Ririko looked up and saw Victor's cold, bald head. He leaned close to Carmine's ear, formally severing ties with his former boss.
There went his severance package.
She drew a deep breath, slipped off the bed, planted her bare feet on the carpet, and quickly straightened her rumpled robe.
She grabbed her little bag, bent down to put on her shoes, and was ready to flee in ten seconds.
Carmine was still kneeling on the bed, the blade at his neck pressed against his skin.
His eyes weren't on the knife. They turned toward Ririko instead.
Those hawklike eyes revealed his bitter refusal to accept defeat, the disgrace of a gambler who had wagered everything only to lose every last chip.
Still, he refused to concede. "You'll regret leaving this place."
Ririko had already reached the door.
She turned around and looked at the bare-chested man on the bed, the king of the Gotham Underworld.
"Shut up."
She had already gone easy on him with her words.
Carmine's lips suddenly seemed to stick together, leaving him unable to utter a single word.
His eyes flew wide open. He had no idea what was controlling him.
Ririko told Victor, "Hurry up and tie him up."
Victor didn't understand how the old man, who had been so full of talk a moment ago, had actually shut up after a single "shut up."
But he couldn't be bothered to ask.
He pulled a leather cord from behind his waist, hauled Carmine up off the floor, dragged him to the window, and bound both his wrists to the bars.
Carmine crouched halfway down, his posture as awkward as a beast stuffed into a cage, low growls rumbling in his throat.
Victor took a roll of Silver Duct Tape from his pocket, stuck a strip