I relieve myself in the bathroom and wash my hands before heading to the kitchen to make the coffee, and my mind wanders to that conversation with Sal again. Part of convincing him of her worth is selling her services to him the way I'd sell a good deal to a potential buyer or supplier. It's a trick I'm excellent at—so good, in fact, that against all odds, I managed to buy Next Gen for pennies on the dollar from an organization who was all but ready to fold it under.
Now Sal trusts me to run it—or he did before all this bullshit with Lombardi. I know even if I can't pull off the win here, I can definitely sell Riley's capabilities. Sal may only ever look at her as an asset, but if she's mine—and she will be—she'll be safe, even in failure or mistake.
I carry the coffee and the laptop back to the bedroom and find Riley sitting up in bed, the sheet wrapped around her, her eyes on the window. She turns when I walk in, and I hand her one of the mugs.
"Thank you," she says.
I set my own mug on the nightstand and slump onto the bed next to her. She yelps happily as her coffee sloshes at the bouncy mattress, and I settle in to look over her work and get her set up for today.
"Here," I say, opening the laptop and pulling up the files. "I'm giving you encrypted root directory access. You'll be able to see everything, change everything, delete everything."
She sets her mug down and takes the laptop, her fingers moving across the keyboard as she navigates through the system. "Rafe, you're letting me see your whole organization…" Her eyes are wide, skimming content as she scrolls. She looks fascinated and appalled in equal measure.
"I know."
"You're trusting me with this?"
"Yes."
She looks up at me, and I see the surprise in her eyes. "Why?"
"I want you to know I am taking you seriously. I won't let anything happen to you, and I'm going to make this right." There are those words again, empty until I prove myself to her, but her eyes seem to show her doubt is lifting, that this token of trust I'm offering her is giving her confidence that I really will do as I say.
"This is going to take time," she says as her eyes turn back to the computer and her fingers start to fly. I think she’s forgotten that she's stark naked under that sheet and she's too energized to start working for me to remind her and distract her from that zest.
"I know. But you can do it…" She nods, and I stand, pulling on a shirt and reaching for my jacket. Riley glances up at me, but I only have half of her attention now. "I need to talk to Don Salvatore," I say. "About you—and I need to check on the toy drive. The shipment leaves in two days, and I need to make sure everything is on schedule."
"The toy drive," she repeats, and I hear the edge in her voice. "You mean the weapons shipment."
"Yes. But the toys are real too, remember. And I want to make sure they get delivered."
She looks away, and I see the conflict on her face. She hates that I'm using the toy drive as cover, but she also understands why. She's seen the records. She knows how the organization operates. And somewhere along the way, she's accepted that this is who I am.
"I'll be back in about four or five hours," I say. "Work on the dead man switch. If you finish that, move on to the Ferretti books. Cut every tie you can find."
"Okay."
I lean down and kiss her forehead, and then I walk out of the room, closing the door behind me.
As I head toward the front door of the safehouse, my mind is already shifting gears. My gut is churning over this talk with Sal, but if I know him like I think I do, he'll at least let me prove myself and Riley. He doesn’t take risks very often, though.
And then there's the toy drive. The weapons shipment disguised as charitable donations, the final big move of the year before the fiscal deadline. It has to go off without a hitch. The Feds are watching too closely, and if anything goes wrong, it could bring the entire operation crashing down.
And I have to get this toy drive locked in and moving smoothly. It's the last good thing we have going for us this year before we have to dive into what the new year brings for us. We pull this off and complete the supply chain for these weapons and we'll secure the entire eastern seaboard as ours. It has nothing to do with the work Riley's doing for me, but it's equally as important to pull off, just part of the responsibility Sal's put on my shoulders.
And if I'm wanting him to take my demands seriously—because they won't be requests at this point—I have to walk in confident that I'm in charge and I've got my ducks in a row. That confidence is what will sell this entire thing to my uncle.
And Riley's life depends on it.
21
RILEY
My eyes burn from staring at the screen for too long, and I blink hard, trying to clear the blur that's settled over everything. The cursor blinks back at me from a line of code I've been staring at for the past ten minutes, and I realize I haven't actually processed a single word.
I'm too tired and I hate admitting that Rafe could be right—I'm pushing myself too hard. I've had headaches and I can't see straight. I'm sure it's eye strain and I wonder if I'm making mistakes, so every so often, I pause and rub my eyes, have a drink of tea or water, and then go back over what I've been doing for the past hour to make sure I'm double-checking.
My fingers move across the keyboard, executing commands I've practiced so many times now that they're automatic. Delete. Replace. Redirect. The files shift and change under my hands, and with each keystroke, I bury more evidence. I don't like it, but at this point I've grown numb to it all.
