Page 88 of Enforcer's Obsession

I told myself that was what I wanted.

And that wasn’t entirely a lie.

I didn’t want Hope gone, but I wanted the threat against her removed, so I would do this, and like everything else, do it well.

“Two minutes out,” the voice in my earpiece said.

I looked at Enzo, nodded, and after he gave me another confirmation, we both pulled on a black ski mask.

This was an in-and-out job, grab the cash, slip away before anyone was the wiser.

We were armed, never knowing what we might face, but we traveled light.

The brownstone was nothing special, one of thousands that littered the city.

You would look at it and think that over three million in cash was inside.

But there was.

The Genevose worked in a cash business, foolish in this day and age, but in some cases unavoidable. Before that cash could be cleaned, it had to be held somewhere.

And I was about to hit the jackpot.

“Let’s go,” I said.

The van stopped three blocks away from the brownstone.

Farther than was ideal, but I knew surveillance was heavy around this spot. We crossed through the alley that bisected two of the blocks. I peeked around the corner and saw nothing on the streets.

It was quiet, almost ominous, but it was also one in the morning. I had pulled the building’s plans and knew that there was a basement apartment, one that would be our point of entry.

Enzo held up a small black box, one no bigger than a cell phone. In fifteen seconds, he had decrypted the electronic lock’s passcode. I allowed myself a moment’s excitement when the red light flashed green, but then refocused. The basement was completely dark, so we pull down our night vision and made our way through.

It was unorganized, empty boxes and papers spread about. I wondered if that was intentional, a way to create barriers to the rest of the unit, or if the Genevose were just that fucking messy.

I knew Hope would have a fit if she saw this, but quickly cut off the train of thought.

This was three stories, and if I knew the Genovese—and I definitely did—the money would be on the first floor.

Most novices would think hide it, leave it on the third floor, but no. Money had to be kept on hand, neatly packed, in case be stash house needed to be abandoned quickly.

There was another keycode on the door leading up from the basement of the brownstone.

It fell as easily as the other.

Enzo opened the door silently, and we were on the move.

The heat-signature scan I had done before we came in had revealed four people on the third floor, presumably men. No one had moved for fifteen minutes. If they stayed where they were for five more, I’d be gone without any of them having to die.

Just as I anticipated, to the left of the front door was the money room.

Another keypad lock and a conventional lock for good measure.

“Fuck,” I grumbled.

I couldn’t make out Enzo’s face, but I knew he was grim as I was.

Still, we were prepared.

---