I force a smile on my face and blow her a kiss.
“Atta boy. Now that wasn’t so hard.” The wall shifts, and with a loud rumbling, it moves to reveal a hallway that’s filled with a blue light.
I stalk down it until I reach the elevator, and the doors open automatically. After I enter, beams scan over me while I’m taken to the fifth floor.
The only three people who have codes to enter are her father, Uncle Dario, our capo dei capi, Christiano, and Enzo.
Uncle Dario usually comes to help her when she has a huge job that needs two heads, and Christiano…well, him being our boss speaks for itself. Enzo is the one who controls the finances and how much Rosie gets to spend, but I know she gave him a code because she loves him.
We all keep our mouths shut when it comes to Rosie and Enzo, and none of us knows what the hell is going on between the two.
Once I reach the fifth floor, I walk through empty office space until I come to another hidden wall. It shifts, and I step into the final elevator, which takes me up to the top floor.
When the doors open, I’m met with a cold blast of air. The temperature is kept near freezing to prevent the servers and mainframes from overheating.
I glance over rows of black server racks, rising like towering steel columns, lights pulsing as information is processed.
Floor-to-ceiling monitors cover one wall, cycling through surveillance feeds, encrypted transactions and messages.
Massive curved screens are on at different workstations, some tracking cyber intrusions while others run facial recognition scans, countless faces flashing across the screens.
My eyes lock on the photos of Boris and Anton, who are in a grid with many other men and women, being tracked in real time.
I step onto raised flooring, which hides fiber optic cable lines, and walk to the center where Rosie’s command station is situated. She’s surrounded by screens, custom hardware, and enough processing power to cripple governments.
Honestly, this is our war room, built to keep the Cosa Nostra always three steps ahead.
“Give me a second,” Rosie mumbles, deep in thought while typing something on one of her many keyboards. Her black hair is piled on top of her head, a pencil somehow keeping the rat’s nest together, and she’s wearing baggy pants and an oversized sweater. There are snacks and cold drinks scattered everywhere, and I pick up a brown banana, throwing it in an overflowing trash can.
“Christ.” I wipe my hand off on my shirt, then glance over all the feeds showing every capo’s house and various businesses.
I see Christiano walking through a warehouse where crates of weapons I supplied to him are being readied to be shipped.
Augusto and his younger brother, Riccardo, are having a conversation in Augusto’s backyard. His wife, Yuki, is feeding koi. It actually looks peaceful, and I stare for a moment longer before I search for my building. It only shows the elevator, parking, and surrounding areas.
I refused to let Rosie put cameras in the apartments. She wasn’t happy but just had to deal.
“No. Put that down,” she suddenly says, then I hear Uncle Dario’s voice. “Come on, it’s just one cupcake.”
My eyes land on the screen, showing him in the kitchen of his penthouse with a box of twelve cupcakes open on the island.
Rosie lets out a chuckle. “It’s never just one, Dad. You need to watch your cholesterol, so put it down or I’m telling Mom.”
Uncle Dario makes a disgruntled sound.
“Busted,” I hear another voice before Tyrone, who’s like a grandfather to Rosie, comes into view. He shuts the box, thenlooks directly at the camera. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’ll get rid of them.”
“Oh hell no! You’ll just take them to your place and scarf them all down. Put down that box and step away from it.” He sets down the box and holds up his hands. “Good. Now stop keeping me out of work.”
“Sorry,” Uncle Dario and Tyrone mumble before leaving the kitchen.
“How does it feel to be God?” I ask as I take a seat on one of the many chairs.
Rosie turns to me with a wide smile on her face, then lets out her best impression of a villain’s laugh. “I am the great and powerful Oz.” Then she schools her expression and gets serious. “But…I have nothing on Boris and Anton.”
She types a couple of keys, and information appears on the screen closest to me.
“The last time they were spotted was right before you called me and we found you.” She gestures at a grainy black-and-white photo. “This was taken at a traffic light, and then they vanish into thin air. Even the car is MIA.”
