Page 68 of Her Dark Salvation

“Sounds like getting involved to me.”

I glared at him sideways and lit the cigar, puffing till the cherry blazed.

“You’re not wrong questioning Luca’s motives. That kid’s got some vendetta.”

“Gina reminded me a couple hours ago—he’s not a kid anymore.”

“Coulda fooled me.” Vinnie shook his head and sipped his scotch. “Shaughnessy’s been expanding his gambling rackets. That’s true. Encroaching on our territory?” He rocked his head side to side. “You tell me. That’s your game in the city. They don’t come near the North Shore.”

“I’m opening a new club in the financial district. Had a hell of a time securing the property. The Shaughnessys were asking questions.”

He shrugged. “They can’t make any big moves without starting a war, but they’re growing. Doesn’t help they have law enforcement in their pockets.”

“Irish cops in Southie have always been crooked.”

“I’m not talking about Southie, Marco, and I’m not talking about cops.”

I swiveled my barstool and narrowed my eyes through the cloud of smoke.

“The feds. They put a major dent in our operations back in the eighties if you remember. Even started that witch hunt to investigatecult accusations?” He raised an eyebrow.

I remembered. I was living in Italy at the time. The damage they’d done to our earnings by shutting down key rackets was bad enough. The constant badgering and questioning of Sources? I’d run my lawyers ragged and spent a fortune keeping our secret under wraps.

“Rumor has it, Ciarán is following in papa Paddy’s footsteps. Allying with the feds to dismantlewhat’s left of the Boston Italian Mafia.” He shook his head in disgust.

“How good’s the intel?”

“Good as Mayor Kelson.”

“Cazzo.”

The Italians and the Irish in Boston divided bureaucracy like they divided neighborhoods. The Irish had law enforcement, and we had the law itself. But things got murky when the feds got involved.

He wrinkled his brow. “I thought you knew. That’s why I didn’t mention it at Terme. I thought you knew what was at stake.”

I downed the rest of my whiskey, pissed at myself for not keeping up with the mayor. I tapped two fingers on the bar.

The last thing either of us needed were the feds poking around more than usual. Hiding in plain sight only got you so far. We did a pretty good job of combing the internet and covering our tracks, but all it would take was a little digging before our house of cards came tumbling down.

If the Irish were in league with the feds, that changed everything.

“Listen, Marco, I know you don’t want to get involved, but you’re a made man. You run your own crew, you have this place, and you’re Italian. If Ciarán Shaughnessy decides to make a move, he’s not going to give a single fuck you’re not a part of my organization. As far as he’s concerned, you’re Cosa Nostra, just like me.” He turned his stool to face mine, and it creaked under his weight. He gripped my forearm with his thick paw. “You want to protect our secret? You want to protect our Sources? You want to protect your family?”

Smoke and silence hung in the air between us, the answers to his questions a train wreck I couldn’t avoid. We studied each other, neither of us wanting to give an inch, but both of us knowing we had no choice.

“I have conditions.” The unwanted promise left my lips with a puff of smoke before I could stop it.

Vinnie Valenzano showed me his teeth, his face transformed by the victory held in his wolfish smile.

ChapterNineteen

Anna

The numbers on the screen couldn’t be right. I didn’t want them to be right. I’d willed them to change before running the model for the third time, but they didn’t. I’d wanted absolute certainty I hadn’t made a mistake, so I’d kicked off the third simulation on the same data set before I’d left the office and let it run overnight.

But I hadn’t made a mistake; the model returned the same unfortunate results. A third time.

It was Friday morning, and without all the distractions of permits, breakfast runs, and unexpected visitors, I’d finished my model late Wednesday evening, staying well past the end of the workday, consumed by my progress and the prospect of finally getting answers. I’d not realized how late it was until my phone buzzed with a text message. 9:00 p.m.

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