Page 30 of Beloved By the Irish

Luis Diaz’s existence has been a thorn in my side these past four years—a thorn I ached to rip out and snap in half like the weak piece of shit he is. But Luis is smart. And, unfortunately, he covered his ass. And he’s even managed to twist the evidence to implymyfamily’sinvolvement in the crime. That’s when I decided to reach out to Gasso.

It took some effort, but I proved to the police commissioner that I had no involvement in the trafficking ring, and I vowed to work with him to bring down the man responsible. It’s a case he’d been working on for years. Women have stopped going missing in the numbers they were previously, but there are still too many signs that Luis is still running the ring, just on a smaller scale. Now that he is making threats against Catarina, I’m tired of waiting for Gasso to have enough proof to arrest him. I want the piece of shit behind bars or dead. The latter would be preferred.

“We have sufficient evidence to prove you were not involved in the ring,” Gasso reminds me, pulling me out of my violent imaginings of what I’d do to Luis if given the opportunity.

“Salvatore Furnari is unaware of the evidence,” I reply.

He releases an understanding, “Ah.”

I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, keeping the phone pressed to my ear with my shoulder. “He needs to be dealt with.”

“We need more evidence for an arrest.”

“Then set up a sting operation.”

“Are you forgetting that we tried that four years ago?”

I grit my teeth. “Of course not.”

“Then you remember the shit show that caused for everyone involved.”

He’s right. I know it. But the thought of letting Luis think he’s going to continue getting away with these threats against me leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “It’s been four years,” I growl in protest.

“You don’t think I’m aware of that?” Gasso says, but there’s no heat in the words. Instead, he sounds tired. “You aren’t the only one who remembers what that monster did to those women, Declan. The victims’ families still press for justice to this day, and it infuriates the DA that we can’t give it to them. As much as I want to take him down for the crime, we just don’t have enough evidence. And no one wants to risk him and his cronies getting off. We need more if we hope to take him down.”

A sense of helplessness tries to weigh me down, but I immediately shrug off the debilitating emotion. I’m DeclanfuckingMacKenzie, the next leader of my family. I’ll be damned if someone like Luis Diaz gets away with what he’s done. He’s the sort of snake who won’t slither away. Even if this debacle with the gang is resolved without him making good on his threat to speak with Salvatore, it will only be a matter of time before he concocts another reason to blackmail me.

No, he needs to be handled.

And if Commissioner Gasso needs more evidence, then I’ll get it.

A plan begins to form in my mind. It will take some maneuvering, and I’ll need Jane to get one of our female relatives to be on board, but I’m sure I can make it work.

Then I’ll be free of the bastard and able to focus on what matters. Like my family.

And Catarina.

Chapter11

Catarina

“This is excessive,” I complain, not for the first time, as I take in the racks of designer wedding gowns currently taking over the living room in the penthouse.

Jane is speaking with the man and woman who wheeled the dresses in just a few minutes ago. They’re dressed in all black, and their t-shirts have the name of some couture boutique I’ve never heard of. Not surprising, considering I’ve never given wedding boutiques a second glance. But I’m sure an internet search will reveal they only sell top-of-the-line designer gowns. Jane may be a tough, no-nonsense member of the MacKenzie family, but she’s still a woman who enjoys the finer things in life. Like expensive gowns and luxury goods.

Jane hears my comment, but just like the other times I’ve voiced my unease about today’s plans, I’m ignored.

It’s been two weeks since Declan asked me to keep to the penthouse for my safety. In that time, Jane decided it would be a good idea to use this time to plan for the wedding. It’s not for months, but in a city with this population, vendors book fast. So, although the idea of planning my wedding makes my stomach twist and my heart race, I agreed.

Now, I wish I hadn’t.

Tulle, lace, and a variety of other delicate, expensive fabrics overwhelm my senses. An undeniable sense of panic settles in my chest at the idea of selecting a wedding gown today. I mean, I’m not even sure there is going to be a wedding. Despite my best efforts, I still haven’t found any information regarding Declan’s involvement in my brother’s murder.

I’ve spent the last two weeks eavesdropping on his conversations with his inner circle. I’ve scoured news articles from around the time of Antony’s death to see if there was any mention of the Irish family in any capacity. I’ve even dipped my toe in a morally gray area and accessed my father’s work email from my laptop. His username and password were saved on my browser from when I helped him update his email signature last year—a job that his longtime secretary, Rosa, wasn’t technologically savvy enough to do.

I spent hours searching his inbox, looking for information on the MacKenzies and if he had any suspicion about their involvement in Antony’s death. But other than the recent emails between him and other members of our family discussing my upcoming nuptials and our families’ impending alliance, there’s no mention of the Irish family.

I’m no closer to figuring out the truth, and time isn’t on my side. It won’t be long before my wedding day arrives, and I’ll be forced to marry a man who potentially contributed to my family’s most recent tragedy. Unless I can find evidence proving his innocence. Though, that seems less likely with each passing day.

---