“Actually, my old man lost his key to his safe when I was younger. So he had a friend with some safe-cracking skills come over and show him how to open it.”
“How is it done?”
“With a drill and a special bit,” he said, jamming a finger above the number pad. “Drilled right in here. But we have three tries. What do you think Matt would have used?”
“Something that was significant to him. And him only.” I knew I was coming off more and more bitter. But, God, I’d earned it.
“His birthday?” Nico suggested.
“But wouldn’t that be obvious to someone he might have been involved with?”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about criminals after brushing shoulders with them my whole life, it’s that most of them aren’t nearly as clever as people think.”
“Alright,” I agreed, plugging in the code. “You can’t be serious.” The keypad flashed green, and there was an audible click.
“This is one of those told-you-so moments,” Nico said, shaking his head like he was disappointed that his old friend had been that clueless.
“I’m almost afraid to see what’s in here,” I admitted, but my hand reached to pull it open, not wanting anything to screw with my chance to get some more answers about my late husband.
“We’re in this together,” Nico said. And his calm, steady presence was enough for me to pull the door open.
I don’t know what I’d been expecting. Money? Guns? Stolen jewelry?
But that wasn’t what was inside.
It was a ton of paperwork.
Almost filled to the top.
I reached out, grabbing the top portion of the stack. There were handwritten notes attached to a picture.
“What is—”
I was cut off when Nico violently snatched the papers from my hands.
“What thefuck?” he snarled.
The ferocity in his voice had me straightening and inching back slightly.
“You motherfucker,” he growled as he flipped through the pages.
The first stack fell from his hands as he reached for another.
Whatever he was seeing, it was clearly not good to have a man as controlled as him looking like he was about to burst out of his skin.
I reached for the fallen papers.
I didn’t recognize the man in the picture. He was tall and handsome and holding an infant to his shoulder.
But I didn’t need to know his name. It was written there right at the top of the page.
Lorenzo Costa.
Under that, seemed to be his title:capo-dei-capi.
Even more worrisome was the list of his wife, his kids, their address, their schools, restaurants they ordered from, stores they liked, what their daily schedules looked like.
“Oh my God,” I whispered as I flipped through the pages, seeing in-depth descriptions of each family member. Thechildrenincluded.
