“You’re obviously great at math, and I need someone I can trust,” he continued. “I was dreading hiring someone new to do my books. I obviously have some...sensitive items I need cataloged and covered so they pass muster, if you understand what I mean. Now that Nick works for me, one of the first things I need you to do is create a legitimate way for him to get paid. You would have to be okay working for someone who...” he cleared his throat, “skirts the law, here and there.”
Arching an eyebrow, I asked, “Here and there?”
“Yes. I take you for someone who’s okay with that as long it doesn’t harm anyone. You won’t need to be involved in the more dangerous parts of my business. I just want your math skills and your continued loyalty.”
Swallowing thickly, I lifted my chin. “And if I fail? What if I suck at accounting? Am I going to get whacked?”
A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. “That candor is exactly what I need. I want someone who won’t cower to me. You’re going to do a fantastic job, and no, I would never hurt you.” Leaning forward, he tilted his head. “I hope you realize you’re safe with me after working for me for all these years. I’m very fond of you, Katia.”
Inhaling a deep breath, I contemplated. Although I didn’t hate dancing, I certainly didn’t want to be a stripper for the rest of my life. Michael was offering me a way out without me having to spend a dime. I would be a fool not to take his offer.
“And I’ll rent an apartment for you,” he continued. “One close by that we can write off as an expense. You live too far away, and I’ll need you to be closer to the Gilded Cage. My businesses extend over Brooklyn, Queens, and beyond, but I want you to make the Gilded Cage your home base.”
“I like living in Coney Island,” I said. “But it would be nice living a few blocks from here. I can’t afford this part of Brooklyn.”
“Well, you can if I’m paying for it.” Rising, he walked around the desk and extended his hand. “Say yes and you’ll start tomorrow. I’ll have Stan here bright and early with two steaming cups of coffee.”
“Michael, are you sure?” I asked hesitantly as I stood.
“One hundred percent.”
Overwhelmed at the generous offer, I shook his hand. “Deal. I’m going to be the best damn accountant you’ve ever hired. And I promise, I’ll finish the degree in less than two years if I can.”
“I have every confidence in you, Katia,” he said, his dark eyes shining. “Make me look like a legitimate businessman and I’ll give you the damn world.”
Laughing, I nodded. “You’ve got it, boss.”
And that was how I became the accountant for the most powerful mafia boss in the Northeast.
A knock sounded on the door, pulling me back to the present and I called, “Come in!”
Damien entered, his broad shoulders barely contained under his black leather jacket. “Michael says you have to go home because he knows you haven’t eaten.” He lifted his phone, indicating the text Michael had sent him.
Rolling my eyes, I nodded. “I swear, the man is psychic. Tell him to leave me alone and focus on his gorgeous wife who he’s obsessed with.”
Damien grinned. “Will do. How long do you need?”
Damien had been walking me home since Victor Rossi’s death, and I was grateful for his protection, even though it was only a two-block walk.
“Give me ten minutes. Thanks, D.”
He gave a nod and exited, closing the door behind him.
I returned to the reconciliations and clicked through each one, marking them off as I cross-checked them on accounting software. My finger paused above the keyboard as I saw a strange transaction.
“International wire fee...” I murmured, my eyes narrowing as my brain kicked into overdrive. I specifically kept all of Michael’s business transactions in the US to avoid extra scrutiny. My pulse began to thrum as I studied the sender: NYC Bank.
“What the fuck?” I whispered. All of Michael’s holdings were with NY Bank, not NYC Bank. The names were similar, which made the discrepancy easy to miss.
I copied the routing number, which had letters alongside numbers. This was abnormal since a US routing number should only have numerical digits.
Opening a browser, I logged into Michael’s main business account and pulled up the search bar. Pasting in the routing number, I gasped. The routing number was an international SWIFT code and the wire fee was attached to a larger transaction of $11,546. I opened the transaction, my heart dropping to my knees when I saw that Michael had three transactions from Caribbean countries over the past two days, all from NYC bank.
My fingers shook above the keyboard as realization set in.
“Someone’s trying to frame Michael for money laundering,” I whispered, slowly sitting back in my chair and swallowing thickly. “Fuck.”
Lifting my phone, I texted Damien.