The second those mobsters started discussing Knox’s death every instinct I had screamed to get closer.
Not farther away, but closer because the information kept people alive.
Or at least gave them a fighting chance and I stayed near the balcony while pretending to admire the city lights beyond the ballroom windows and slowly slipped my phone from my clutch.
The conversation continued as they were calm, professional and terrifying. The men discussed money, routes, business interests and then Knox again. Always Knox.
I activated the recording function carefully and the phone remained hidden.
The microphone remained active and suddenly every word mattered. And one of the men lowered his voice.
“The club keeps interfering.” He said.
“They’re becoming expensive.” Another nodded.
“
