Monday, 5:03 p.m.
Location: The Ricci Compound – Upstairs Kitchen (a.k.a. Screaming Over Leftovers)
Frankie burst through the door mid-chew, holding her phone like it was a loaded gun.
"EVERYONE SHUT UP."
No one was even talking.
I was alone at the counter with a plate of cold lasagna and a spreadsheet open on my laptop—my new after-school ritual, now that I was officially a child criminal accountant.
Frankie, in full panic-influencer mode, slammed her phone down and shoved it in my face.
There, paused at the 34-second mark, was a grainy YouTube video titled:
"EXPOSING A MAFIA MOTEL? What's Really Happening at Ricci Inn 🕵️♂️🔥 #Conspiracy #CrimeTok"Posted by: Expose Everything with Midas
My fork clattered to the floor.
"Is that… a drone shot?" I asked, leaning closer.
Frankie pressed play.
[Muffled voice, dramatic music playing]"—And if you zoom in right here, you'll see someone who looks exactly like Luca Ricci entering the back door of the Ricci Inn. I'm not saying it's a drug stash house, but I'm also not not saying it."
Cut to a slow zoom on a blurry silhouette and what might be a Ricci cousin carrying a suspiciously large duffel bag.
Frankie froze the video again and pointed. "That's one of Dad's guys. With the neck mole. I told him to stop using that door!"
I stared in horror. "Why is this dude narrating like it's an episode of Dateline?"
Frankie groaned, pacing in circles. "This idiot's got over a million subscribers, Sophia. One video like this and we're trending. You know what happens when we trend?"
"People start Googling."
"People start dying."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Do we know who he is?"
"Name's Midas Montgomery. True-crime YouTuber. He runs that channel with all the neon thumbnails. I thought he was harmless until he started sniffing around the motel. And the pizzeria. And the freaking laundromat."
"Laundromat?"
"He asked one of the attendants if our dryers were large enough to 'hide a body.' ON. CAMERA."
I blinked. "Was that a joke?"
"He wore a GoPro, Sophia. NOTHING is a joke when you wear a GoPro."
I sighed. "Does Dad know?"
Frankie made a face. "He will. I'm pre-spinning it. I already flagged the video for copyright. But Midas reposts everything to three alt channels. This guy's like a roach with a ring light."
I opened my laptop and typed Expose Everything with Midas into YouTube. The channel popped up instantly. Banner: grainy photos of alleyways, police tape, and a cartoon of Midas with glowing red eyes.
Subscribers: 1.2M.
Latest upload: "Mafia Motels – Is the Ricci Family Hiding Something in Room 308?"
Frankie was pacing harder now, ranting under her breath. "You know what the worst part is? Emma commented under the video. 'Totally sketchy. I stayed at Ricci Inn once and the air conditioner made a sound like someone was trapped in the walls.' Emoji. Emoji. Emoji."
Of course she did.
Frankie stopped suddenly. "Wait. Did you say anything to anyone?"
"No!" I said, raising my hands. "I haven't talked to anyone outside of school and this house in days. Except… Liam."
Frankie's eyes went nuclear. "Who is Liam?!"
"New guy. Alpha. Connolly."
Her face fell so fast.
"Tell me you're joking."
"He knows who I am."
"Sophia."
"I didn't tell him! He figured it out."
Frankie swore in three languages. One of them might have been made up.
Then she whipped around, eyes locked on me like I'd just told her I was dating a cop.
"Sophia. Do you even know who the Connolly's are?"
I blinked. "Rival mafia family? Irish? Vaguely pub-flavored vibes?"
She marched over, heels stabbing into tile like punctuation marks. "The Connolly's don't just own pubs. They moved into the Big City a year ago from the East Coast. And their boss—Declan Connolly—is a straight-up war dog. The kind of Alpha who eats steel-cut oatmeal and revenge."
"Okay, ew."
"I'm serious. He got here and started buying up waterfront properties, bribing half the union reps, and flipping three cops within his first six months. And you know how we found out?"
"How?"
She stabbed a finger at me. "Because our safehouse on 85th mysteriously exploded after a 'plumbing leak' two weeks after Declan Dante Connolly—the Alpha of that little death cult—showed up."
I paused. "Dante? That's his middle name?"
"Yeah. And his vibe."
I sat down, slowly. "So… Liam is…"
"Declan's baby brother. He transferred to Saint Gabe's last week because their family just bought a brownstone like three blocks from our laundromat. It's a message."
"What kind of message?"
Frankie's voice dropped. "The kind that says, 'we're watching you while we bake muffins.'"
I winced. "So… maybe I shouldn't be doing triangle worksheets next to him."
"No, Sophia. You should not be doing anything with him."
"He's just a kid."
"He's a Connolly. You—stay in the house. Drop that boy. And Don't text. Don't post. Don't even exist online right now. I'll handle Midas."
"And by 'handle,' you mean…"
"I mean I'll scare him into backing off before Dad finds out and really handles him."
"Right. Casual intimidation. Classic PR."
Frankie's phone buzzed. She checked it. Winced.
"Too late," she muttered. "Dad just saw the video. He wants a meeting."
"With who?"
"With everyone."