His gaze catches on the red heel.
One eyebrow lifts by a fraction. Something close to amusement crosses his face and disappears. He doesn't comment. I don't explain.
"The Peluso situation." I redirect, opening the file and angling it toward Harlon. "Outside muscle calling themselves the Corsetti crew has been running a secondary extortion on our protected businesses along the south side. Peluso is the fourth owner to report contact, but he's the first one who stopped paying us."
"Because he can't pay both." Harlon nods, his dark eyes scanning the documents with practiced speed. "A loyalty issue dressed up as a financial one."
"Exactly. On paper he's in breach. In reality he's drowning and asking for a lifeline we haven't offered."
Bones speaks from his position by the window, his eyes tracking the street below. "How many are in the Corsetti crew?"
"Eight confirmed. Operating out of a storefront on Halsted."
"Armed?"
"Standard. Nothing exotic."
He turns from the window and meets my eyes. The dark quality of his gaze sharpens. He's already working through how to do this. "I can make them not a concern anymore. Clean, quiet, no trail back to the Syndicate. I think that is why I’m here, right? So you and the other men don’t dirty your hands?"
I love his directness. "And you’ll get paid for it. Money is a glorious thing, wouldn't you agree?” I pause and consider my options. “How long do you need?"
"Give me forty-eight hours and a name who wants to take credit for the cleanup. Someone local. Someone the south side will rally behind so the vacuum doesn't create a bigger problem."
I glance at Harlon. He gives a single nod, an endorsement that tells me Bones has earned trust through work I don't need to see to believe.
"Done. Coordinate with Luca for surveillance support. He'll have everything you need by the end of day."
Bones nods once. I thought I was economical with words, but this guy makes me look like Luca on a caffeine binge. He doesn't posture or linger, just catches Harlon's eye with a look that says everything in two seconds and moves toward the door.
"I'll be in touch." He pauses at the threshold and glances back at the red heel on my desk one more time. "Hope you find who that belongs to."
The door closes behind him and Harlon allows himself a small smile. "He's good. Best I've ever worked with."
"I can see that."
Harlon studies me for a beat longer than necessary, his dark eyes reading my face. He clocks the shadows under my eyes, the untouched espresso, the security stills fanned across my desk next to a woman's shoe.
The man misses nothing. Rumor has it his father built Club Genesis from a single room and a handshake. Once his old man ended up behind bars, he took over. A few years in and he’s turned it into neutral ground respected by every organization east of the Mississippi, and did it all with minimal body count. The alliances he's forged are strong. And the woman I've seen at his side at every meeting, a dark-haired beauty with careful eyes, tells me Harlon Constantine has secrets of his own.
Whatever conclusions he draws, he keeps them behind a neutral expression that gives me nothing.
"You look like hell, Massimo." His voice drops from business to personal territory, something he doesn’t do often. I haven't spent a lot of time with the man so I tuck that detail away for future reference.
“How concerned are you over this Corsetti issue?”
I hold Harlon’s gaze for a minute. He’s had his own turmoil with love. The rumors about him, his partners, and the woman they protect aren't new. But the situation with Polaris is complicated from what I understand.
"Corsetti is barely a blip on our radar, really. We have enough enforcement between us to have the situation handled.” I rest my weight against the back of my chair.
“It was a long night and I was left… unbalanced," I opt for. I drag my thumb across the rough grain of my beard and leave it at that.
"She must have been quite the lady." He stands, buttons his overcoat, and adjusts the sit of his shoulder holsters with an absent gesture that tells me the guns are as much a part of him as his hands. "I'll let you get back to your long night, my friend. But word of advice."
I stand and accept his hand.
“Whatever you do, if she has you feeling like this, don’t let her get away.”
“Noted.”