, and the very video that would destroy it all were currently sitting in a mafia stronghold downtown.
Ryan poured a fresh glass of bourbon, the ice clinking loudly in the silent room.
He downed it in one swallow, the burn grounding him.
The game in the arena below was ending.
Ryan's was just beginning.
----
The Maybach carved its way through the midnight streets of Manhattan, the heavy suspension absorbing the uneven pavement until the ride felt like gliding over dark glass.
