“Fair,” Blackjack said. “On my end, I want two things. One, Shore Vipers treat any Ace on this business as friendly in your territory, as long as they’re not being stupid. Two, you help keep this quiet. No cops. No other clubs. No civilians. This stays in the family. That includes yours.”
“You get your two,” Liberty said. “On onecondition.”
“What is it?”
“If I find out you’re lying to me about any piece of this,” she said, voice soft and deadly, “I won’t just go after your men. I’ll go after you. Personally. And you know I don’t make empty threats.”
A beat. Then Blackjack chuckled, low.
“Same old Riann,” he said. “You’ve got my word. No lies. I might have to keep some things close while I can confirm them, but I won’t feed you false shit. 8-Ball, you hear this?”
“Loud and clear,” 8-Ball replied.
“Jersey?” Blackjack asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m here. I hear it.”
“Good,” he said. “Because you’re the poor bastard sitting with that bag.”
All eyes in the room slid to me.
“Put it on the table,” Liberty said.
My fingers tightened on the strap before I could tell them not to. I forced them to relax. Brought the pack forward, set it on the scarred metal between us.
I unzipped it and pulled out the book.
Turnpike’s eyes widened a fraction. Rosé’s mouth tightened. Valkyrie’s gaze locked onto it like a predator watching a live grenade.
“There’s also tech inside,” I said. “Looks like drives or some encrypted bricks. Prez told me not to touch it, so I didn’t.”
“We’ll deal with that later,” Blackjack said. “Right now, tell them what you saw when you cracked that book open.”
I flipped the cover open carefully.
Neatly handwritten pages. Columns. Names. Numbers. Codes. Some typed sheets were glued in, stapled, or clipped. Some sections had tabs. Others had notes in red ink. Certain lines were circled. Certain entries had symbols next to them.
The paper kept changing under my fingers. Different weights, different printers, ink that had aged at different speeds. Some margins had dates and three-letter city codes ticked off one after another with little arrows drawn in between them. This book hadn’t lived its life on one shelf. It had been carried. Reviewed. Signed off on and moved again. A traveling brain instead of one sitting in a vault somewhere.
“It’s a ledger,” I said. “But not just money in, and money out. It’s like a map of everything the Vincino family has their claws tied into. Legit fronts. Shell companies. Chop shops. Dock workers. Judges. Cops. Politicians. Brokers.”
I flipped to another tab and fanned the pages under my thumb. “Then there’s sections just labeled with initials. BC. RS. YK. SS. Lots of those pages mention dates, tonnage, routes, and then what I’m pretty sure are code names for shipments. Or people.”
“BC is going to be the Bolivar Cartel,” 8-Ball muttered as he leaned forward to examine it. “RS, is the Russian Syndicate. YK, is most likely the Yakuza. SS, that’s the Steel Serpents.”
“Nice of them to keep everything so organized forus,” Rosé said.
“You don’t risk moving something like this unless you got a reason,” I said. If it was mine, I’d bolt it behind ten inches of concrete and shoot anyone who even breathed near it. The only time I’d put it on the road is if someone important needed to see the latest pages in person. Final approval, then green light.”
“I don’t disagree with that,” 8-Ball said.
“But it gets worse,” I continued. I then flipped to one of the pages that had burned itself into my brain. “There’s a section here that’s not about what they have. It’s about what they want. Scouting reports. Lists of suspected Giorlando assets. Properties. Businesses. Names of people they think are either on the take or vulnerable. Marked with things like ‘pressure point’ or ‘asset if flipped’ or ‘remove quietly.’”
Liberty’s jaw flexed. “The Giorlando’s are going to love that,” she said.
“From what I’ve seen so far,” I said, “The Giorlando family isn’t actually in bed with the Vincinos. Not officially at least. This reads more like a hit list. They’re studying the Giorlandos. Looking for cracks. Looking for ways in. Which docks move what. Which casinos handle what. Which union bosses can be bought cheap.”
“And the Russians?” Rosé asked. “You said RS is a section. What do they want in all of this?”
