Page 17 of The Apprentice
FIONN
Anger like I’d never felt thrummed inside my chest, making it hard to breathe. My fingers itched to turn into a fist and smash against the car window, but I held back the rage. This wasn’t Daire’s vehicle, it was Sloan’s, and causing unnecessary damage would only give my uncle another reason to lecture me about responsibility.
“We’re here,” Daire said, and I turned to look ahead, focusing on the small cabin surrounded by an unmaintained lawn. It wasn’t what I’d expected. I’d never actually been to Mastic Beach, but I’d anticipated something like Southampton, with long stretches of sand—covered in snow—and crashing waves. It wasn’t quite that. Actually, it wasn’t anything special. Even though this detective lived near water, it looked more like a swamp than an actual beach, and even with the majestic vision of freshly fallen snow brushed across the ground, a trailer-park version of any decent town would be prettier.
Daire had said it was no Southampton, and he wasn’t wrong.
“Okay, I take what I said back. This is a dump.”
“Not all of it. You’re seeing one area.”
I crinkled my nose. “It’s a shithole.”
“You’re just spoiled.” He quirked an amused grin in my direction. “You grew up in Southampton. You had it too good. Not everyone was raised by someone like Sloan.”
I turned to stare at him. “It’s. A. Shithole.”
He sighed and shook his head as he opened his door, stepping out of the car. I considered staying in the cab and letting Daire do all the communicating with this disaster of a cop, but it would only disappoint Sloan further, so I reluctantly left the car. I met Daire on his side, and we walked toward the cabin together.
Before we could knock, he nudged me with his shoulder. “You do the talking.”
“Why?” I glared at him. “Men like this look down on me because I’m younger than Sloan.”
He gave me a soft smile. “Sloan became boss even younger than you are now. Do you think people wanted to listen to him? Hemadethem listen. You do the same.”
“You have more faith in me than my uncle does.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I wanted so badly for Sloan to see my potential, and every time it looked like he would, I let my emotions win and get the best of me. But I’d made it my mission to prove to Sloan I could do this.
No more tears.
Daire didn’t say anything, and I was glad. Ignoring him, I knocked on the door of the crappy little house, which creaked with a strong gust of wind. It sounded ready to collapse.
We didn’t have to wait long before the door opened. The man who stood on the other side was exactly the kind of person I’d expected. Tall with square shoulders, the ex-detective had pure white hair in a combed-back style. He had a beer gut and wore a white tank top and brown shorts, obviously unbotheredabout getting dressed for the guests he was expecting. He stared straight past me at Daire.
“You Daire?” he asked in a gruff, no-nonsense tone, his Brooklyn accent thick and nasally. He sounded like a man who’d smoked too many cigarettes in his life. The acrid smell lingering in the air made me scrunch my nose.
“I am. This is Fionn Killough, the boss’s nephew.” He gestured at me.
The ex-detective gave me a once-over and grunted, throwing the door wide open and turning his back, then walking through a small living room littered with empty beer cans and dirty dishes. The stench was tear inducing, and I held my breath as I followed him through the disgusting room toward a kitchen with a small round table, which didn’t look much better. The sink was overflowing with plates and empty glasses, and boxes and trash were piled on the counters. It took all my effort not to dry heave at the sight and smell.
The detective waved at the table, which was clear, as if he’d cleaned it for the visit, and I made sure to keep my face expressionless as I took a seat, careful that I wasn’t sitting on anything gross. This suit cost a fortune.
Daire took the chair beside me. “Sir, this is former Detective John Pellegrini.”
“Italian?” I asked automatically.
Pellegrini grunted. “Born and bred in Brooklyn, but my parents came over from Prato.”
I nodded, assuming that was a city in Italy. It made sense why he was on Folliero’s payroll; although, the Company had a fair few Italians on ours, too. When it came to money, it didn’t matter who offered it, as long as the spies got it. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were Irishmen in Folliero’s little black book, too.
“Daire tells me that you have information about a rat problem we’re experiencing.” I couldn’t help sliding my gaze over to the counter, where a mouse was standing on its hind legs, chewing a piece of dried cheese that looked like it had been sitting there for weeks. I held back a cringe. Ironic, considering he was a rat right now.
“Depends. What you got?” Pellegrini smiled, showing stained yellow teeth.
Daire cleared his throat. “I told you, what we have depends on what you give us.”
“You got any money here?” Pellegrini narrowed his eyes on him.
“Maybe.” Daire kept his voice calm and crossed his knee, his posture giving off a casualI’m not fucking aroundvibe that I’d always found sexy. It was hard to tear my attention from him—my mouth was watering—and glance back toward Pellegrini.
