My eyes kept darting to the rear-view mirror. I knew the black Cadillac was still there, even before I caught a glimpse of it three cars behind. Rookie. They’d been on me since I’d left the VanGuard Security office.

My talk with Commander Phillips had been brief, a gentleman’s agreement to give this job a chance and a slip of paper with the GPS coordinates of the Genovese Estate. Very covert, I laughed to myself. From what I’d heard about La Familia and Marco Genovese, I wondered if it was more than I could stomach. Just because someone had more money than God and could afford the outlandish fees for our services, didn’t mean they needed them. Or deserved them.

As I contemplated how much longer to let this car think it had me, I wondered what my life had come to. Sure, I had been bored as hell since retiring from the Service, until Ma had gotten sick, of course. I’d always thought I’d find some easy side work teaching defense classes on the side to siliconed housewives and teens ready to fly the nest, an honest paltry living. Instead, here I was running this tail car in circles. Seriously, who follows someone in a brand-new Cadillac with limo tint?

Part of me tried to feel bad for Mr. Genovese, hoping to muster enough energy to care about how he’d gotten himself into this mess. I knew leaving the Mafia wasn’t easy. It was certainly a deadly past-time. And while I wanted to commend him for getting out, wanting to go straight, I couldn’t help but fill with anger when thinking about why it had taken him so long. What amount of money made it worth putting your wife and child in danger? Now, his wife was dead under suspicious circumstances, and he was spending ‘shit tons’ of that dirty money to keep his daughter alive.

I pulled into the parking garage on Canal and quickly switched my Rover out for a dark blue Chevy Avalanche. I was back out in less than five minutes, driving right past the black Caddy and its oblivious occupants. I radioed the plate number and their descriptions to Cruz.

Moments later, the GPS told me to ‘turn right here’ in that sexy, Scarlett-Johansson-if-she-were-British voice. Phillips sure knew how to woo his targets. As I obeyed her, my eyes were assaulted by the gaudiest, most ornate, iron fence I’d ever seen. The locking mechanism was decorated with two lions poised on either side, waiting to pounce on each other at any moment. I punched the access code into the metal box beside me, and a whiny, male voice asked me to confirm my appointment.

The gate creaked open, swinging inward toward the house, a glaring design flaw if it was built for security. I added that to my mental list of things to discuss with the client, as I cursed myself for already having a list and calling him the client. Even crossing the expansive property, firmly locked inside its gate, I was trying to find some excuse not to take this job.

Turning the last corner, I saw it. That, and the answer to just how much money the Mafia paid. Towering five stories high and spanning across the entire width of the property was a massive estate built to impress. Impress whom, though, I wasn’t sure.

My mind returned to the incredible opulence and refined taste of Carmichael Gardens, which I’d approached with much the same trepidation just over one week earlier. The contrast of the two buildings was not lost on me. Where the home was classy and elegant, this… compound… was flashy and downright gaudy. Parking at the service entrance as instructed, I started to wonder if Genovese was a Sultan rather than a Mafia boss.

It didn’t take long to find out. He greeted me himself at the back foyer and directed me toward a row of servants’ elevators. He was rather short, much more so than I’d expect a man of his reputation and power to be. I took quick stock of the jet-black dye job in his combed-back hair, wondering how stiff it would be to the touch. As the doors closed, he assured me that this was a one-time occurrence, for safety. The doors opened, and I followed him down a long hall, the sound of his shoes on the hard flooring drawing my eyes. Heels.

We stopped at a heavy-looking, thick wooden door at the end of the hallway, and I stood back as he typed a key code into the white panel on the wall. The doors swung open, and the smell of old books rushed at me. The only thing I could think as I turned to take in the 360ᴼ view was Batman’s Library.

“Now, I’m sure we’re both very busy men, so let’s just cut to it.” Mr. Genovese waved me to a plush green chair off to the side. “My wife,” he stopped. “My wife is gone, and it’s all my fault.”

Well, I didn’t expect that.

“For years, I’d promised to get out. Years. But I couldn’t do it. And my poor Carlotta got tired of waiting. She was making arrangements behind my back, siphoning money…”

I stopped listening. Did he kill his own wife?

“They got to her,” he continued. “I was too blind to save her, but nothing will stop me from saving my little girl.” He pursed his lips tight as if trying to stop them from trembling. Dammit.

“What exactly does this entail?” I got back to the mechanics of the job, allowing him to focus on the mundane and compose himself. A trick I’d learned with my dad in the last years of his life — when he’d not wanted to crack under the pressure of his illness, but had been trying to say his peace before the end.

“Right. I had my lawyers draw up the contract, with a few addendums to cover my little Vanessa’s creativity.” He smiled in spite of the serious nature of our conversation. I just raised my eyebrows. “I fear you may have your work cut out for you if you accept the terms. My little princess has her own opinion on whether she needs a security team.”

“I did three tours, Mr. Genovese.” My pride was getting the best of me there.

“And that’s why I hired your firm. I need to know my baby is safe. If I’m to finish what my dear Carlotta started, we’re going to need it.”

The sincerity in his words picked at my resolve. “I believe we can help you.” I nodded and offered my hand.

“Brilliant. Just one last thing before we start.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a thin packet of papers. “In addition to the contracts your employer signed, I would like you to fill out these two forms.”

He handed me a basic Non-Disclosure Agreement and a Morality Clause. Morality Clause? “I assure you, Mr. Genovese, the SEALs would have tossed me overboard a long time ago if I had no morals.”