Page 51 of Reasons We Break

Simran taps one of the symbols—a palm tree crossed out. “‘Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.’ That’s fromParadise Lost. Who decided on the motto?”

Nick speaks up. “Otis. He’s the don Manny thinks wrote this message.”

“Otis,” Simran murmurs, then scrawls the letterOnext to the symbol. “If they really write their motto everywhere, maybe they wrote it here, too. Let’s look for a five-letter word, two-letter word, and four-letter word.”

They scan the page. Rajan spots it first. “There, at the bottom.”

“Good eye,” Simran says appreciatively, andgod, he’d completely forgotten the rush her praise gave him. “We can crack the alphabet way faster now.”

And they do. They put letters together, some through context clues and others through meaningful symbols. Nick and Zohra drift closer, as if too curious to help themselves.

When it’s done, they all stare at the message.

“Letter to Adrina,” Nick reads. “That’s his wife.”

“Any guesses why he’s acting like Manny’s his son instead of his mortal enemy?” Zohra mutters.

Nick picks up the notebook. “Because it’s coded.” He squints for a minute, then tosses it back on the table. “Every fifth word. Read it.”

And suddenly it becomes clear.THE SHIPMENT IS MOVING OUT SOON. HIT MANNY BEFORE THEN.

“Shit.” Rajan breathes. A hit order on an LS godfather? This isbig. The last time a godfather got killed was before Rajan’s time, but he’s heard the stories. It was chaos.

Nick rips the message out of the book. He’s trying to be casual, but Rajan can tell he’s shaken, too. “You can go now.”

There’s a collective exhale; chairs scrape back. Zohra wanders off to pick up her textbook, and Nick’s already making phone calls in the corner. But Simran stays put, staring at the inside back cover of the Aces ledger.

“What?” Rajan asks.

She tilts the book his way. A small slip of paper tucked into the inside cover falls out. Written on it:

Yeah, not suspicious at all.Raisin strudelshas to be code.

Simran taps the date. “Maybe it has to do with the shipment they’re talking about moving?” she whispers.

Rajan has no clue, of course, but he doesn’t like the way she’s gazing at the numbers. Entranced. Nick hangs up his phone, and Rajan makes an executive decision. “Doesn’t matter.” He tucks the slip back into the cover, closing the book in her hands. “Don’t let them see, or who knows how long they’ll keep you here.”

Simran glances Nick’s way and hesitates before nodding. She looks exhausted. Rajan wonders how much of that is from her own life and how much of it is from his.

“Still think this was a good idea?” he asks her quietly, and she doesn’t respond.

TO BE CLEAR,Simran never thought this was a good idea. But it’s the only one she had.

And even if Rajan’s always present when she’s working, at least he won’t be outthere, on the streets, doing whatever Nick would have him do. The chances of him being caught for this are much less. Although admittedly, his presenceisrather inconvenient. She had to be careful yesterday, slipping the list of numbers into her sleeve.

She’s justcurious. There’s no harm.

When she gets home, she inputs those forty-eight numbers into Excel. She orders them from low to high, then vice versa, examines their frequency, tries another alphabetical substitution algorithm. Nothing works.

So she examines the accompanying message instead. A Google search doesn’t tell of any drugs that are referred to asraisin strudel. It must be Ace-specific. Or just another part of the cipher.

A little while turns into a long while, and the next thing she knows, the sun’s first rays hit her laptop screen. She puts it away and kicks clothes off her bed to sleep. But ten minutes later she has a different idea and is up again.

She does the same thing the next night, only nodding off a few hours before her father wakes her for the gurdwara. Apparently, he’s tried to wake her three times already, and they’re going to be late.

It’s a big day for her mom—she hasn’t been to the gurdwara in weeks, and when Simran comes downstairs, she’s wearing a dark gold suit rather than the grubby home clothes that have become her norm lately. But not even that can hide the deepened lines in her face. All this, in a month.

Several people at the gurdwara notice, too. As they enter, Simran’s mother is greeted with questions likeAre you ill? My, you’ve lost so much weight, what’s your secret?