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20

Brandon

Afterbreakfast,wedroveacross town to buy equipment. What we were about to embark upon would require countless hours of scouring through security-camera footage, bank accounts, and phone records. Sage needed a computer setup of her own, and I needed more than just my laptop.

Back in the room, I spent most of the day assembling the gear and installing my self-designed surveillance software. It only required minor modification to suit our needs.

By late afternoon, we were a well-oiled unit. Sage monitored dual screens displaying the security feeds from Dante’s mansion while I searched for evidence to take down a city full of criminals. It didn’t take long to start uncovering their debauchery. Apparently, being under the Wolf Street Mafia’s protection made them believe they were invulnerable. Not anymore.

I handed Sage a coffee. “Anything interesting going on at Casa Moretti?”

“Thanks,” she said and took a sip. “Not unless you think watching Dante and his Russian BFF sit through aDie Hardmarathon is exciting.” She propped her chin on the heel of her palm and clicked through cameras, scanning the expansive mansion and its grounds.

Dante’s Newtown Square estate—althoughfortified compounddescribed it more aptly—sat surrounded by ninety acres of lush forest. Electrified cables topped the walled perimeter. Mercenaries armed with automatic weapons stood perched in high turrets at each corner of the property.

The mansion was the size of a small hotel, with three wings extending from the central roof structure. Constructed with stone-block walls and shingle tiles, it reminded me of a chateau Team Zulu had infiltrated one time in Versailles, complete with manicured hedges surrounding the residence. There were also several outbuildings, including servants’ quarters, and a large garage that housed Dante’s collection of expensive cars.

“Any visitors after the detectives left?” I asked. I’d used my facial-recognition software to determine they were cops. Their meeting with Dante had been oddly brief, given what had gone down at the club. We didn’t need to guess how the new Mob boss had avoided being hauled to the station for a grilling.

“Nothing noteworthy. A truck delivered goods to the working kitchen. Security guys patrol the perimeter every hour. There’s not much going on inside, either. Dante made more phone calls from the landline. He and Maxim swam laps in the indoor pool before settling into the home cinema.” She leaned back in her chair with an exasperated sigh. “I thought I scored the good job. I was sure watching Dante would be more interesting than scrolling through bank accounts.” She gestured at the screen. “Where are the hookers? The cocaine? What kind of Mob boss drinks green smoothies and does sudoku?”

“The kind that’s biding his time until he makes his next move.”

“Isn’t there something more I can do to help? This feels like babysitting duty.”

“Keep at it.” I squeezed her shoulders. “He’ll shake things up soon, and we need to be ready.”

The doorbell rang.

I checked the peephole to confirm it was the room service I’d ordered. Instead of allowing the waiter to bring it in, I collected the tray and handed him a healthy tip before closing the door on his stunned face. We didn’t even allow housekeeping inside in case they got curious about the elaborate, high-tech setup we were running in here. I imagined the honeymoon suite was usually strewn with sheets and robes rather than screens and keyboards.

The tray of dishes rattled as I took it to the bed. Sage joined me there.

I lifted one of the large lids. “Prime rib, medium rare for the carnivore.” After adding cutlery to the plate, I passed it to Sage.

“Thanks. What’d you get?”

I removed the lid from the other dish. “Thai green curry.” Steam rose from the bowl, and the delicious scents of ginger, lemongrass, and coconut filled my nose.

Sage leaned over my meal and inhaled. “That smells amazing.” Her eyes met mine. “Go halves again?”

I smiled. “Sure.” The simple pleasure of sharing a meal with Sage was fast becoming my favorite part of the day. There wasn’t much to make her smile given our current predicament, but seeing her eyes light up when I’d uncovered those dishes made me want to feed her every hour.

After taking a sip of Coke, Sage reached for the side table to snatch a notepad and pencil. “Okay, who else can we name and shame since our last check-in?”

Meal times were also our opportunity to reconvene for a status update.

I unfolded my napkin. “I’ve identified regular deposits from a Mafia-owned shell corporation into the bank accounts of several senior detectives. Shapelle, Lawson, Grady”—I picked up my fork and watched Sage closely while I reported the last name—“and Riggs.”

Her flinch was almost imperceptible. Dale Riggs had been one of the detectives investigating her drive-by shooting. It didn’t take much digging to uncover the bribery and manipulation he’d been involved in. That detective was more crooked than a bolt of lightning.

Sage’s eyes remained focused on the notepad. A moment later, she nodded and placed a tick beside Riggs’s name, then added the others to the list. “Good.”

I continued. “The same shell corporation also made several one-off payments, notably fifty-five million dollars to a weapons manufacturer in Brazil, and two hundred fifty million to a quinoa farm in Bolivia. Never knew the Wolf Street Mafia was such a health-conscious bunch.” I smirked before scooping up some chicken and holding it toward Sage. “Here, try this.”

The action caught her off guard, but she leaned forward and closed her mouth around the fork. “Delicious.” Her tongue darted across her lips.

My gaze landed there before following the column of her elegant throat as she swallowed. “I agree.”