Frankie Costello

The precinct wire dropped a half-million-dollar red flag straight into Frankie "Silk" Costello’s private ledger, but I didn't buy it for a second—a syndicate number-cruncher of Frankie's caliber doesn't leave a paper trail unless he's being set up to take the fall. Stepping out of the precinct red tape and into the amber-lit shadows of his upscale lounge, I dropped the forged wire slip onto the mahogany table right under his nose. With the Costello family breathing down his neck and crooked bank insiders pulling the strings to start a mob war, I had to figure out whether Frankie was about to feed his enemies to the river or if someone had just handed us both a one-way ticket to the morgue.