Page 78 of Her Irish Savage

“Three months ago, he was bringing in millions.”

“Three months ago, he was in prison.”

Dowd’s stint in jail was the reason Fiona came to Philadelphia in the first place. She took her uncle’s place, running ameeting for her da. But Kelly and I both know how easy it is to keep an import/export business running from inside the joint.

I say, “The sales cut out ten weeks ago. Like someone came at them with a cleaver.”

“When did Dowd get out?”

“Ten weeks ago.”

“Because the district attorney didn’t want to chance losing a major case,” Kelly says slowly, like he’s solving a jigsaw puzzle.

“That’s the story I heard.”

I’ve seen a lot of criminal enterprises. Some make good money. Others are write-offs. The only thing I’ve seen cause a complete drop-off like Dowd’s line on Crash is death.

Or the closest thing to dying: Being turned by the feds.

All the facts are in front of me. Q’s records make things clear as crystal. This isn’t about bruises on Fiona’s arm, about Dowd trying to shove his tongue down my little girl’s throat.

This is about betraying a clan. About selling out the Irish mob to avoid years of prison for distributing a drug more deadly than heroin.

I weigh my words carefully, because I know exactly what they’ll cost. I measured out the payment for my own dead da, twenty-five years back. But I finally tell Kelly, “I saw Dowd a month ago, in a place he had no business being. With a man he had no reason to meet. A federal agent.”

Kelly’s whistle is long and low. When he speaks, he doesn’t mince words. “Your Dowd’s a fucking rat. He ran his shite through Philadelphia. Make him fucking pay.”

29

FIONA

“We can absolutely conduct auctions,” Alix Key says. “Art, maps, books, jewelry… We can deliver top dollar on all of them.”

I’ve read up on Diamond Freeport. It serves people with a hell of a lot more in assets than I’m taking from my father. Alix herself is calm and sophisticated; she looks like she was born in that designer suit. She took this meeting on short notice, and she’s treated me with nothing but respect.

But I don’t know how willing she is to skirt the law.

“Let’s talk about the artwork for a moment,” I say, glancing at Patrick to see if he thinks I should tip my hand. He offers the slightest nod, which loosens my tongue enough to say, “What if it wasn’t all acquired through strictly legal channels?”

I’ve had a chance to review the long lists of assets Q handed over. I’m starting with art because everyone’s heard of Picasso.

In fact, everyone’s heard of my father’s Picasso—Screaming Woman in Mirror.

It was stolen from the Caterina Marcus Corman Museum in the most famous art museum heist of all time. Thieves managed to walk off with the precious canvas in the middle of the June Gala, thirty-five years ago.

I’m certain Da didn’t arrange the theft. That sort of thing requires expertise far beyond what the Old Colony Crew can handle.

But I’m also certain my father was willing to pay a shitload of money to acquire the painting after it was stolen. Even if he could never show it in public—maybebecausehe could never show it—he did whatever he had to do to get the Picasso. It’s a perfectfuck youto the museum that never let him sponsor the Gala.

A frown ghosts across Alix’s face, but it’s quickly replaced by serene competence. “In general, buyers expect a rock-solid provenance, proof of a painting’s prior ownership. Museums require it. But certain private parties are willing to be more…flexible.”

Yeah,she’s saying.I can sell your hot Picasso.

“Of course, the reappearance of…missing work can generate a lot of attention from law enforcement. There have been several recent incidents where people were required to return artwork stolen by Nazis to the families of original owners.”

But, she’s saying.If word gets out, you might lose everything.

Sitting back in my chair, I remind myself that I’m Fiona Fucking Ingram. The painting is mine, no matter what I decide to do with it. Just like the Crew will be mine.

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