“Not me.” He glances to the side and looks into the bedroom. “What are you doing in there?”
“Going through my mom’s old things.” I glance at the mess. “It’s not going well.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Answers.” I stare at him, and he looks straight back. I wonder if I weren’t better off not knowing. Maybe I could keep on going like this, a big black hole where my past should be. Isn’t ignorance bliss?
“Go ahead. I know you want to ask.”
My breath hitches. Do I really want to do this?
But I can’t help myself. Even if I really wanted to bite my own tongue off to keep from talking, I’d end up writing down the questions anyway. It’s a compulsion, and I can’t stop it.
“Why do they hate my father so much?”
He grunts and glances aside. For an instant, his ice-cold exterior cracks, until he quickly puts it back together. He stalks off, and I follow him to the kitchen, where he roots around in the cabinets until he finds an old bottle of whiskey I had stashed away. He pours two glasses, tosses his back, and pours himself a second. I don’t touch mine.
“Your father was one of my father’s top Capos,” he says slowly, like he’s pulling up an old, tangled rope from a long-collapsed well. He shivers and sips his second drink. “He stole something important a long time ago. Nobody knows why he did it. But that theft nearly destroyed the entire Corsetti organization.”
“What did he take?” I pick up the drink, figuring whiskey isn’t a bad idea after all. It burns and tastes terrible.
“The Black Book.” He looks down at his drink, swirling it slowly.
I wait a beat. “Okay, and now this is the part where you tell me what that is, because I have no idea.”
“It’s a book that contains the family’s most valuable secrets. Lists of politicians on the take. Blackmail materials. Murders, gun caches, and drug deals. The Black Book is the heart of our power.”
I feel cold all of a sudden. “You use it against people, don’t you?”
“It’s how we keep control of the city. A rogue police chief cracking down on our operations? A few whispered words andcasual reminders are enough to bring him to heel. My family has been stewarding the Black Book for a long time.”
“And my father tried to steal it?” I can only imagine how insane he must have been. If that book is the source of the Corsetti power, he must have known that taking it would mean a death sentence. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. My father never said. Back then, it was an enormous scandal, and it would have shaken us to the foundations—except it ended as quickly as it started.”
“How?”
“My father found the book, caught your father, and killed him.”
I feel sick. The whiskey is like fire in my guts. I’m talking to the son of the man who murdered my dad. “That’s awful.”
“It was justice. At least that’s what everyone thought.” He turns away, shoulders hunched, and takes another long drink. “But my father was lying.”
I pull back in surprise as he walks into the nearly empty living room. He paces, a man too burdened to remain in one spot. I watch him warily.
“Lying about what?”
He doesn’t look at me as he talks. “Things were fine. The book was back. The traitor was dead. Even if it broke my heart when your father was killed, we all knew it had to happen. The Black Book was too important. But then my father got sick, his strength faded, and he called me to his bedside barely hours before he slipped away. That night, he told me the truth. We all assumed the Black Book was found, and in a way, it was. Exceptit’s trapped inside a safe deposit box with no way to get it out, effectively lost forever, at least until I find the key.”
I stare at him, stunned. I’m trying to process all this information at once but struggling. “Your father lied?”
“He told a half-truth. He tracked down the book. Your father must have told him. But there was no key and no way to convince the bank to hand it over. My father’s been tracking the key ever since, and he hasn’t been able to find it. And now that burden is mine. I either find the key and retrieve the book, or my family is fucked.”
I rub my face with both hands and let out a nervous laugh. “How are you supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know.” His expression darkens. “And what’s worse, there’s a Turkish gang leader named Isak Vural who’s been pushing into our territory. I think he knows about the book and I think he wants to find the key too. If that happens—” He leaves it unspoken.
I can put it together. If an enemy of the Corsetti gets the book before Stellan does, they’ll be ruined. Vural will use the blackmail material to destroy them piece by piece.
