Page 12 of Mob Princess

Rowan and Riley flexed, and we reminded Ewan and his band of Merry Men that they exist at our largesse. If we don’t want them in Boston, they won’t exist. Ewan’s other debt is we offed his father, so he didn’t have to commit patricide.

Finn shakes his head. “They’re tighter than a nun’s arse in church. Someone’s taken over their networks. I need your hacking skills because this exceeds mine.”

Shane practically snorts his soda. “A nun’s arse? Be sure to let Mom hear that one.”

Finn’s scowl only makes Shane laugh harder. In my head, I roll my eyes.

“What’s different? You’re as good a hacker as Lorenzo. What can’t you crack?”

Lorenzo Mancinelli is their family’s accountant like Finn is ours. They both have backgrounds in computer science because they’re forensic accountants along with the regular shite they do and day trading. Enzo’s cousin Carmine is pretty good too, but that’s because he’s always been a nosey fuckwad.

Between Enzo’s and Finn’s skills and mine are Sergei Andreyev and Anton Kutsenko. The bratva shites went to UPENN, and you can tell. They might not wear the sweatshirts anymore, but they’re smug motherfuckers. Sure, they went to an Ivy, but so did I. And right now, my alma mater’s computer science program is still ranked higher than UPENN’s. Ithaca might be fucking miserable in winter, but my education made up for the dreariness. Sergei’s one of the best hackers I’ve ever met, and Anton’s a whizz at programming. But the two of them still don’t touch what I learned between Cornell and Georgetown. There’s plenty all of us have learned over the years, mostly self-taught.

Joaquin Diaz is the Cartel’s intel gatherer. He’s probably the smartest of all the families’ computer geeks, but he’s lazy as shite. And not like how my family likes to be underestimated. He truly has the attention span of a goldfish. He went to MIT, so he’s not incapable of finishing things. He just doesn’t have the patience to dig all the way to the Earth’s core like Sergei and I do. What he does, he does well. He keeps the Colombians looking like their noses are clean, and he keeps an eye on the other families like we all do to each other. But he’s not going above and beyond. Overachiever has never been said in the same sentence as his name.

Finn sits back and looks at me. “They must have someone new. This is more than some fancy firewalls. It’s more than just encrypted. This is your CIA spook level shite. I’ve tried all my programs that usually get me into everyone else’s shite. I even created a new program update, but I can’t get in. They have their info buried deep.”

I reach into my laptop bag, which I put down beside my chair. I move my plate out of the way and open it. Talk about encryption. Our networks at our homes are tighter than a virgin’s arse in a whorehouse. Pretty sure our mom wouldn’t appreciate that one either. I’m not worried about hacking while I’m here.

I pull up the program I created that studies, analyzes, then runs algorithms to crack encryption codes. I get into the O’Malleys’ encrypted bank account the same way I always do. Then I hit a dead end. I can’t see any transactions like I usually do. It’s just blank as though nothing exists at all. Interesting.

I set my program to work, assured it’ll pull up something within the next couple seconds. But that turns into a minute, which turns into three. It’s still blank. That’s not the way it’s supposed to fucking be. I exit out of that bank and move to some offshore accounts they have. They believe these offshore ones are invisible, but Rowan did some money transfers four years ago in the middle of the night on an unsecure server. I had my program running as usual to monitor our rivals among the other syndicates and our mob rivals from other cities. That’s how I know where to look now.

They’re duds too. I move over to their investment portfolios. I get into those because they can’t hide those transactions when they go through the New York Stock Exchange. I try to leapfrog to the trades they buried under shell corporations or forced others into trading for them. Their shell corp ones are gone. Fucking hell.

I look up at my brothers and cousin. “This isn’t good. Whoever’s doing this must have the text already encoded at least once before putting it into encryption programs to adopt the secret coding. They could use pig Latin for all I know, then run it through their algorithms to hide it. I’m certain they’ve scrubbed past information, too. It’s going to take me a while to find where their codes changed and then try to replicate the first few changes they made. I have some other tactics too, but they’re going to take time to test. I may not get it the first try. Whoever did this isn’t just a hacker or programmer. They have national security level skills. Fortunately, I have those skills too.”

It automatically makes me think of Lina. Someone like the two of us did this. Someone with the same training we have. Amanda? She might spite us, but what connection could she have to the Boston mob?

“Once I have the scrapers running, I’ll dig to see where graduates from the top ten Homeland Security and International Intelligence programs are working and who they’re related to. That’s going to take hours.”

Dillan’s brow furrows. “Do you need to be in front of your computer for that?”

“Ideally, but I don’t have to watch the data scroll on my screen. I can set alerts. Why? What do you need me to do?”

“Cormac and Seamus have court today. Finn’s got payroll, and Shane’s got city inspectors going to three sites. I’m meeting with Haruki Nishida this afternoon. Can you take Mair to a doctor’s appointment?”

“Of course.”

I’m certain Dillan would much rather be with his wife than meeting with a yakuza oyabun. But we have a big deal going down between them investing in four pharmaceutical labs and us transporting products they want to bring in through Washington state and take down the coast to Mexico. It means our truck drivers going through a lot of ganglands and into Cartel territory when they cross the border. The only way we’ll accept that risk is if they pony up the money for the labs.

All six of us are the majority shareholders of a pharma company. The labs keep the company legit, but we’ll be refining the heroin they send us and blending it with synthetic shite to make it go further. They’ll get the same number of kilos to Mexico as they sent, but we’ll also have plenty to sell at the street level. We provide goods and services. It’s not on us when people buy. Personal responsibility is the cornerstone of capitalism.

Even I can’t say that with a straight face.

“Thanks. Can you meet Mair at her office in three hours?” Dillan glances at his watch as he speaks.

“Sure. That’ll give me time to work on this stuff. Can I stay here rather than going all the way back home?”

In theory, East Harlem to Midtown takes about the same time as where Dillan lives in Forest Hills to Midtown. That’s assuming there’s no major traffic jam. Then all bets are off. But I don’t want to go back to northern Manhattan from Queens just to go to south Manhattan. It’s a waste of time in the car when I could run the programs in a place that has jammers to prevent anyone knowing where I’m cruising the information superhighway.

“Of course.”

“Cool. I’ll use my room.”

The four of us talk about the cases Seamus and Cormac have right now. One’s corporate—Cormac’s—and one’s criminal—Seamus’s. Both are higher profile than any of us want. But we aren’t worried about the outcome. And Mair’s making sure not too much is going in the press since she’s a journalist at the city’s largest newspaper. But that doesn’t stop other news outlets from wanting details she’s helping to make sure aren’t available.

Once my brothers are gone, Dillan heads to his office, and I head to my room. I don’t stay here often. But there are times when we’re all here late, planning in Dillan’s office. It’s nice to crash here instead of going home. Sometimes we’re headed out so early in the morning or even in the middle of the night, it makes the most sense for all of us to already be here when it’s time to go.

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