Red’s gaze trailed up from the check mark on Arthur’s hand, up the sleeve of his shirt, to his face, inches from hers. Eyes wide and wretched behind his glasses, rubbed raw, mouth open and his breath heavy, shoulders moving with it.‌

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Not you.”

Arthur blinked, slow, painful, and that was answer enough somehow. “What the fuck?!” Oliver was on his feet now, charging over, eyes

skipping between the smashed walkie-talkie and Arthur. “It’s you!” he roared, taking a handful of Arthur’s shirt, shoving him back. “You’re the mole. I’m going to fucking kill you!”

In one quick movement, Oliver had Arthur’s arms pinned behind his back. Arthur didn’t struggle, he let it happen, watching it play out in the dark of Red’s eyes.

“Simon, search him!” Oliver barked, holding Arthur in place. “Search him!”

“What the fuck is going on?” Simon said, walking over, pink stains of Maddy’s blood up his forearms too. “Why did you do that, Arthur? I don’t underst—”

“He’s with the sniper,” Oliver cut him off. “He’s been playing us this whole time. Search him. There’s probably a microphone on him. Quickly, Simon!”

Simon’s face cracked with the betrayal, shaking his head. But he did what Oliver asked, patting his hands down the sides of Arthur’s shirt, moving around to check the back pockets of his jeans. Then at the front, sliding his hand into each pocket.

“Got something,” he croaked, pulling out a small, round, plastic device, holding it up for Oliver to see.

“I knew he was listening, I knew we were bugged,” Oliver growled, letting Arthur go with a rough shove, grabbing the device from Simon.

“It’s not a microphone,” Arthur said, but Oliver was already moving, charging across the width of the RV to the window behind the sofa. He pulled a corner of the mattress free.

“No, wait!” Arthur said.

Oliver swung his arm in an arc, throwing the device outside, far into the darkness of this never-ending night. But it had to end sometime; morning was on its way.

Oliver turned back.

“Now we can talk,” he said darkly, “without your little friend out there listening.”

“He wasn’t listening,” Arthur replied. “That wasn’t a microphone.”

“What was it, then?” Simon asked this time, taking a step back from Arthur, so he was shoulder to shoulder with Oliver, bearing down. “What was it?”

Arthur’s breath stuttered in his throat, a dry, scratching sound. He checked in with Red’s eyes before answering.

“It’s a button,” he said. “A remote control. For a light I attached to the top of the RV earlier.”

Red remembered him up there, while she was watching the moon cross the sky. She’d seen him climbing up the ladder and, yes, there had been something in his pocket, hadn’t there? She’d thought it was his phone. But that wasn’t all. She also remembered the way his fingers had fiddled at the

front of his jeans all night. He wasn’t fidgeting because he was scared, he’d been talking to the sniper. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not Arthur. Not him.

“With a light?” Oliver asked, eyes narrowing. “That’s how you were communicating with the snipers?”

“Sniper,” Arthur said. “There’s just two of us.”

One sniper. One gun. One red dot. And one liar. This whole time. Red stared at him but he looked like a different person now.

“And, yes,” Arthur continued, “with the light. A code we made. Morse code if more detail was needed.”

“You told him to kill Don and Joyce?” Simon said, a shadow crossing his eyes as he studied his friend. Who he thought was his friend.

Red couldn’t move. She was too close to Arthur and she wanted to be away from him, on that side of the RV, with Oliver and the others, but she couldn’t move.

“No, no,” Arthur said desperately, voice snagging at the edges. “I told him you’d passed them a note asking to call the police. I thought he’d shoot out their tires and their tank so they were stuck here too. I never thought…I didn’t think he’d kill them. He wasn’t supposed to do that!”

“Did you tell him to shoot Maddy?” Red said, and she couldn’t look at him.

“No!” His voice was frantic now. “I told him it wasn’t you, Red. I told him to take a warning shot. I thought he’d shoot in front of her, scare her back into the RV. She wasn’t supposed to get hurt. I’m sorry, Maddy.” He looked at her, voice breaking in half. “I tried to stop you from leaving, because I didn’t trust him after what he did to Don and Joyce. I tried, Red, I did. But Oliver forced her out and I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want this to happen, any of it. He wasn’t supposed to shoot her!” he said, and his eyes glazed again, muscles twitching by his mouth.

Maddy whimpered as Reyna pushed harder against the wound, watching the scene unfold in front of her.

“And who is he?” Oliver asked, eyes flicking out the side of the RV, in the direction of the sniper. “Actually, forget that. Who are you?”

Arthur sucked a mouthful of air through gritted teeth, eyes darting side to side as he thought through his answer. Red knew that, because she knew his face, the shift in his eyes when he was thinking hard, the curve of his mouth when he laughed. That look he saved just for her. But he wasn’t real. And neither were any of those small and not-so-small moments between them. She looked at the check mark on her own hand, and there wasn’t a small firework anymore, just a shiver, clawing its way up the back of her neck. Who was he? Was his name even Arthur? Had this been planned from the start, when he first made friends with Simon and then the rest of them? What did he want from them?

“My name is Arthur,” he said, pausing, eyes flicking to Red, latching on. “Arthur Gotti.”

Simon gasped and Oliver’s mouth fell open. Red’s heart kicked up, throwing itself around her chest. She doubled back and doubled over, arms wrapping around her ribs to keep her heart from falling out the gaps.

“You’re Frank Gotti’s son?” Oliver asked, but it wasn’t a question, not really. Because of course he was. “So, this is about Red? She’s the witness in the trial against your dad and you’re here to kill her?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, it’s—”

“Why didn’t you just shoot her outside her house, if you knew who she was?” Oliver demanded. “Why drag the rest of us into it?”

Arthur ignored him, head twisting on his neck, body following, as he turned to Red. “I tried to keep you safe,” his voice croaked. “I’ve been trying this whole time. I told them I could get it from you, if I became your friend, if I integrated into your life. No need for anyone to get hurt. But you wouldn’t, Red. You still haven’t after everything that’s happened tonight. Anytime I got close to anything real, you would shut down and change the subject. Every time, Red. And then it got too close to the trial and my father said we had to force it. I don’t understand why you won’t say who it is. That’s all we need. It never needed to come to this, I didn’t want it to come to this.” His eyes widened, pleading with her, one hand buried in the folds of his shirt. “Why won’t you say, I don’t understand? I told them I didn’t think you’d give it up under torture, if we threatened just you, or even your dad. But Maddy’s

here, the person you care about most in the world. Your friends. She’s bleeding out over there and you still won’t give it up. I don’t understand, Red! Why? Why?”

“What’s he talking about, Red?” Maddy’s voice was strained, staccato, breathing out through the pain. Her skin waxy and white.

“I—” Red began, but Oliver spoke across her.

“Give what up?” he asked. “She’s the witness for the prosecution against your dad, what else do you need?”

“No, she’s not,” Arthur said, low and steady over the tremor in his throat. “She’s not because my father did not kill Joseph Mannino. He wasn’t there that day, on the waterfront. And neither was Red.”

Red blinked, pressed her eyes closed for a moment. No, she wasn’t there. She hadn’t seen Frank Gotti, hadn’t heard a gun. She’d never even been in that park, but she’d walked it so many times since, memorizing every detail, in case it was needed in her testimony.

“What’s he saying?” Simon asked, looking to Red.

“Red wasn’t there,” Arthur said. “But someone is paying her to say that she was, to set my dad up for a murder he didn’t commit. That’s right, isn’t it?” he asked, and how was his voice still gentle, his eyes still kind? “Someone paid you to do it, to swear under oath that you saw my dad there, to put him away.”

Red blinked again, her eyes spilling over, tears hot from the shame, sliding down her cheeks. Yes, that was it. The plan. No one was ever supposed to find out. No one. Red needed that money: pay off their debts, get her dad some real help, have the heating on this winter, maybe even think about college someday. But the money was long gone, the plan over the moment she’d told them she was the witness. Those were the rules.

“It’s true?!” Oliver asked, studying Red’s face, disgusted by her tears. “That’s a crime, Red. That’s perjury. What the fuck were you thinking? You can’t be that desperate for money!”

“I—” she began.

“Who is it, Red?” Arthur said, and still his voice was soft where Oliver’s was jagged and thorny. “Just tell me and it’s over. Who is paying you to be

the witness? Give me the name.”

“I…” Red drew off, eyes flicking to Oliver, following the smears of blood to Maddy, then Reyna and Simon. All watching her, backing her into a corner. She’d been about to do it before. She was going to say it on the walkie-talkie before she found that interference. Why did it feel so much harder now with them all looking at her, now that she knew for sure this was what it was all about? Red didn’t know if she could. Guilty if she did, guilty if she didn’t. A betrayal either way.

“Red?” The calm in Arthur’s voice shattered, his jaw tight and tense. “Why won’t you tell me? Who is it? Is it one of Mannino’s guys? Is it the Russians? Is it one of the New York families because of Atlantic City? Is it Tommy D’Amico? Who is it?”

His voice echoed around the silence of the RV, real silence, now that the static was dead, buried somewhere in the undone puzzle of the broken walkie-talkie at her feet. Her throat was tightening, an invisible hand around it, pressing in from all sides.

Red checked Oliver’s eyes, and the danger that lurked there beneath the black, teeth bared and waiting. He didn’t have the knife in his hands now, at least. And Maddy, Red looked to her, pale and quivering, biting down on her shaking lip, eyes focusing and unfocusing as she stared back. This couldn’t hurt any more than that gaping hole in her leg, could it? Blood everywhere, marking them all.

“Red?” Arthur shouted, voice clawing and desperate. Red took a breath.

“It’s Catherine Lavoy.”