Page 78 of Cash

Back to work would indicate I’d been working before he’d hooked me around the neck and gave me his attention and with that came his eyes, smile, and gruff but soft voice. Which I hadn’t been—working, that was. I’d been staring at the table listening to the people around me talk about my life like it wasn’t mine. Unable to ignore the fact that they now knew who I really was and the shame that came along with them knowing.

I heard and due to his nearness felt, Cash’s sigh drift over my lips before he lifted his head far enough back that he could study the veracity of my claim. His eyes roamed my face, locked with mine, and narrowed. Then he called me out.

“You’re full of shit.”

“Cash—”

“Ask me how I know,” he went on.

It took a second, but it dawned on me—Penny.

It wasn’t the same, but it was. Both of us buried our past, guarded our secrets—both of which had been dragged into the present with the appearance of a sibling. Mine I’d been brutally acquainted with my whole life. His, he never knew existed.

“Cash—”

“I got only a small taste of what this is like,” he once again spoke over me. “But what you need to know is there’s not one person in this room who’s judging you.”

I wasn’t sure that was the case. The one time I’d chanced a glance down the table at Nebraska she was scowling at a mission brief from my time working with Michael. Over the years she’d been the closest I’d come to having a real friend and I’d done nothing but lie to her.

“Everything’s a lie,” I told him. “My whole life is a one big fat lie.”

The last thing I needed was Cash’s eyes to go soft, especially in the middle of a breakdown in a room full of people after I’d spent months missing him. But without warning, thus no time to brace, he gave me a soft look of understanding.

“Look around, baby, you’re in good company. There are five of us at this table who were dead for a decade. Every one of us at this table have lived a lie.”

I knew he was right, however, none of them had sat around while their lies were being dissected.

“Well the timing now makes sense,” Kira announced, and my attention went to the other end of the long table. “Damion McKnight is seriously fucked. We suspected it was about money and Lore confirmed he was after her bank accounts.”

I’d spent the first hour I was in this room going over my time in my brother’s tender, loving care. This of course after I’d taken Cara down to the daycare room and met the teachers, Amy and Molly. Also after Garrett had reported he’d ID’d the man I’d killed.

Martin Patrick.

The name meant nothing to me.

It should’ve. I’d snuffed out his life, but like all the other lives that had ended either directly or indirectly by my actions, I refused to allow my mind to dwell. Instead of thinking about Martin Patrick I’d told Zane, Cash, Jonas, Smith, Easton, and Nebraska about my brother demanding to know where my money was held. Halfway through my brief Theo had come in and waited until I was done before he announced Damion had not returned to his house and his whereabouts were unknown. And that had been the start of everyone digging back into the files they’d obviously already gone through while trying to piece together who had taken me.

“Why does the timing make sense?” Theo asked, looking up from a stack of papers I was positive I wished he wasn’t reading even though I didn’t specifically know which mission brief he had in front of him.

However, Kira wasn’t looking at Theo when she answered, she was staring at Nebraska. “Vincenzo Greco.”

I’d spent the last year looking into every shady business deal my brother had his hand in and I’d also learned that the CIA had been intercepting wire transfers. Something I knew was Michael’s doing. Since he was no longer here for me to ask I had to guess, but I figured my guess would be a good one since Michael was the only person I’d ever told about the abuse I’d endured at the demand of my father by Damion’s hand, Michael incepted those transfers to fuck with my brother.

However in all my investigating I’d never found any dealings with the Sicilians. And Vincenzo Greco was a well-known Cosa Nostra. He was not mafia, he was old school Sicilian Mafiusu. He was also known as a man who had honor—he lived and breathed the fratillanza. And he also rarely did business with Americans who don’t have direct family ties to the island.

And we weren’t Sicilian or even Italian, so Damion having contact didn’t jive.

Before Nebraska could respond I did. “What about Vinnie G?”

“You’ve heard of him?” Kira probed.

“Yes. I’ve never met the man face-to-face but I’m well aware of who and what he is.”

“Well, I don’t.” Jonas sat back in his chair and looked around the table. “Mind filling in the rest of the class?”

“The Greco family has been mafia for the better part of two-hundred years. Though, Vinnie G would cut your throat and spit in your face if you disrespected him and called him such,” Nebraska started, and I clenched my jaw at the history lesson. “Vincenzo Greco is considered Sicilian royalty. A member of his family has been a member of Cosa Nostra since the mid eighteen-hundreds. There are a little less than a hundred clans in the region, but of those only ten are truly in power and make up the Cupola. They deny the existence of such a commission, but I’ve met with them. Vincenzo is the head of that commission. If there’s ever mob boss you want with power, it’s Vinnie G. He came into power when he was twenty-five and killed his father, Alfio who at the time was the head of the family. What would’ve been seen as a punishable act of disloyalty to the family was seen as the ultimate sacrifice to the brotherhood when it became public Alfio had beaten his wife. The story is widely shared as a reminder of the code honorable men live by and what happens if they break one of the rules. Vinnie has a wife as well as a dozen mistresses at any given time. It’s known he treats all of the women in his life like gold. Especially his wife, Rosalia and his mother, Maria. I’ve had dinner with Vinnie and Rosie. She’s lovely and kind and a happily well-kept woman.” Nebraska paused and frowned. “However, men don’t receive the same consideration as women. If a man crosses Vincenzo Greco, he is as good as dead.” She stopped again to look across the table from where she was sitting to look at Zane. “Should I call him and set up a meeting?”

“Hell no!” Easton snarled.