Page 21 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

Yeah.

There was something inherently charming about these mafia guys.

“What you got there?” Aurelio asked as we got back into the suite, and August made a beeline for the coffee pot as we stood in the kitchen with him.

“My father’s wallet,” I told him. “The nurse said she wasn’t supposed to release it, but wanted to give it to me because it was full of money,” I told them as I opened it, and pulled out the cash inside.

A little over a thousand.

I had to imagine it was all dirty money. Provided from all the local criminal organizations.

I’d looked it up once. The chief of police in our area got a salary of one-hundred-forty thousand. Not chump change, for sure. But not the kind of money that would provide him with his little mansion, sports cars, expensive suits and watches, and his love of fancy restaurants.

He had a bunch of credit cards too.

His license.

Then one of those little cards that had emergency contact information. My information.

And, finally, a picture.

Just one.

Of him and me when I was a little girl. Maybe five or so, back when I still believed my daddy hung the moon. I was sitting on top of a giant pumpkin in a patch, him standing beside me with a hand behind my back.

Always got your back, Travy.

And, I guess, no matter what went on with us, that was true.

He could have easily written me off after one of the many shouting matches we’d shared over the years. But he didn’t. That had to count for something, right?

“Can I see that?” Aurelio asked, motioning to the wallet.

“Sure,” I said, handing it to him, and reaching for the coffee August pushed toward me instead.

The whiskey had been a bad idea.

All I had to thank for it was a pounding behind my eyes.

“What’s that?” I asked when Aurelio yanked a small square out of one of the card pockets, holding it up toward his cousin whose face went a little dark.

“A tracking device,” August said.

“Shit,” I murmured.

August and Aurelio shared a long look, seemingly having a fucking silent conversation that I wasn’t allowed to be a part of.

“Shouldn’t we destroy it?” I asked.

“Is the story of his attack on the news?” Aurelio asked.

August and I glanced at each other.

“I have no idea,” I said, taking my coffee into the living room to try to find the remote.

“It’s the tablet,” August said, coming up behind me to grab it, clicking around like he was accustomed to the things, and bringing up the news station.

We all stood there silently for a few moments, watching the story and the crawl at the bottom of the screen. But… nothing.

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