I stuffed everything away and closed the safe. I locked it, closed the painting, and stood there shaking.
Six four eight five.
I walked out of the office. My lips trembled. My legs were weak. I spotted the cleaning girl at the far end of the hall. She smiled at me and I forced myself to smile back while inside I was screaming, over and over again, screaming until my throat bled. I backtracked along the path through the kitchen, ignored the chef when he nodded to me and winked, and went upstairs. I locked myself in my room, went into my shower, turned on the water, and cried so hard my stomach shuddered, clenched, and shook.
Six four eight five. There were a thousand, million number combinations my father could’ve used. Any one of them would’ve been fine—any except for that one.
But he chose it on purpose. He knew how important those four numbers were for his victory, and without them, it was likely he never would’ve been able to take down Falsone. He did what he did because of me.
Because I was stupid enough to write them down in a diary.
I knew where Dad got them from. I knew the second Maxim opened his mouth.
I thought I was so clever. Back in the old apartment, before we moved to this big monstrosity, I had one spot I thought was safe. The air duct in my room, the return vent above my closet door. It was loose, and I could pry it open if I tried. I kept stuff inside: cigarettes I stole from Mal, a love letter I wrote Carmine when I first found out we were getting married but decided not to give him since it was full of lies, ticket stubs from movies I saw with the guys behind my father’s back.
And my diary.
I wrote down everything. All the dirty details of my life. I wrote things I’d never tell anyone in that thing. About how I felt toward Carmine and Mal. What I wanted out of life. How much I hated my father.
But worst of all, stupidest of all, I wrote those four numbers on the very last page. Just as a way to remember them.
The pin to the back gate of the Falsone compound.
That was how he did it. That was how he snuck in and surprised Falsone and his men.
That was how my father murdered my best friend.
I made a mistake. I wrote it down, even though I knew I shouldn’t have.
I thought it was safe.
And now Carmine was dead because of me.
I sobbed in the shower, cried for hours, until I crawled out and into bed. The last thing I did was text a picture of that piece of paper to Mal before I passed out as the sun began to rise.
Chapter 16
Mal
It didn’t take long to figure out what those addresses were. I went to the first few and scoped them out, rolling past nice and slow in the Chevy.
They were houses. Nothing special. Regular old houses. Most of them in Five Points, but a few down south, a couple out west. One apartment right in downtown in a nice building.
No businesses. Nothing like that. All residential, and most of them looked quiet. No cars in the driveway. One or two looked abandoned with lawns that needed a cut.
Mostly though, just boring houses. Nothing special.
And it was that boringness, that explicit lack of specialness, that caught my attention and made my pulse rocket.
Safehouses. They were goddamn Balestra safehouses.
Falsone had a bunch of places like them all over the place. I’d seen a few when heat turned up and we had to move the stash somewhere safe. Quiet houses in nice neighborhoods with good people all around. Regular houses designed to be ignored. Invisible.
I sat in the Chevy outside of the fourth address. It was on a shady block. Lots of trees and fences. I thought of cracking open Howard’s skull.
Mal: Do you know what you sent me?
Cap: On a wild goose chase. Good morning.
I frowned at the clock. It was just past noon and I’d been driving around since six.
Mal: You just got up?
Cap: Long night.
Mal: You okay? You need sleep.
Cap: I know. I’m fine, just got to bed late. I was busy searching my dad’s office for you, remember?
I grunted, typed back.
Mal: Just want to make sure you’re safe.
Cap: I’ll be safe when this is all over. So what did you find?
I filled her in. Gave her as much detail as I felt comfortable texting. I still wasn’t totally sure our messages were secure, even if she was using a burner I supplied. Her father was a crafty bastard, and he’d managed to slip into Falsone’s compound like a damn snake. If he could do that, I had to assume he could spy on his daughter.