Page 25 of Her Irish Savage

But Moran doesn’t take the bait.

“Go on,” he says. “Change into something decent, and we can be on our way.”

“I’m decent.” I push my shoulders back to better make my point.

“You’re not going to your da’s wake with your tits hanging out for every man in the Old Colony Crew to ogle.”

“Who made you the fashion police?” The corset doesn’t show my tits. It just helps men with no imagination.

“I’m not police,” he says. “I’m just the Fishtown eejit walking into thedúnlike I have a right to be there. And if you think you’re going to convince any member of the Crew that you’re their rightful boss, you’d best dress for the feckin’ job. Show some respect for the dead.”

It’smyda’s wake. I get to choose how I dress.

But it’s not worth fighting with Moran. Maybe thereissome member of the Crew who’ll think less of me for looking like the woman I am.

I put on my cobalt-blue jacket, the one that buttons from mychin to my thighs. But I’m still wearing my leather pants. I have a reputation to maintain.

“Satisfied?” I ask, once I’m covered up.

“Hardly,” he says.

I grip the handle on my closest suitcase and sling my backpack over one shoulder. “Let’s go, then.”

“Where are you going with that?”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “You want to spend another night here? We’ll sleep at thedúntonight. After the wake.”

After I’ve taken charge of the Crew. After I’ve stepped into my role as my father’s true heir.

With a good night’s sleep and hours to think, I’ve realized I don’t actually have to wait for the Grand Irish Union vote. If I sweep in today, bold and determined, the Crew can be mine by nightfall.

That’s the trick: Making those men understand I won’t give up. They’ll accept my leadership now, or they’ll accept it later. And I’ll be a far kinder Queen if they recognize my status now.

Moran says, “We missed checkout hours ago. Leave the bags.”

But that’s ridiculous. There’s no reason for Moran to drive back to fetch them after I’m settled in thedún.

Men need to get used to my leading. Might as well start now.

It’s awkward for me to get both bags out the door of the hotel room, but I manage. I’m pressing the button to call the elevator before Moran catches up. He’s swearing in Irish, not quite under his breath.

As we cross the lobby, I see that Nelson is back on duty at reception. His face twists as we move toward the door, like he’s caught a whiff of rancid beef. I consider waltzing over to the desk and thanking him for his biting comments last night. Tell him I got lucky. That I’m grateful.

Moran herds me out the door, and the moment passes.

He’s got the Land Rover waiting just outside. Good tips to valets will do that. He throws my suitcases and backpack intothe rear compartment and adds his duffel. He doesn’t say a word as he navigates the city streets to Southie.

That silence is unfortunate. It gives me a chance to think about what I’m about to do: Claim the Crew as my own.

This is it. The moment I’ve waited for since I turned sixteen. Since I realized the only way for a woman to control the world around her is to take a stand against the men who want to destroy her. Since I learned to be twice as calculating as any man and ten times as ruthless.

My stomach twists beneath my cobalt armor. I start to bite my lip, but I remember not to get makeup on my teeth. Instead, I drum my fingers against the armrest, a staccato tapping that does nothing to slow my racing heart.

I can do this. It’s the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted. It’s what I deserve.

The street in front of thedúnis clear, of course. It always is. Moran parks directly across from the door, like he has every right to be there.

“Ready,Scáthach?” he asks.

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