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She sighed. “You never stick around. I wish you wouldn’t take off so quickly.”

I wish you would protect me from him more. Or at least stand up for me. The words set heavy on my tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to say them. She was a good mother, and I knew she’d done the best she could, but when it came to my father she cowered. And part of me hated her for it.

“Don’t forget your food,” she said. She wrapped up the sandwich and then opened the fridge. “I made some chicken the other day too. And veggies. Here, take all of these.”

I let her load my arms up with containers, effectively building a wall between my hurt and her shame. If all we focused on was food, the weather, the job, and every other trivial matter in between, then we would never have to talk about the chasm of pain that grew between us and threatened to swallow us whole.

* * *

“You sure youdon’t want to come out tonight?” Rourke asked.

I stared through my windshield at the place in front of me. How long had I been waiting? There was a slight cramp in my legs, and my stomach growled. I reached for the sandwich my mom had made and took a huge bite out of it.

“Nah,” I mumbled. “I want to sit at home, relax, and do nothing.”

“Fine,” Rourke said. “Make sure you stay out of trouble.”

“When do you ever know me to be in trouble?”

Rourke grunted, reminding me of the disappointed sounds my father made at me, and my stomach clenched. Suddenly, my appetite was gone. I stuffed the sandwich back into its container and slammed the lid closed.

“Alright, well, don’t be late for work tomorrow,” he said.

“I won’t.”

We hung up, and I went back to staring at Enzo’s place. He lived in an apartment building that was a lot more lowkey than I expected. I’d thankfully found the place through my father’s files; surprisingly, there was an address for all of them. He’d done a ton of work before packing it in, and I was glad I’d listened to my impulses and sought the files out.

The front door opened, and Enzo stepped out on his stoop. A man joined him. I looked through the papers I’d printed out, my mouth tugging into a frown.

“Giancarlo. The brother.” I tapped the paper and glanced up at them. “Where are you two going?”

They walked down the steps together and disappeared into what I recognized as Enzo’s car. Sliding down in my seat, I watched as Enzo took off down the road. When he was out of sight, I sat for a few minutes longer, but I couldn’t wait forever. It was now or never.

I slid out of the car and pulled my jacket around me. The cool, fall air was biting at my skin as I waited around the stoop. Another minute ticked by before a mom walked out of the building chastising a little blond boy behind her. I smiled at them and slipped into the building. According to the file, Enzo’s apartment was on the top floor. The man had an obsession with heights.

The elevator carried me up to the top, and I stepped out as I searched for his number. Clearly, the apartments were bigger on this floor because there were only two doors. Number 745 was his. I pulled out my lock-picking kit and set to work. As the tumblers moved and time ticked by, sweat collected on my brow. The sound of the door unlocking made me want to jump up and punch the air. I gripped the knob and let myself inside.

“Woah.”

The place immediately had a homier feel than the hotel room I’d been taken to. Inside there were family photos on the walls, and something smelled delicious in the kitchen. I made my way there and peeked at the crockpot that was bubbling away. What’s he making? I was tempted to take off the top and inspect it, but I forced myself to leave it alone. I moved past the kitchen.

Down the hallway was a bathroom and a guest room, or at least I guessed that’s what it was. The room was bare except for a bed, dresser, and television set, but there was nothing personal there. I took a set of wrought iron stairs up to the second floor and found a bedroom. Attached to it was an office.

“Bingo.”

I let myself into his office and rifled through his papers. What I was looking at looked legit. Building projects, an architecture firm, a development start-up. All legitimate businesses to hide the shady shit that they did. But it wasn’t going to get me anything.

I walked to the computer and booted it up. A box asked for a password. Immediately, I dialed Chelsea.

“Yo,” she said. “You in?”

“Yeah.” I sat down and pulled out the USB she’d given me. “What do I do again?”

“Easy. Plug in the USB and restart the computer. Enter the BIOS by pressing F2 or the delete key. Under Boot options, set removable devices with boot sequence priority over the hard drive. Save the settings and reboot the computer.”

I blinked at the computer. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

She cackled. “Okay, hang with me. I’ll walk you through it.”