Chapter 2 Saoirse
SAOIRSE
“Is that really what you call a disguise? Honestly, Sis, I expected better from my underboss.” My brother, Cormac, approaches me with his trademark easy smile and takes my outstretched hand. “I’d recognize you a mile away.”
“That’s because you saw me getting ready, asshole,” I snap lightly, shoving my elbow gently into his side as we hug. “Seeing my mask beforehand makes it easy to pick me out of a crowd, don’t you think?”
On cue, the crowd of elegantly dressed, masked guests around us surge with the flow of the music.
We could be shoulder to shoulder with our greatest enemy and have no clue.
Rocky Barati chose a masquerade ball as his way of announcing his engagement to Sarah Cogs.
An interesting move on the surface, but I’m fairly certain it’s his way of ensuring those who don’t want to be spotted by Sarah can attend without facing the sharp eye of the law.
A Mafia prince marrying a police detective is an unusual match made in heaven.
But just a glimpse of them shows anyone how in love they are, and no one dares to mess with Rocky. Not these days.
“Okay, okay.” Cormac laughs. “But how did you know this was me?” He adjusts the black and gold silk mask that hugs his eyes, then slides his fingers up to the cluster of gold feathers rising from the top. “Was it the color?”
“Yes,” I say with mock seriousness. “As soon as I saw black and gold, I instantly knew it was you.”
“Really?”
“No, idiot.” Another nudge with my elbow, and we start walking through the masked crowd. “I got ready with Evelyn and I saw her kissing you. So unless she’s cheating on you, which we both know she would never do, it was pretty easy to work out that it was you.”
“Ah.” Cormac chuckles. “I thought I’d get a chance to fuck with you.”
“Sorry, nothing gets past me.”
“Are you sure about that?” Despite the mask covering half his face, I can tell he’s waggling his eyebrows.
“Yes, I’m sure. Now, shouldn’t you be with that gorgeous wife of yours?”
“I should, but she’s congratulating Sarah and I’m on the search for Rocky.”
“He’s in red, by the way.” Our lazy path takes us to the open bar where I order two drinks with a wave of my hand. “Very dashing, if I do say so myself.”
“You’ve seen him?” Cormac turns to face me as he leans against the bar. “How did you work him out? Don’t tell me you also got ready with Sarah.”
“No. He has a very distinct way of walking. When we spoke earlier, he tried very hard to put on an accent, but Rocky is the most relaxed family head I have ever met, and a mask and accent can’t hide that.”
“True.”
Within seconds, two scotches are placed next to us. Picking up my glass, we knock them together and drink while observing the gorgeous party before us. Rocky has gone all out creating such an extravagant event.
The manor is exquisitely decorated with glittering crystal chandeliers, colorful streamers gracefully flowing down from the ceiling, a full orchestra playing graceful music, and tables filled with animals made from glass and more feathers than anyone can count.
I feel for the cleaning crew later. Hundreds of people dance and laugh, drink and eat as if they’re old friends.
There is no bad blood here tonight, no Irish or Italian or Russian.
Everyone is hidden behind a mask, and so far, everyone is honoring Rocky’s request to have one good night of fun.
“Who would have thought Rocky Barati would be the one to bring so many different families together in one place?” Cormac remarks quietly.
“I bet Matteo is seething.” I chuckle behind my glass. “Russians in my house? Eating my food?”
“Back in my day, we shot them before they ever reached the property!” Cormac joins in the imitation with a snort of laughter. “It’s nice to see, though. These past few years have been rough, and I’m holding out hope that this peacefulness continues.”
There it is. The real question Cormac wants to ask is hidden behind his smile and gentle words.
He’s asking me about my investigation into Domenico Del Prete, Rocky’s advisor and trusted friend.
A couple of months ago, several discrepancies in deliveries between us and the Italians caught my attention.
A missing drug shipment here or a misplaced weapons truck there isn’t all that uncommon in our line of work.
Sometimes, the wrong person is working at customs and the product is caught.
Sometimes, a routine traffic stop messes up routes.
It’s all part of the business and not something I’d usually concern myself with, but the discrepancies I’ve been noticing are almost a pattern with their lack of pattern.
I slowly finish my drink and set my glass down, then look Cormac in the eye. “Do you trust me?” I ask quietly.
“You know I do,” he replies immediately.
“Good.” It’s the best answer I can give him right now.
My suspicions, as strong as they are, won’t be acted on until I have concrete proof that something is going on.
As it stands, I have no idea what that something is, but my subtle investigation into these missing shipments leads me to believe that they’re not accidental or part of the buffer we expect.
Given the strong peace treaty between us and the Italians, I need to be sure.
“Saoirse—”
“You should go and find Rocky,” I say with a smile.
“I need to mingle.” I step away with a bow of my head and lose myself in the crowd.
Cheerful laughter, clinking glasses, and clouds of perfumed feathers flood my attention as I weave through the happy, dancing guests until I bump into a man dressed in blue with white and pink feather plumes waving about above him.
“Cian, you went with blue?”
Cian, my twin, spins to face me with his mouth open. “Saoirse, how the fuck did you know it was me?”
My eyes narrow playfully. “When have we ever been able to hide from one another?”
His head tilts back and forth, then he laughs and throws one arm around me, pulling me in for a hug.
“Hey, watch my dress!” I shove against his chest before his rough hug can scrunch up the peach and cream feathers attached to my slinky dress. “I applied these by hand, you know!”
“Whatever!” He wins our playful struggle and hugs me tightly, then grins as he releases me. “Have you congratulated the happy couple yet?”
“Yup.”
“Shit, I can’t find them. I was hoping you could help me.”
“What kind of general are you that you can’t find two people?” I tease, then I jerk my thumb back toward the bar. “Cormac is also looking if you want to team up.”
“Amazing! Thanks, Sis!” He cups my face and quickly kisses my forehead before I can protest, flicks my peach feathers, and then he darts away through the crowd. I’d follow, but I have a different destination in mind.
Domenico Del Prete’s office.
It’s easy to slip away from a party where everyone is enjoying being anonymous.
While Rocky has been very strict with his security, there are a few stairwells that were easy to slip into when the guards are distracted by drunk, unruly guests.
With a half-full glass of champagne as my excuse in case I get caught, I find Domenico’s office in a much quieter, secluded part of the manor.
A lock is no match for me and after unlocking it, I slide the lockpick—AKA my hairpin—back into my hair and resecure my curls on top of my head.
It’s a long shot that Domenico’s office will hold the answers I seek, but at this point, I’ll take anything.
Investigating these missing shipments alone has been like following a three-week-old trail of breadcrumbs.
The peace treaty between us and the Italians means we provide weapons for them and they cut us in on their drug trade.
It’s supposed to be a win-win for both of us, and any time I’ve highlighted the missing drugs we’re owed, replacements have been swiftly delivered.
But the fact that they go missing in the first place bugs me.
And our own weapons being misplaced or caught more frequently at the border is causing friction because I’ve put so many things in place to prevent these sorts of things from happening.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the Italians were sneakily trying to push us out of the drug business by fucking up so often that it no longer feels financially viable to continue.
That would also put our deal with the Russians in jeopardy, so I pray I’m wrong.
I need concrete proof before I mention anything in detail to Cormac, and it has to be here.
But… it’s not.
I carefully and quietly pick Domenico’s office apart for any documents or messages that would suggest he looks at us unfavorably or that he has knowledge of where these missing shipments end up but the closest thing I can find on his computer is a simple acknowledgement that some shipments have gone missing.
It’s odd that there’s no follow-up, but that can easily be explained as Domenico taking care of the issue immediately and leaving no paper trail.
I do find some brief correspondence with Rocky where Domenico voices his displeasure at our late delivery of weapons, but Rocky doesn’t share those concerns and seems understanding of our border control issue.
Again, I can’t fault Domenico for his concerns because I would think the same if our positions were switched.
Perhaps I’m looking in the wrong place, but my gut tells me I’m on the right path.
The last time I tried to speak with Domenico about adjustments to our arrangement to give some breathing room while we fix our border issue, he wasn’t very agreeable and suggested that we needed to evaluate how we do business internally.
He said it so politely that I wanted to punch the casual, smug look off his face, and as soon as I told Cormac, he made me swear that my investigation had real basis and wasn’t just a personal vendetta.
Another search through Domenico’s office brings me nothing but a single email that contains confirmation of a drug delivery that we never received.
The tracking number is the same, and it’s the only order I reported missing that he has confirmation of delivery.
A mistake, perhaps? Unless the drugs turned up and no one told me.
Copying down the number onto my phone, I make a note to check it out later and slip from Domenico’s office as if I were never there.
The disappointment sits heavily in my chest. While Domenico is a smart man, I’d entertained the hope of finding something incredibly incriminating that could put this situation to rest and allow me to move on.
No such luck.
Back at the party, I drown my disappointment in another glass of champagne that I drink so quickly, I immediately need another. Reaching for the last glass on a passing tray, my fingers brush against a warm hand reaching for the same glass and we both immediately pull back with a mutual apology.
“You take it.” A deep, velvety voice drifts out from a glittering emerald mask that covers the top half of the man’s face, leaving only his full, pink lips in view. They sit against a closed-cropped dark beard and pull into a warm, sideways smile when our eyes meet. “Please.”
“No, you take it,” I say as a rush of unexpected warmth moves through my chest. “This is surely a sign that I should stop.”
“I insist,” the masked man says. His tongue darts out and slowly drags across his lower lip. “Please. A beautiful woman shouldn’t be without a drink in her hand on a night like this.”
My heart skitters in my chest and I smile coyly. “You think I’m beautiful? Bold ,considering you don’t know what I look like.”
“Your presence is more than enough to assure me,” he replies smoothly.
“Besides, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and I know exactly what I see.” His dark eyes, two pools of honey-brown, turn to dark ink as he slowly looks down my body and takes in the figure-hugging dress covered in hand-placed feathers. “And I am not wrong.”
“Then you should take the glass as thanks for such a sweet compliment.” I’ve never considered myself a woman swayed with honeyed words since they usually come with expectation, but something about this man interests me.
Maybe it’s how smooth his voice is in contrast to how rugged his beard looks, or how his suit doesn’t quite sit on his shoulders with the tailored perfection of every other man in this room.
Heat warms my cheeks when his eyes dart back up to mine and he picks up the glass of champagne from the tray, allowing the poor waiter to escape into the crowd.
“I have the perfect solution,” he says, stepping so close to me that the warmth radiating from him sends goosebumps skittering up my bare arm. “Let us share it.”