The seated man stared at him, his gaze heavy and unyielding. The silence that followed was not merely an absence of sound; it was a physical weight, a suffocating pressure that filled the room.
The four enforcers and the wounded Big G were frozen, their breaths held in a collective, silent prayer. This was the silence of a kingdom waiting for its king to decide whether to grant mercy or declare war.
"You just dismantled three of my best men in the service lane," the man said, his voice low, vibrating with a controlled, dangerous energy. "Reyes came in here sweating."
"He said it was over in three seconds. Maybe four."
"Four," Mike corrected instantly, his tone breezy, almost bored.
He leaned back slightly, the picture of unshakeable confidence. "I counted."
"You don't want to be off by a second when you're negotiating with me."
The man's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something, respect perhaps, or a more primal wariness crossing his face. "You counted."
