Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78773 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78773 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I lift my cup and take a long pull from the steaming mug. I welcome the piping hot drink, allowing it to brace me for whatever he has to say.
“I know when… Eve was killed in that car accident, the men of the Clan investigated.”
“Aye,” I say, eying him warily. He’s one of our chief informants and allies in Ballyhock. Though the residents don’t know the intricacies of the jobs we do, they turn a blind eye happily. They don’t much care about illicit gun trade and financial transactions. Since Keenan’s took over leadership, we no longer contract paid hits, and we avoid the seedier work of drug trade and worse, leaving that to rival or neutral clans.
But when the livelihood of our brotherhood is at stake, it seems Father Finn is always in the know. He won’t betray what’s whispered to him in the privacy of the confessional, says he’s bound by vows to Rome to keep the sanctuary of the confessional. But he hears much within the walls of this church.
“And after your investigation, it came to light that it was an accident.”
I nod warily. I never believed it was an accident, but Keenan investigated as thoroughly as he could, and I believed what he told me. But now… now, the prickling suspicion that I’ve buried since her death resurfaces.
That her death wasn’t an accident.
That someone was, indeed, responsible for her death.
Finn draws in a deep breath and hands Breena her treat. She won’t understand what we talk of, won’t know what he means.
“It wasn’t,” I say, confirming my suspicions before he can.
“No, son,” he says sadly, shaking his head before he runs a hand across his brow. “I think very little is when it comes to rival clans.”
Rival clans? Bloody hell.
“Who?” I ask him.
He hesitates, looks over my shoulder, and works his jaw for a moment. “I can’t confirm for sure.”
My temper rises, and I keep it in check with difficulty. If he can’t confirm it, what’s the fucking point of this conversation? It’s always the same way with him, giving us just enough information but not enough to implicate himself. I’d forgiven his cryptic messages before now, but this is personal.
“I can tell you this much. Before the night she went missing… A while back now, the whole Clan looked for her.” I nod. “You found her in Stone City.”
“Aye,” I say warily. I remember it well. She didn’t come home when she said, and I feared foul play. I found her in Stone City, unharmed, but after that night she came home different. Reserved. Afraid. I never could get her to tell me what troubled her and finally passed it off as my imagination. When you live among the men that I do, when your life is constructed of rules and codes and you’ve encountered enemies of the worst kind, you learn to suspect damn near everyone.
“She’d met up with an old time… friend of hers.”
Breena happily munches her biscuit, unaware of the fact that we’re talking about her mother. She reaches a tentative finger to my neck, tracing the signature Clan ink that marks me as mafia. It’s a stark reminder of who I am.
“I play on your phone, daddy?”
I take my phone out and hand it to her wordlessly. She grins, swipes it on, and starts slashing fruit with her fingers.
“Who?” I ask him. I can feel the familiar tightening in my body, my spine ramrod straight, heat rising in my chest.
“A friend from primary school,” he says. “Someone who knew her past and knew how to manipulate her.”
“Are you going to talk to me in riddles or tell me the truth?”
He puts a hand out palm down to calm me. I wait for him to speak. I’m thankful Breena’s occupied with her game, because normally she picks up on my mood. And right now, my mood is dark, angry, and brooding.
I’ve been working on moving on, knowing my woman wasn’t murdered.
But if he knows something else…
“There were things about Eve’s past she didn’t want you to know.”
“Aye.” I knew she came from a broken, dysfunctional home. I knew she lived in Stone City, one of the poorest cities in all of Ireland. She didn’t like to talk of these things. She hid them. But I knew.
“I don’t know who was ultimately responsible. I know who I suspect. But I can tell you this.”
I watch him wordlessly, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“The answers you need are in Stone City.”
“You always do this.”
If he notes my anger, he doesn’t show it, his face as placid as if he were saying his prayers.
“Do what, son?”
“Give just enough information to piss someone off.”
Breena stills, watching me, so I modulate my tone. “It’s never enough of an answer.”
He nods slowly, methodically, as if thinking my words over.