The day felt like a thin sheet of glass stretched over a dark chasm—beautiful and ordinary until you put your weight on it and wondered if it would hold. I had the childish urge most mornings to pretend it wasn’t me who had to decide which side of the glass to trust, but pretending has a short shelf life. The danger in our lives had a habit of compressing time until every choice felt urgent.

Dante had been right: he could make the world inconvenient for Barry. He’d cut off payments, rerouted couriers, shifted camera angles like a man rearranging chess pieces. Luca and his people worked through the small...