Page 67 of The Hidden Heir

“Then where did the intel come from?”

As soon as he sees me reaching down again, his whole body shakes from the raw terror that takes over, and he starts talking fast.

“I’m not sure. The employer got us all the information we needed,” he says. “They’d drop off the intel package at one location and the cash at another. We get the intel at the mailbox from the corner of 5th and Lex, then the cash from behind the third dryer at Louie’s laundromat down on 47th. It’s everything I know, I swear.”

“Did you keep any of the hard files they gave you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did. Back at my place.”

Solomon shows him his drivers’ license. “At this address?”

“No,” Lanny replies. “My place is in Back of the Yards, behind El Guero. Apartment 30B, first floor. It’s got a blue door, and I keep a key under the door frame, you gotta stick your finger in there to get it.”

“You sure have a thing for fingers sticking into all the wrong places,” Solomon chuckles dryly, then turns to one of his men. “Take Ashton for a ride. Check out Lanny’s apartment.”

“I keep the stuff under the coffee table,” Lanny adds, just before the man reaches the warehouse door. “In some brown folders, just the way I got them.”

“Why’d you keep them?” I ask him.

“I don’t know, Mr. Petrucci. Probably because I figured this all might come back to bite me in the ass somehow,” he scoffs. “Here we are, huh?”

Solomon and I exchange heavy glances. Judging by his expression and the tremor in the pit of my stomach, we’re both thinking the same thing. Unsurprisingly, it’s Lanny who spells it out, riddled with despair and contempt in equal measure.

“You’ve got a mole, Mr. Petrucci,” he says. “In your organization. Somebody gave us all that detailed information. Mr. Mancuso would never have that kind of access. We knew precisely what time the truck would come through at that stoplight. We knew everybody’s positions in the ballroom. Someone texted us photos from a restricted number directly onto our cells.”

The idea is appalling, and not that long ago, I would’ve considered it impossible.

“What were the orders, specifically, for tonight?” I reply. “Who were you supposed to kill, Lanny?”

“As many of those closest to you, including the heads of the other families, who voted in your favor before and were likely going to vote in your favor again,” he says. “I got a list with their names and photos. It’ll be in those files.”

“Good. At least you’re not as useless as I thought you might be,” I mutter.

He looks at me with horror and suffering imprinted across his pale face. His lips quiver, and I can almost see the hopeful thought gathering behind his eyes.

“Please,” he says. “I can disappear. No one will know.”

“You shot at my wife,” I say. “You tried to kill her.”

“It was just business, Mr. Petrucci. Nothing personal. I swear.”

It’s not enough to save his life. It never could be.

I glance down at the blood on my shirt and jacket, grim reminders of my violent and deadly nature. For a moment, I hesitate, knowing Valentina wouldn’t want me to do this, to take things so far. Yet the reason I’m able to protect her, even in our darkest hours, is precisely because I can do this. I can take things so far.

Without another thought, I take my gun out.

“Mr. Petrucci, please, don’t⁠—”

POP

One bullet straight to the head. He falls back along with the chair and lands in a puddle, splashing and dying in a handful of ragged, disappointed breaths. The silence afterward resembles the quiet of a cemetery.

The absence of sound makes room for all my concerns and fears to bubble back to the surface as I look up at Solomon and the two remaining bodyguards. Their expressions are dark and heavy. I see the glimmer of concern in their eyes, too.

“Lanny may be right,” I say. “There’s a traitor in our midst.”

Solomon spits in disgust. “I’ll do a solid check of everybody’s finances, first and foremost. Even if they were paid in cash, there’s bound to be some paper trail, some deposit somewhere, anything irregular in their day-to-day activities.”