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“Sofe, you know that’s not safe. Not right now.”
Victor, the family driver, along with an armed escort, was supposed to pick her up from Columbia University.
“I couldn’t wait. We’re family. We should be together.”
“And you should learn to listen,” I scold, frustrated that she potentially put herself in harm’s way.
She pulls away to stare at me with familiar blue eyes. “Listen? I’m not a child.”
“You are to me.”
Annoyance fills her gaze even as fat tears roll down her cheeks. “I need you to be my brother right now, Luca. Not my dad.”
I grind my teeth but nod. Her relationship with our father became tumultuous toward the end. When she was little, Sofia was his princess. But as she got older, her independent personality became a huge problem for him. She wanted to explore the world around her; he wanted to keep her in a bubble. That’s why she left, even though it meant going to the school he chose for her and majoring in political science and government, something she despises. But she was willing to do it for the illusion of freedom.
Knowing all this doesn’t make it any easier to give her the space she wants. At twenty-one, she’s only eight years younger than me, yet it’s hard to see her as anything other than a little girl. But now isn’t the time to fight.
“You’re right, Sofe. I’m sorry.” I hug her to me again and kiss the top of her head. “Uncle Ray and I have some things to discuss. Why don’t you go up and settle in and come grab me when you’re ready for dinner?”
“Okay.”
“Hansen,” I say to one of the men standing around. “Take her luggage to her room.”
“Yes, sir.”
I follow Sofia into the house, and she leads the guard to the suite that has been hers since the day she was born.
Uncle Ray hands out orders to have extra security added to the perimeter of the property, then follows me into Tony’s study.
A stab of regret pierces my gut the moment I see the space he spent so much time in. He might have thought the house was creepy, but he never changed it.
The walls are still covered in dark-blue patterned wallpaper and mahogany paneling. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves are still filled with old photographs, not only of the family, but of the people who lived here before. Photos my mother placed there because she thought there was something romantic about them. Thick curtains still block out most of the sunlight, making the tall windows almost pointless.
But that was just like Tony. He loved our mother. She decorated the place and, in a way, keeping everything the same kept her alive for him.
Now they’re all gone. Mom. My father. Tony.
“Luca,” my uncle says, startling me, because I forgot he was here.
Rubbing my tired eyes, I go to sit behind the massive cherrywood desk that’s original to the house and search the neatly kept drawers. “You said the medical examiner gave Tony copies of the photographs taken at the other scenes. Where would he have placed th—”
Before I can finish my sentence, I find a manila folder in the very bottom drawer with the name Tadesco written in black Sharpie.
I pull it out and place it on the desk, then open it. Inside, I find several photos of not only Tadesco’s death scene and autopsy, but of the other crime lords’ death scenes and autopsies as well.
My uncle comes to stand behind me and peers over my shoulder as I look through the pictures. “Will you tell me now?”
Flipping through the photographs again and again, I scan the coins placed over their eyes. “Two thousand nine.” I point to them. “They’re all pennies minted in 2009.”
“Shit.” His gaze flicks over the pictures. “How was that missed? That’s what was on Tony’s pennies too.”
“Not exactly. I’d assumed they’d match, but his were 2006 pennies.” I tug my phone from my pocket and type in2006 and 2009 New York events.
Nothing comes up. Then I try it several other ways but can’t seem to find the answer.
“Perhaps it was just a coincidence,” Uncle Ray offers.
Sitting back, I rub the scruff on my chin thoughtfully. “No. There’s something more to this. A reason why those dates were chosen and why Tony’s were different from the others.”
