Midnight for the Mob Wife

My husband's funeral was Tuesday. His will was read Thursday. By Friday I had three co-executors, a ledger coded in a dead man's shorthand, and a rival family asking whether I'd like to sell the docks or die. I've been a mob wife for seven years and a widow for one week. I know where the bodies go. I know which of the three men beside me put the bomb in the car, and I know it wasn't any of them. Somebody wanted my routes. They should have asked me first.