Page 95 of Her Irish Savage

She might be mine, if I’d held my fucking tongue. If I hadn’t lashed out, aiming for her most vulnerable bits. If I’d given her half a chance to get past my killing Kevin Joyce.

Fuck Kevin Joyce. And while I’m at it, fuck Aran Dowd too. He’s the one who sent out Joyce. He’s the one who meant to drag Fiona back to thedún.

He meant to kill me, too.

The brain squirrels perk right up at that. They’re grateful for a new tree to run, a new excuse to gather nuts, to start to bury them left, right, and center.

And standing here in the dark of a Philly street, talking to an enforcer who’s working at the top of his game, I realize thatAran Dowd just might be the reason I’ve tracked down O’Hare tonight.

Dowd’s doing more than trying to take Fiona. More than trying to kill me. Dowd’s met with a federal agent, with Mike Barbieri. He’s betrayed the Crew. And now he needs to die.

But I still need more proof. I need help from the type of man who can dig deep into computer records. Who can scan phones. Who can screen video.

I ask O’Hare about one of the Fishtown Boys: “Is Fitzgerald still living on Cabot Street?”

“Declan?” O’Hare looks surprised by my change of focus. “He’s there, yeah. Licking his wounds.”

“Wounds?”

O’Hare shrugs. “Boss brought in someone else to set up the new house, a guy named Wolf. One of those billionaires from that tax place, down in Delaware.”

Declan Fitzgerald’s served the Fishtown Boys for a decade. I’d question Kelly’s own loyalty before I’d throw darts at Fitzgerald. So if Kelly brought in this Wolf guy, he’s good. Maybe good enough to work the miracle I need.

O’Hare’s waiting for me to say something. To do something. He acts like I’m still his boss.

“Go on, then,” I say. “Keep up the good work.” I offer him my hand. But just before he takes it, I add, “No need to tell Himself I was checking up on you. You’ve earned that much.”

O’Hare’s hand is firm on mine. I chose well when I put him in charge of the Fishtown Boys enforcers. I stare at his back until he turns a corner, knowing I’ve worked myself out of a job.

39

FIONA

My life turns intoGroundhog Day, everything the same, over and over and over.

Every morning, I groan awake after hours of nightmares. I’m determined to get my life under control. I stare at the fridge, but nothing looks good for breakfast. I go for a walk, but I lose interest before I’ve made it to the first corner.

Every afternoon, I vow I’ll do something to make myself stronger when I’m captain of the Old Colony Crew. I study banking and accounting, but the numbers just bleed in my head, and I know I’ll never be better than Q. I read about great organized crime empires—the mafia’s early days in New York, the bratva’s rise in Brighton Beach, the shaky foundations of South American cartels—but times have changed and they’re no longer a good model for the Crew. I fill notebook after notebook with ideas for new schemes—ransomware and cryptocurrency and online gambling—but it’s all too big, all too complex, and I can’t begin to act on any of it until I’m Queen.

Every night, I realize I’ve squandered another twenty-four hours. I open a can of soup if there’s one in the cupboard. I eat a carton of yogurt. I choke down an entire apple.

I take my birth control pill. Because I’mgoingto find another man. I’mgoingto take someone to bed. I’mgoingto get over Patrick Moran. I have to.

With Aunt S gone, there’s only one person in the world I want to talk to. One person who’s seen me at my worst and managed to still love me. One person who can tell me everything will be okay.

Oona.

There’s no way in hell I can drop by thedúnjust to talk with her, not with Uncle Aran’s living there. He’ll have me dragged off to a priest at gunpoint, the instant I set foot inside the house. I’ll be married before I can blink.

But there’s another way I can get to Oona. One place we’ll both be safe.

It’s absurd to think I can pull this off. It’ll take money—a lot of it. I need to pay a bribe, one large enough to stop even a hint of gossip from reaching Uncle Aran.

But thanks to Rónnad, I have fifty thousand dollars locked in a safe at the back of my closet. I count the money. And then I steel myself to place a phone call, putting my plan into motion.

40

PATRICK

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