Page 5 of Wrapped in Silver

I shake my head free from the daydream.

The fuck are you thinking? Your daughter would be approaching her age had she—

I punch the granite, hearing acrackfrom the wood holding it up.

You’re losing it, Aros. Retirement doesn’t suit you.

Once all the perishables are in the fridge, I find myself pacing out of the kitchen and into the open living room with three black leather couches and a collection of rooster statues lined up over the TV unit. None of this is me. I’m a ghost haunting house after house, moving with laundered money like the wind.

Stanzo the Glove was nice enough to set up this little operation before the big C got him. He was a good man, for a Jersey prick. What’s more, it’s rare as hell to see an old fire dog like him live long enough to be killed by nature. Figured it’d be smart to listen to his advice and get out the game after the incident…

Can’t think about that right now.

After an hour of going through my finances for the third time—old habit from my racketeering days—there’s still something gnawing at the back of my head. The symbol on the house across the way. I shouldn’t involve myself, yet I feel compelled.

Heading toward the foyer, I crouch near one of my duffle bags and dig through to find a set of binoculars. My heart stammers when I feel the cool metal, like I’m doing something against my code. It’s not to spy on the captain’s daughter. It’snot. Just want to know if it’s the Russians making plays near one of my homes.

That’s all this is.

I shouldn’t, though. I’m lucky Don Valentino let’s this little operation slide in the first place. Nobody gets out of the game.I mean nobody.Even Leandro the Hook gets called back from time to time. If I were smart, I’d let sleeping dogs lie.

Then… why am I heading toward the window?

Old habits kick in fast. I’m careful not to disturb the shades, and to peek through with the lights off so there’s no shadowing movement. She’s not outside anymore. Through the snow flurries on the first floor, I spot a uniformed officer leaning over the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone. Rookie on guard duty, without a doubt. I then shift toward the other windows, secretly wanting another glimpse of the captain’s daughter. I’m not sure why, but I’m drawn. As instincts tug me to go upstairs to better inspect the top floor, I snap myself out of it and shift focus to the side of the house—to the symbol I thought I saw now covered in a snow patch.

Dammit.

If it’s the Russians, the family should know about it.

Stay out of this, Aros.

You still got people to lose. Your little cousin, Nico… Nah, Donny’s kid’s more protected than the Pentagon.

I grit my teeth.

Think of your little niece, then, on the other side. Lessia never did anything to anyone. Don’t make her a target.

Anxiety boils up like a storm in my chest, then simmers just as fast.

I’m overreacting.

Relaying information is nothing.

I place the binoculars on the ledge and head to the front door, slipping into my loafers before I’m out again. A quick glance across the way still shows the shape of the rookie unmoved. It’s like he’s a zombie stuck on that social media nonsense. Like every other kid I see these days.

Easier for me to make my move.

My loafers’clackacross the heated walkway outside the mansion, and again as I make way past the gate to cross the street. There’re a few people shoveling out their cars down theblock, and another few neighbors crowded near the police car—nosy pricks—so my presence should go unnoticed.

Instead of walking straight ahead to the soundless flashing sirens, I hang a left and slow my gait, scanning the grey shingles up and down to recall exactly where I saw the mark. The captain’s daughter manifests on the steps in my mind’s eye, which makes me linger a moment too long, then I raise my gaze to the exact spot she turned.

I walk up to the house and wipe away the snow. There it is, the clear shaded points of the Russian mob star. It’s only half-filled, which is their sign.One hundred percent. They’re crossing hard lines, those Russkies. Hitting a cop in his own home? It’s like they forgot they’re not in the mother country.

“Hey!”a low voice startles me from above.

It’s her, hanging out her window.

My eyes lock on her perfectly shaped face. Small nose with a rounded tip turns pink from the cold. Those thick eyebrows taunt me, and her shoulder-length light brown hair flows down like a waterfall. I was right too, her eyesaredark, but there’s something about them. A fire.Somethingthat draws me in like a portal to hell.

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