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Anna
Code I
An invitation is only given freely
Anna
Two years before
“Don’t speak unless—“
“I know, Dad.” I reached over and rested my hand on his arm. “Unless spoken to. I also know not to pick my nose in public, or ask outright if he’s calledthe Godfather.”
Sweat glistened on his brow. He’d pulled the car over twice so far to breathe hard and heave until his skin was a pale shade of gray. Now he was driving like a granny.
“I don’t know about this,” he muttered. “I don’t…”
“It’s already too late,” I answered, giving him the facts. “I’m eighteen, and I’ve been helping you launder their money for the last six months. I’m not stupid, Dad. I knew who those people were…and what they did.”
He jerked a panicked gaze my way. “I should never have gotten you into this. I should’ve done forensic accounting or something boring.”
“But you didn’t.” I slid my hand from his arm. "You did what most fathers wouldn’t and couldn’t do, and you did it for me.”
He swallowed hard. “I was blindsided,” he muttered, his focus back on the road.
“No,” I answered and looked out the window as the Salvatore mansion came into view. ”You were just damn good at your job.”
We pulled up at the gates and the security detail stepped forward. It wasn’t what I'd imagined. I don’t know what I'd really imagined. But the guard dressed in a suit lowered his head and peered through dad’s window directly at me.
“She’s my daughter,” dad said before the guard straightened.
No words were spoken, just a wave of his hand before the towering wrought iron gates started to move.
“We’re going to have to get better security,” dad muttered, his nerves fraying as he nosed the car along the long driveway and pulled up outside the slate-gray three-story mansion.
I was just secretly hoping for a newer car. “Shit, this is nice.”
Dad cut me a somber look. “Looks can be deceiving.” Still, he turned off the ignition. “Stay close to me, Button.”
“Sure,” I muttered and shoved opened the door to the old Chevrolet. The hinges howled, and the engine ticked and moaned with a near-death rattle. I pushed the door closed as the heaviness in my bladder turned to an ache. “I need to find a toilet.”
“You should’ve gone before we left.”
“I did,” I answered. “But you drive slow and I’m nervous.”
A look of concern flared and he already looked like he was going to pass out. I love my dad, but he was far too anxious for his own good.
He shoved his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and lifted his gaze as the front door opened. Two beefy-looking guys strode out wearing shoulder holsters over black turtlenecks. Okay, nowtheylooked like Mafia.
“Max,” dad greeted one of them.
A nod was all he was given before the guy gave me the once-over and turned, striding back through the open door. Okay, so not a talker.
I glanced at dad, who clambered up the stairs and hurried inside, forgetting for a second I was there. He’d met withthe Godfatherseven times now, and each time he came home a little more excited and a lot more anxious, working behind the closed door in his study until all hours of the night.
Stupid me, I wanted to know what for. So a month ago, I found one of his many passwords and I logged on. I saw the accounts…hundreds of them.I was hooked, following the patterns, tracing them back to one offshore account, then another, until the transactions started to blur. But I didn’t realize six hours had passed as I processed what had been happening. Six hours gone in the blink of an eye.
Six hours was all it took for dad to bust me.
