Chapter 28
28
brAIDEN
R usso didn’t hit my men. He hit my heart.
“Go on, then,” I say to Madden, gripping the edge of my desk, because I know I’ll hate what he’s about to show me. “Turn your phone around.”
I close my eyes to brace for it, and just like that, I’m back in the closet at St. Ann’s. It was my job to protect Sister Mary Margaret, but I failed. I was too weak, or too blind, or I just didn’t count on how hard a bad man would work to destroy a bit of good in the world.
Madden’s at the Hare and Harp. Or, rather, he’s at the steaming heap of charred brick and timber that used to be my pub. The center of my business. The building handed down to me by my father.
The heart and soul of the Fishtown Boys.
Madden and I made a plan to keep our people safe from Mafia retaliation. But I should have figured the Hare would be a target. I should have held a dozen men out from protection at a hotel, ordered them to stand guard, ready with guns.
Or I should have stood in the feckin’ doorway myself, with my baseball bat.
Russo destroyed the one object I loved as much as he loved his fucking automobile. He was as thorough with fire as I was with my bat.
It’s clear from Madden’s video tour that nothing survived. The long mahogany bar… The desk my grandad’s grandad carved in County Cork… The mass cards from my father’s funeral…
I can’t feel my toes and fingers. I can’t move.
The only thing that keeps me breathing is my certainty that I will murder Antonio Russo. I’ll start by cutting out the tongue that ordered the hit on my pub. I’ll finish by shoving his Beretta up his arsehole and pulling the trigger, same as he did to Samantha’s kin. In between, I’ll concentrate on keeping him alive, keeping him feeling every ounce of pain I can deliver. And when he’s dead, I’ll scrape up whatever meat remains and toss it in the river. I’ll feed the fish and let them shite him into the mud.
I’ll get my revenge, because I was supposed to protect the Hare. It was the heart of the Fishtown Boys. Leading the Boys is the only reason Da squirted me out, and I’ve failed.
Again.
“I’m sorry, deartháir ,” Madden says. “I got here soon as the alarm went off.”
The Hare’s fire alarm was no match for an East Falls wanker with a can or two of petrol. And the worst is yet to come. Once the site is cool enough for the Fire Chief to inspect, they’ll find my room in the basement.
Concrete doesn’t burn. Nor do iron chains and meathooks, strung from a ceiling. A wall of metal tools that have no place in a drinking establishment. The grate in the floor might melt into the drainage pipes, but I won’t put my money on it.
There’ll be serious questions once city authorities go through the wreckage. I can buy off some, and put the fear of a vengeful God in others. But the feckin’ journos will have a field day—the Hare has always had a reputation of being haunted.
I can practically smell the smoke through the phone’s screen.
Wait. That’s not the smell of the Hare. That’s?—
The smoke detector above me lets out a banshee wail.
“Jaysus!” Madden says.
“I’ll call you back.” I stab at my phone, cutting the connection.
The smell of smoke is already stronger. I hear shouting outside—Fairfax bellowing, telling someone to come with fire extinguishers.
And Samantha. She’s shouting for help. She needs me, and I’m failing her, because Russo burned down my fucking bar.
Yanking at the door, I try to get to my wife. I register the heat just before my hand closes around the knob. I’m not quick enough backing off, though, and pain sears my palm.
Swearing, I tug my shirt over my head. The cotton isn’t thick, but it’s all I have. I ball it around the knob and try again.
This time, I can maintain contact with the metal. I can even turn the knob. The door moves an inch, maybe two, but then Samantha shouts, “Wait!”
“Samantha!”
“Close the door,” she calls. “Just wait.”
I need to reach her. I need to save her. But Fairfax is issuing his own orders.
“There, lads,” he says, sounding like a field marshal. “You—spray there. No, sweep the nozzle. Like this.” I don’t know if the hissing sound is the fire extinguisher or the flames. “Take the second one,” Fairfax says. “There.”
More hissing. My office door rattles in its frame, and foam starts to seep beneath, just a few bubbles at first and then a spreading pond.
I try the knob again, and this time no one tells me to stop. The hall is filled with men from the front gate, four of them, all holding heavy metal fire extinguishers. Fairfax stands behind them, brandishing his own shiny tank, like an exorcist going after the devil.
And there’s Samantha. She’s wearing joggers and my shirt, her shoulder wrapped beneath it. Her hair is wild, and black soot stripes her face. She’s leaning toward me, straining, but she’s also got both hands on Aiofe’s shoulders, like her life force is the only thing keeping the girl from plowing through the mess of foam and ashes.
I go to both of them.
Every man in the hall is waiting for me to speak or looking to me for direction. But my wife is more important.
My hand finds the back of Samantha’s neck. “You’re safe?”
She nods.
“Take Aiofe to the nursery.”
“I want to stay with you.”
I glance at the mess behind me. Foam pools on the hardwood floor. A trio of brass candlesticks lie on their sides. Three altar candles, each as thick as my forearm, roll in the muck beside them. My office door is scorched black; the flames reached chest-high.
“Take Aiofe,” I say.
“Russo,” she says.
Russo destroyed the Hare. Russo torched poor Donny O’Keefe. Russo has bombed my clubs and taken out one of my warehouses.
But Russo didn’t make his way inside my home. The Mafia can’t get past Thornfield’s gates. Another evil worked here tonight. I know who, and Fairfax does too.
I brush a kiss against Samantha’s lips. “This wasn’t Russo. You’re safe.”
She starts to protest, but I don’t have time. I’m not ready to tell her everything I know.
Go,” I say, leaning just enough on my Captain’s voice to be certain she’ll obey.
And then I turn back to craft the lies I need to make this mess disappear.