Page 12 of Shield

My chest tightens painfully as I stare at it. The symbol is unmistakable.

But this can’t be Emily’s. It’s a man’s watch. I guess it could be Mikey’s, but Mikey would never wear a Bellamorte symbol. If anything, he would have worn the symbol of the Demonio family, the snake wrapped around two crossed scythes that I saw all over the paperwork in Alexandra’s office. But maybe Emily had it made for him?

A date carved along the back edge of the face catches my attention. It takes me a moment to place it, but then it hits me—it’s my parents’ wedding anniversary.

Shit, this was my dad’s watch.

My heart constricts in my chest, and I feel nauseous. Squeezing the watch in my hand, I stand, walking over to the window, and stare blankly out into the dark night.

The sleet falling outside the window is illuminated by the one working streetlight. The icy pellets hit the pavement with soft, rhythmic taps, and I wonder absently if the fancy sports cars I’ve seen parked on the street recently will be dented if it turns to hail.

I look down at the watch band in my hand and shiver. It’s like I’m holding the ghost of my father in the form of his broken watch, a message from him on the other side.

But why would my dad’s watch be on that plane? My mom had it after he died and swore she’d never give it up, and she certainly wasn’t on that plane. She might have given it to Franco at some point, but he too is very much alive. She hated Mikey, so there’s no way she gave it to him, and if she’d given it to Emily, Emily would have told me.

Or would she, especially if she thought I’d be upset? Shedidn’t tell me that Mikey was connected to the mafia. She never shared whatever was going on to make them go on the run, and I doubt that happened overnight.

I feel like I’m going to vomit, and I drop to my knees on the floor in front of the window. One knee lands on something hard. It’s Emily’s phone, and I pull it out from under me, sitting down on the floor heavily.

The screen is now cracked, and the case came loose at the top when I threw it against the wall last night. Something is sticking out of it, folded and discolored. Wedged between the phone and its case is a slip of paper.

I carefully pull it out, mindful of its water-damaged edges. Numbers are scrawled on the top, smeared but legible.

Another fucking mystery, and no answers to the questions I started with.

I need to get into this phone.

There may be something—an email, a text, a note—that can help me make sense of all this. Maybe even provide me with the proof that Matti planted the explosive device or Aurelio ordered her death. And why.

Who do I know that can fix a phone that’s water damaged?

Valentina’s name immediately comes to mind, and I cringe. Under any other circumstance, I would never consider asking her for help, but I honestly don’t know anyone else. I’d have to pay her, of course, but when you don’t do anything with your money but pay the mortgage and buy takeout chicken, it’s pretty easy to save.

Fleetingly, I wonder what the “project” was that she did for Matti the night I met her on the plane. How much he paid her or if he didn’t have to because—

It feels like a gut punch to think about the two of themtogether, but I’m immediately hit with a wave of guilt as I look at all of Emily’s things on the floor. How can I miss him, feel anything for him, when he played a part in what happened to my sister? It’s a good thing he threw me out, honestly. It’s giving me a chance to focus on healing after losing Emily. That’s what’s important. Not Matti.

Forcing myself to stay focused, I shove the thought of Matti fucking Valentina out of my head and grab my phone, setting Emily’s to the side. My fingers fly fast over the keyboard as I text Olivia.

Hey, do you have Valentina’s contact info?

It doesn’t take long before I see the little bubble letting me know that Olivia is responding.

Hell no. Why the fuck do you want that bitch’s

number at 4 in the morning?

Oh shit, I forgot how late it was. Or how early. Fuck, I love Olivia. Other than my cousin Sophie, I can’t think of anyone that would text me back at this time of night without bitching about it.

I need some tech work done.

Oooh, cryptic. Hold on.

A minute passes, and then a contact card comes through from her. Vincenzo Demonio’s cell phone information.

What the—? Why does she want me to contact Vin? Thatasshole tied me to a fucking chair then lectured me on how great Matti is even after standing there while he groped me up against a wall.

Vin’s number? Do you think he’d help me?

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