Page 97 of Arranged Addiction
I put the cash, the gun, and the passports back into the box. I keep the envelope and the note. I shove the box back into its slot and lock it again. Once that’s done, I take a minute to compose myself.
It’s strange reading my mother’s note. I don’t have a whole lot left of her, but hearing her writing in my head is almost like listening to her speak all over again.
I cry for another minute before composing myself. When I’m done, I wipe my eyes and step out into the hall.
The clerk smiles at me. “Everything alright?”
“Totally fine.” I grin back, aware I probably look like a maniac. My eyes are red and puffy. But they probably get people sobbing away over safe deposit boxes all the time.
“Wonderful. Well, if that’s all, have a great day and let me know if you need anything else.”
I thank her and head back out into the lobby. I feel sick but strangely hopeful as I walk straight toward the gorgeous man sitting alone in the back corner.
He never quite fits the rooms he’s in. Declan always seems too big. He sucks up all the air and draws the eye even when I’m trying not to stare. His face lights up as I approach and that smile is everything. Boss Bastard never looked at me like that.
But my husband does. Like I’m the sun peering out from behind a rainstorm.
“Are you okay?” He instantly comes to me and pulls me into his arms. He hugs me tight. “You look upset.”
“I’m fine. Totally fine. It’s just a note my mother left for me.” I kiss him lightly. “But there’s something else.”
He takes the manila envelope with a frown. “Documents?”
“Evidence. Everything they had on Senesi.”
His eyes widen in surprise as he looks inside. “This is useful.”
“Think we can do something with all that?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” His hand feels strong against the small of my back. “But if it’s possible, we’ll figure it out.”
Chapter 34
Declan
The Maguire family is an old Irish clan from deep in South Philly. They started out life as a group of bank robbers and car thieves before pissing off the police commissioner back in the fifties. Their leader at the time, an old craggy Irishman from the seedy part of Cork, was pretty much stuck up shit creek without a paddle. His name was “Craggy” Lorcan Maguire, though most just called him Crag, and he was a real piece of shit.
But back in those days, my father was just coming into his own as the boss of a crime family, and he saw something in the old bastard.
Maybe it was the Irish accent. Every Irishman in Philly’s got a little sentimentality about the old country. Or maybe it was how effective Crag and his brothers were at stealing vehicles and breaking them down into parts. Whatever the reason, my father decided to pull some strings and use his burgeoning sway with the cops to keep Crag’s jail stint on a very short side, and when Crag got out, the whole Maguire group joined up with my father’s outfit, and the rest is history.
Except it’s not history. It’s still happening. That’s the thing, history doesn’t repeat, but it echoes. Because the DA that went light on Crag was Donnell’s father, and now Crag’s son Lorcan and Donnell are thicker than muddy blood.
The Maguires still live in a row home off Washington Avenue. The neighborhood’s seen better days, but they refuse to leave. Seamus leans against the hood of his truck and frowns around us before nodding down the block. “I’ve got about fifteen men lurking around, just in case.”
“We won’t need them.”
“You really think the Maguires aren’t out to put a bullet in you?”
“They’re not that stupid.”
“Come on, Donnell and them are tight. If he’s against us, so are they.”
I shake my head. “Got to give them the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise, we’re going to start driving around this city killing absolutely anyone who looks at us wrong.”
Seamus glares at me. “Not a bad idea.”
“Easy for you to say. I’m the one that has to clean up your damn messes.” I head to the door and wave him off when he moves to follow. “I’m good. I’ve got this one myself.”
