Don's words didn't just land—they reverberated. The weight in them lingered, pressing down on the room until no one dared breathe too loud.
Winter stood beside him, face as unreadable as glass. Trixie had slinked off mid-threat, now stretched lazily along the bar counter, tail flicking with slow irritation, as though none of this mattered more than her nap.
Valerie's eyes cut to Johnny. The look she gave him was full of worry, a fracture in her otherwise hard front.
Johnny looked worse. His swagger had been stripped clean away, leaving him pale and stiff, like someone had dropped ice down his spine. He knew exactly what Don's words meant.
But that money wasn't his alone—it was promised, owed, already spoken for. Men in his world didn't forgive missed payments.
For a fleeting second, one might almost pity him. Don didn't.
