Chapter: 7
Charley rolled her eyes, thumbing a quick reply. Waiting for the right opportunity. More soon.
Don�t wait too long, kiddo, he replied, but there was nothing sweet in his message.
Even through texts, Uncle Rudy�s voice chilled her to the core. It was like he was standing on her shoulder, waiting for her to fuck up.
Salivating for it.
No matter how many successful missions she�d accomplished, no matter how much lucrative intel she�d delivered, no matter the fact that her late father had built the entire D�Amico empire, good ol� Uncle Rudy never let her forget who was really in charge.
And though she spent the majority of every day rehearsing all the different languages in which she could tell him to go fuck himself, one thought of her nineteen-year-old sister was enough to put her bravado on ice.
Sasha had a real shot at a decent life. She�d just started at Hunter College, and she was already kicking ass, even while holding down a job at a nearby coffee shop. She would not be part of this screwed-up, bullshit con game. Not as long as Charley had the ability to keep her out of it. To keep her ignorant and safe. To keep her alive.
Get your head in the game, girl.
With an epic sigh and one more glance toward the elevator�one more pang of disappointment that the stranger from downstairs hadn�t magically appeared�she shut down her half-starved libido and snapped into work mode.
Get in. Get the intel. Get out. And above all, don�t get noticed�. again.
The penthouse at the Salvatore was enormous by New York standards�a prewar stunner with breathtaking views of Central Park and the glittering buildings that surrounded it. The monthly maintenance fees alone were in the five-figure range, but word on the street said the current owners were tapped out, teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. All their valuables would be auctioned off, the apartment sold, the family expatriating to Greece.
Charley hated kicking people when they were down, but in the words of the old family motto they�d probably carve on her tombstone�
"If you�re not an asset, you�re a liability," she muttered.
Charley already knew the floor plan�she�d memorized the documents Rudy had obtained from the city planning office�but now she scanned the scene, taking in the relevant details:
About forty guests, plus the host. Two people working the bar just past the foyer, two more serving hors d'oeuvres. One security guard making the rounds, beefy but unarmed. Huge, open-plan living area set up with chairs and a small platform for the auction, artwork already on display. Private hallway roped off with theater stanchions, leading to four bedrooms and a study. No visible cameras.
The auction was set to begin soon, but for now, most of the guests mingled at the bar, blathering on about the cutthroat admissions process for Manhattan preschools and exclusive spa vacations for pets.
Reining in an eye-roll, Charley sipped her drink, projecting the cool detachment of the one-percenters surrounding her. Despite her working-class, Jersey-girl roots, it wasn�t hard to look the part, especially with her off-the-books expense account keeping her salon-polished and stylish. Tonight, she wore her auburn hair in a loose twist at the base of her neck, light on the makeup, and a strapless midnight blue cocktail dress tied with a simple sash around the waist.
If anyone were questioned about her later, they�d remember only a classy woman in a dark dress, a splash of tasteful yet unremarkable jewelry. Calm and unconcerned, totally in control.
The exact opposite of her reality.
The security guard headed into the living area, leaving the hallway unguarded.
Go-time.
Charley downed the last of her drink, set the glass on the bar, and slipped past the ropes undetected. She�d just ducked into the master suite when her phone buzzed with four rapid-fire texts.
What�s happening in there?
I don�t like it when you go radio silent.
Charlotte? JrNovels.com
Don�t wait too long, kiddo, he replied, but there was nothing sweet in his message.
Even through texts, Uncle Rudy�s voice chilled her to the core. It was like he was standing on her shoulder, waiting for her to fuck up.
Salivating for it.
No matter how many successful missions she�d accomplished, no matter how much lucrative intel she�d delivered, no matter the fact that her late father had built the entire D�Amico empire, good ol� Uncle Rudy never let her forget who was really in charge.
And though she spent the majority of every day rehearsing all the different languages in which she could tell him to go fuck himself, one thought of her nineteen-year-old sister was enough to put her bravado on ice.
Sasha had a real shot at a decent life. She�d just started at Hunter College, and she was already kicking ass, even while holding down a job at a nearby coffee shop. She would not be part of this screwed-up, bullshit con game. Not as long as Charley had the ability to keep her out of it. To keep her ignorant and safe. To keep her alive.
Get your head in the game, girl.
With an epic sigh and one more glance toward the elevator�one more pang of disappointment that the stranger from downstairs hadn�t magically appeared�she shut down her half-starved libido and snapped into work mode.
Get in. Get the intel. Get out. And above all, don�t get noticed�. again.
The penthouse at the Salvatore was enormous by New York standards�a prewar stunner with breathtaking views of Central Park and the glittering buildings that surrounded it. The monthly maintenance fees alone were in the five-figure range, but word on the street said the current owners were tapped out, teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. All their valuables would be auctioned off, the apartment sold, the family expatriating to Greece.
Charley hated kicking people when they were down, but in the words of the old family motto they�d probably carve on her tombstone�
"If you�re not an asset, you�re a liability," she muttered.
Charley already knew the floor plan�she�d memorized the documents Rudy had obtained from the city planning office�but now she scanned the scene, taking in the relevant details:
About forty guests, plus the host. Two people working the bar just past the foyer, two more serving hors d'oeuvres. One security guard making the rounds, beefy but unarmed. Huge, open-plan living area set up with chairs and a small platform for the auction, artwork already on display. Private hallway roped off with theater stanchions, leading to four bedrooms and a study. No visible cameras.
The auction was set to begin soon, but for now, most of the guests mingled at the bar, blathering on about the cutthroat admissions process for Manhattan preschools and exclusive spa vacations for pets.
Reining in an eye-roll, Charley sipped her drink, projecting the cool detachment of the one-percenters surrounding her. Despite her working-class, Jersey-girl roots, it wasn�t hard to look the part, especially with her off-the-books expense account keeping her salon-polished and stylish. Tonight, she wore her auburn hair in a loose twist at the base of her neck, light on the makeup, and a strapless midnight blue cocktail dress tied with a simple sash around the waist.
If anyone were questioned about her later, they�d remember only a classy woman in a dark dress, a splash of tasteful yet unremarkable jewelry. Calm and unconcerned, totally in control.
The exact opposite of her reality.
The security guard headed into the living area, leaving the hallway unguarded.
Go-time.
Charley downed the last of her drink, set the glass on the bar, and slipped past the ropes undetected. She�d just ducked into the master suite when her phone buzzed with four rapid-fire texts.
What�s happening in there?
I don�t like it when you go radio silent.
Charlotte? JrNovels.com
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