Page 12 of Merciless Oath

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Random numbers? No, nothing this person does is random.

I head to the shower and scour my brain, trying to remember different codes I might have learned. The only thing that might make sense is ASCII code—a standard format used to share files between computers on different devices and networks.

In my sudden enthusiasm to crack the code, I toss the towel on the floor and run butt-naked to my small home office. I plop down at the desk and boot up my laptop.

My ASCII knowledge is a bit rusty, but that’s what the internet is for. My fingers tingle with anticipation as I quickly find a conversion table and scribe down the letters.

You burned it down then. I burn it down now.

“What the hell?” I wonder out loud. That’s definitely a direct connection to the warehouse attack, which means the Rossis are innocent.

The first sentence confuses me—unless these messages are meant for Rafael? He’s been known to burn down a few things in the past. Maybe this entire time, The8 has unknowingly been sending me messages meant for him.

I think back to the tumultuous events that brought him and Lux together last year and wonder if it might be connected to that.

Wandering back to the bathroom, I locate my phone and dial his number. He takes an annoyingly long time to answer.

“Enzo, didn’t I fire you?” he finally grumbles, sleep slurring his speech.

“No, in fact, you promoted me and bought me a two-million-dollar car,” I shoot back, grinning despite myself.

“You need to go read that contract again,” he huffs. “Each time you call me at five in the morning, I withdraw one million dollars from your bank account.”

“For what reason?”

“Emotional damage. Now what the hell do you want?”

“May I remind you how mean you were to me?—”

“I’m hanging up now, Enzo.”

“No, wait, fine, fine.” I laugh, trying to get back into professional mode. Rafael’s grumbling, grumpy vibe just brings out the worst in me sometimes. I can’t help but tease him. “Have you ever burned down a warehouse, business, home, or some such structure?”

“Are you kidding me?” he barks. I can hear sheets rustling. “That’s how I spent half my time in the mafia. What are you on about?”

“I’ve been getting weird messages almost every day this week,” I admit. “I thought they might be for you.”

“Tell me more,” he says, suddenly alert. I can imagine him sitting up in bed, that stoic this-means-business look on his face.

Technically, Rafael is still involved with the Romanos, but at his wife’s urging, he only handles the legal side of things. Although he’s still an infinite pool of knowledge whenever I’m stumped by something crime related.

“They’re being sent in code form,” I explain, putting him on speaker and tugging on some clean clothes. “First it was HEX, then Morse, and now it’s ASCII. The signature always says The8. Make any sense of that?”

“Have you told the uncles?”

“Honestly, no. There’s been a lot going on lately.”

“The warehouse attack?” he asks, his voice grim. I hear him wrestling with Lux’s fancy Smeg coffee maker, and his voice fades for a second, replaced by cursing and banging.

“Yeah, we thought it might be the new family in town… the Rossis.” I hesitate, knowing Rafael knows my entire history. “But the last message from The8 confirms it was their doing.”

The line is silent for a second, and I wonder if I lost him to his high-tech appliance hell. Finally, he clears his throat, and I brace myself for the question.

“Did you see her?”

“I did. She's actually head of the Rossis now.”

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