Chapter 7
7
SAMANTHA
W e all eat breakfast together in the second suite on Friday morning—Braiden and Aiofe and me. Fairfax hovers like a new mother as he sets room service dishes on the table. I’m as hungry as a long-haul trucker, and I ache in places where I didn’t even know I had muscles. My ass is so tender I wince every time I shift position on the stiff hotel chair.
“Are you okay?” Aiofe asks, a frown puckering the space between her eyebrows.
“I’m fine,” I assure her.
“You look like you’re sitting on tacks,” she says.
I catch Braiden preening, like he’s done something admirable. “There’s something tacky going on,” I tell Aiofe. “But I’m fine.”
It was easier to keep our sex life private when Aiofe stayed in her own silent world. She looks confused by my reply, but I cut off further questions by asking what she’s going to do for the day.
“I don’t know,” she says. “Watch TV. Maybe take a nap.”
“What if we get out of the hotel? Want to go to the Liberty Bell?” I loved my school visits to the landmark when I was her age.
“No one’s going to the Liberty Bell,” Braiden says.
“How about Independence Hall then?” I ask, as if I don’t understand Braiden’s objection.
“Forget about it,” he says before Aiofe can reply.
“The Franklin Institute?” I challenge him. “Or the art museum? Or maybe we could go to the aquarium.”
“Go to your room,” Braiden tells Aiofe, who is watching us avidly.
“I’m still eating breakfast,” she protests.
“Fairfax!” Braiden calls, even though he’s standing just six feet away.
Fairfax swoops in to collect Aiofe’s plate and her glass of milk. “Come along, sweetheart. Let the grown-ups fight.”
“We aren’t fighting!” I call after them, as Fairfax closes the bedroom door.
“Stop,” Braiden says, his voice low and gritty.
“I’m not wearing my collar now,” I point out.
“You’re not taking Aiofe out of this hotel.”
“Then what’s your plan?”
“My plan?”
“Will you keep her under lock and key forever?”
“You, of all people, know it’s not safe out there.”
I set my knife and fork across the edge of my plate. “Of all people?” I ask, with deadly precision.
He leans back in his chair. “You want me to spell it out? All right. One. Kieran Ingram put a price on your head. Two. Madden did his level best to take you out. Three. Antonio Russo is stirring again. He boosted one of my trucks last night, a full load of electronics. Left a good man knocked out by the side of the road.”
I didn’t know about Russo. But I’m ready to fight back on the other two points. “Kieran Ingram’s dead. Who’s in charge of Boston now?”
His mouth twists like he smells something foul. “No one. Not yet.”
“And who’s running the Grand Irish Union?”
“Don’t push me, woman.”
I don’t back down. “Who’s running the Union?”
“No one. Not until the captains gather for a vote.”
“So Ingram’s clan and the Union are in chaos. They’re fighting for their own territory, finding their own boss. No one has the resources to come down here from Boston. Not now.”
“You can’t be certain of that. My job is to keep you safe.”
“No,” I tell him, and I make my voice gentle because I need him to hear me. I need him to understand. “Your job is to run the Fishtown Boys. And you can’t do that if you let ghosts run you.”
He’s not ready to give in yet. “Madden?—”
“We both know Madden isn’t a threat anymore.” I glance at the bedroom door. Aiofe already knows too much about her uncle’s last hour on earth. I don’t want to give her more fuel for nightmares.
“He was working with Russo.”
“How many men do you have watching Russo, at this very moment?”
Braiden looks away.
“Two?” I push. “Four? A dozen?”
“I have men watching Russo,” he concedes.
“And how many men could you assign to guard us, if Aiofe and I went to the Liberty Bell?”
“There is no reason on earth why the two of you need to see a giant cracked bell.”
“You’re wrong,” I tell him. “There’s every reason. Aiofe needs help. She’s talking, and that’s a miracle. But she lost Birte. She lost Grace. She even lost her tutor. She has nightmares—just ask Fairfax. She needs something—some structure, some rules.”
He snorts.
“Dammit, Braiden, don’t do that. You got your rules back last night. Are you going to say you don’t feel better this morning?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Fiddles with the handle of his teacup.
I push my advantage while I can. “And while we’re talking about Aiofe… You let her see Father Regis, and he helped, for a while at least. But she needs more now. She needs to test that voice of hers. She needs to use her words. Get her a real doctor, Braiden. If you truly believe your job is to keep her safe, get her someone to talk to.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he complains, pushing back from the table. I let him go.
Aiofe and I don’t get to the Liberty Bell, or Independence Hall, or the Franklin Institute, the art museum, or the aquarium. But at four o’clock in the afternoon, my phone buzzes with a message. There are three names listed, with phone numbers and links to websites.
Braiden
Choose one and call for an appointment. Pay what it takes to get her seen next week.