Page 119 of Mob Knight

Uncle Tate—Dillan’s dad—purses his lips and moves them side to side. I don’t know if it’s nature or nurture, but Dillan’s always done the same thing. They only do it when they’re thinking among family. In public, you don’t know what’s going through either of their minds until they want you to know.

“Do you remember who she was?”

“Yeah. Lilly Schneider.”

Such a misnomer. There’s nothing sweet or fragile about that bitch. She’d hack her mother to pieces for ten bucks. She’ll hire herself out to the lowest bidder because a dollar to her is always better than nothing, no matter the job or the boss.

“She used to do a lot of work for your grandda when she was young. That’s how she got her start.”

“I know. It’s why I recognized her.”

She’s close to my parents’ age, so mid to late fifties. She used to work for my grandfather whenever he needed a honeypot. But time’s not aged her gracefully. She looks like a haggard old prune. Fuck her.

“I’ve heard she’s been hustling at Declan’s.”

It’s a skeezy hole in the wall pool hall my mom’s second cousin owned before he got himself killed. The bratva didn’t like how he led for the millisecond he was in charge. The big bag of arse thought to seize power after Uncle Donovan died. Dillan was so pissed Uncle Don wouldn’t listen to him as his chief strategist, he went out of town for an unexpected vacation.

While he was gone, Uncle Don died. Declan put a hit on our moms and took over. He died for his crimes—largely because we made sure he couldn’t run from the bratva. Before he could call off the hit, a mercenary confused Dillan’s little sister, Colleen, for my mom and killed her. A single shot to the forehead while Dillan stood beside her. She was a veterinarian who specialized in rescuing abused animals like in those depressing ASPA commercial. She’d just adopted a puppy, and she and Dillan were taking it home. The woman who shot my cousin is dead, but her sister—Lilly—isn’t. Yet.

“I want her at the station.”

The abandoned railway station in the Bronx. It’s been unused for public transportation in at least a decade. We did some excavating and renovating. It has a second subterranean level now where we have a full kitchen, full bathroom, and bunk rooms plus an office. We take people there who need a lengthy reminder of who we are.

Dillan steps away from the table to make the call. No one who comes as our guest leaves as anything besides ash or toxic ooze.Either way, they wind up in the Long Island Sound. I’ll get out every secret she has. I’ll sell any worthwhile info to whoever it’s about or whoever’ll find it most useful to screw over the subject. I’ll discover who’s behind this, and they’ll have no one to hide behind. Whoever did this has no idea what’s coming their way.

“Cor?”

Finn’s voice floats through the door, and his knock is as quiet as my dad’s was. I’m back in my old bedroom, dozing beside Joey. I’m too anxious to let myself fall into a deep sleep, but I’m exhausted. She’s barely stirred since I came back after meeting with the others. That was three hours ago. I texted my mom and aunts to ask if I should be concerned. They threatened me on pains of death that I better not disturb her. Not for love nor money. More Granny phrases.

They said if she slept this deeply, it’s because she needs it. So, I do my best not to move her as I slip off the bed and walk to the door. I have sweatpants on now since I still have a few pieces of clothing here. I step into the hallway after glancing back at Joey.

“I found some shite on Martha. It’s not good.”

“Have you told the others?”

“No. I wanted to tell you first.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Maybe, maybe not. But she’s your girlfriend, so you have to decide what you do or don’t tell her. I’d rather you get to decide that without an audience or anyone else’s suggestions.”

“Thanks.”

All our homes are large enough for everyone to have their own bedroom. Cousins and sons alike. My aunts and uncles have theirs too. Missions can start or end anywhere, so it’s convenientto have somewhere to crash at all our homes. Plus—really—we’re just that close a family. Everyone is welcome in one another’s homes, so there’s always a place for each of us to lay our head.

Finn gestures toward his room. We sit on the end of the bed together, and he opens his laptop. I’m looking at several incognito browser windows open with emails. I skim the one on top and realize immediately it’s about Joey. I glance at the date. It shocks the shite out of me to realize it’s probably from a month or two after Joey started working for the city. I scan the next one, then the next one, then the next. There’re hundreds of them with nearly weekly or biweekly reports from Martha to an unnamed contact that go back years. They’re basically run downs of Joey’s schedule. Where she was, when she was there, and who she was with.

The responses are vague, and there’s no explanation for why Martha sent them. But as I read more, I piece together the reason for them. Whoever’s behind this counts Joey as a valuable asset. They’re keeping tabs on her for when—not if—they kidnap her and hold her for ransom. They nearly took her when Jesus tried to fuck Enrique over for a major deal with rival narcos.

That was when Olivia and Luca were dating. There was a shootout one night that involved the Colombians, the Italians, and NYPD—dirty NYPD. It got messy fast. From what I can tell, if things hadn’t come out about Olivia’s connections to Jesus, these people were going to use the distraction to grab Joey.

I keep skimming since there are so many. When I’m only a quarter of the way through, I look over at Finn. He looks wiped.

“Did you read all these?”

“Yeah. I found them ten minutes after you came back up here. I wanted to be sure I knew what I’d found before sharing it, just in case.”

He doesn’t need to fill in the rest. There are way too many possible just in cases.

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