I’m standing three feet from him, and he hasn’t registered my presence.
“Raffaele.”
He holds up a finger.One minute.
I bite my tongue and wait.
The call rolls into another call. He says something to one of the men, who then jogs off toward the back of the house.
“Raffaele.”
“Hold on?—”
“Don’t you want to see our new house?”
He finally looks at me. “What?”
“The house. The one you just bought. The one you bought for us. Do you want to go inside? Look at it? Together?”
“I—”
He glances at his phone. At the SUV. At the man with the tablet. Then back at me.
“Give me five minutes. I just need to make sure the perimeter?—”
A motorbike.
It cuts through the morning. We both turn. The bike comes up the gravel drive too fast, throws up a spray of stones, and skids to a stop ten feet from us.
Lorenzo.
He pulls his helmet off. His hair’s flat with sweat. His jacket’s rucked up at the side like he dressed in a hurry. There’s a bruise blooming on his cheekbone that wasn’t there yesterday.
“Boss. We’ve got a problem.”
Raffaele’s already crossing to him.
“What happened?”
“Nico’s people. They moved on the brownstone last night. Took it. Whole place is theirs as of about three AM.”
“How many?”
“A dozen. Maybe. They’re setting up like they own the building. I had to crawl out the servants’ stair like a fucking housemaid.” Lorenzo wipes his face. “There’s something else.”
“What?”
“The vault. Upstairs. Saw two of them down there trying to crack it on my way out. Weren’t getting anywhere, but they were trying hard. They want whatever’s in it.”
Raffaele stiffens. “The will.”
“The what?”
“Vincenzo’s will. The one that names the heir,” he explains. “Vincenzo kept it in a vault. He never trusted Nico. Figured he’d try to amend it the morning he died. If Nico cracks it before I do, then it’s over.”
Lorenzo whistles low. “So, if we get there first?—”
“Then I’ve got legal proof of what the old man actually wanted. Whatever name’s on that document. I’d bet it’s not Nico’s.”
