Chapter 4 Saoirse
SAOIRSE
“So, tell me. What have you found so far?” In between dragging the muck fork around the stall, Cormac quizzes me on the results of my investigation into the Italians.
When searching Domenico Del Prete’s office last month at the masquerade ball turned up nothing but a tracking number, I threw myself into chasing that number down to the ends of the earth. Too little info and no results.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news?” I heave a forkful of dung into the waiting wheelbarrow then set my fork down and lean against it. “Promise you won’t be pissed?”
“I trust you, Saoirse. Of course I won’t be pissed. But I need to know, are we facing trouble with the Italians?”
“Well, drugs are still going missing. Each time I chase it up, I’m met with the same excuse from a different person, which would imply it’s common and everyone is just following the rules, but the whole thing sits wrong with me.
And the gun shipment that went missing last week?
My driver’s body was pulled out of the Potomac on Friday.
Sure, it could have been an unlucky thief who made off with a shit ton of assault rifles, but I don’t know.
And there’s…” It’s almost not worth mentioning, but Cormac needs the truth no matter how pathetic it sounds.
“And?” Cormac prompts, abandoning his mucking and leaning against the door of his stall.
He looks at me like no time has passed and we’re still scrubby teenagers being forced to muck out the stables because Mom thinks it builds character.
The family ranch has always built character, but not in the way she thinks.
It softens people, being here. It’s nice.
It’s home.
“And last month at the ball, I snuck into Domenico’s office and found nothing but the tracking number of one of the drug shipments they sent us the month prior.”
“This is news because?”
“Because on his records, the drugs arrived, but I know for a fact that they didn’t. I remember chasing it up because the stupid tracking number was like eight and six for seven numbers in a row and it was fucking with my eyes.”
“Told ya you need glasses.”
“Fuck off.”
“Truth hurts.”
“Anyway,” I sigh deeply and resume shoving the dirt from the stall. “It was definitely a package that didn’t reach us, but we got a replacement and extra as an apology.”
“What are you thinking, glitch in the system?”
“Maybe, but it bugs me, y’know?” Filling Cormac in highlights just how little information I’ve gathered, and frustration fuels my next sweeping shovel.
“On the surface, it looks like a mistake, like all the others. But for nearly six months, this has been happening more and more frequently. Missing drugs here and there, delayed weapons, the trouble at the border, even one of our ships going way off course. And on top of that, they pay us late sometimes and people have been going missing.”
“Saoirse, you know how common it is for people to flit in and out of this line of work. Especially the grunts lower down. They make a quick buck and run off to a new life.”
“I know. I know.”
“But you still think this is something?” Cormac continues to watch me from his stall, and when I nod, he sets his fork aside and walks toward me.
“Then pursue it. I know you. Your brain puts shit together faster than mine and if you think there is something here, then go all in. Do what you have to do. But quietly.”
I finish shoveling by the time he reaches me and shove strands of hair away from my sweaty forehead to see him clearer. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t want the Italians getting wind that we don’t trust them, and I can’t bring this to Rocky until you have something more concrete.
The treaty’s been threatened once before, and I doubt it’ll survive another round.
But I’d rather you find out, if there is something, than sit back and have shit quietly unravel under my nose.
This world isn’t black and white, so if you tell me it’s something, I’ll give you the resources you need. ”
My heart rate picks up as if I’m suddenly facing down an old school teacher ready to face accusations of someone else’s troublemaking.
Cormac’s putting a lot of trust in me, not just as his underboss, but as his sister.
Our relationship with the Italians has survived a lot, but this world is fragile.
One word in the wrong ear and everything crumbles.
“I think it’s something.”
He clasps my shoulder and smiles. “Then come back to me when you can prove it.”
Cormac returns to shoveling the shit out of the stall while I finish up my side.
My mind runs with all the tiny pieces I’ve gathered so far.
None of them fit together, and part of me hopes they really are nothing.
Maybe the Italians have just hit a bad administration patch and several unrelated incidents just make it look like there’s an issue.
That’s the ideal outcome.
Finishing up, I store my equipment and trek back to the ranch house where my mother, Clodagh, greets me with a wide smile and flour-covered hands. “Be a gem and open the oven for me, would you?”
“My hands are filthy,” I warn her.
“Doesn’t matter.” She chuckles. “We’ve all contaminated our fair share, and you’re not touching food.”
I oblige her request and open the oven for her, earning myself a short burst of smothering hot air in my face. She leans past me and slides what looks to be a homemade pie into the oven, then motions for me to close the door. “Are you both done with the stables?”
“I am. Cormac was slacking so he’ll be some time.” I beeline for the sink and shove my dirty hands under the stream of hot water. “Mom, have you thought about hiring someone else to help out here? I haven’t been able to visit as often as I want to, and I worry about you out here alone.”
“Oh, Saoirse, I’m hardly alone. Cian visits almost every weekend, and Evelyn drops by regularly with her little one.
And I have plenty of staff, so don’t you worry.
” She appears next to me smelling of sweet fruits and pastry dough.
Flour clings to her weathered cheek and dusts over her wiry gray hair.
“It’s not me who should be worried about being alone. ”
Oh, here we go.
“Mom—”
“I’m just saying.” She grins. “When am I going to have you coming home with a nice man on your arm, hmm?”
“Given how this family finds their romantic partners, I’m not sure I ever will,” I reply as I thoroughly scrub my hands.
“Please don’t talk like that. I don’t want you to miss out on one of the great joys of life.”
“Romance?” I shoot her a disbelieving look. “How is that a great joy?”
“Cormac used to say the same thing and now look at him and Evie.”
“Do you hassle Cian this much about his love life?”
“It’s not hassling!” She lightly swats my arm. “It’s loving concern. You deserve someone who makes you happy, and in this life, the chances are rare.”
Someone who makes me happy. The last man who did that was hidden behind a gorgeous green mask and fucking me so hard in a closet that I almost couldn’t walk out with my head held high.
Hands clean, I dry them slowly on a dishtowel as I follow Mom around the kitchen. “I’ll be honest, I’m not actively looking right now, but I’m not opposed, okay? I guess you could say I’m waiting for love to find me.”
Mom turns to me with such hope shining in her eyes and she clasps one of my damp hands between hers. “Just don’t wait too long, okay? I want to see all of you happy before I pass.”
“Mom!” It’s my turn to swat her. “Don’t talk like that. You’ve got decades left.”
“I’m a ticking time bomb.”
“Mom!”
“Soon, I’ll be withering away, as empty as your love life!” Our mingled laughter floods the kitchen as I pull her into a strong, affectionate hug. As often as the teasing is, I know it comes from a place of love and in this family, that’s all that matters.
I arrive back in the city a few days later, refreshed and revived from my time at the ranch.
Nothing helps blow away the stressful cobwebs and grind of the city like the fresh air of the ranch.
But each day I linger at the ranch is another day this strange scheme could disappear from under my nose.
With little information on exactly what I should be tracking, I settle for an old-school solution.
Extra CCTV and security at all of our cooking houses, firmer control over when our people are in position at border control, a shift in the shipping schedule of our overseas arms, and double patrol at all our warehouses.
No one is given exact instructions on what I’m looking for, so when the reports of anything suspicious start to roll in, they’re painfully varied.
Within days, I’ve learned that one of our men at border patrol confuses interesting with suspicious and I now know more than I ever care to know about several people’s bathroom habits.
One warehouse was convinced of an intruder and gave me hope of a lead, only for it to be a sneaky fox.
Several drivers scared each other with ghost stories and I spent an entire evening shifting through the terribly written reports of sleep-deprived delivery drivers convinced they were all about to be slaughtered by a highwayman hook man.
I’ve hired more drivers and cut shifts to ease the strain.
Wading through a sea of everything in the hopes of a glimpse at something is an exhausting task until one night, hope arrives in the form of a phone call.
“Miss Gifford?”
“Speaking.”
“That man is here again.”
I straighten like a pole in my seat. “Man? What man? What are you talking about?”
“You, uh… Well, you wanted us to record anything suspicious, right? Well, there’s been a guy I’ve been seeing over the past week or so.”
“A guy…” My eyes dart over the sea of paperwork flooding the table before me. “Where are you, exactly?”
He reels off the address of the shipment warehouse while I scramble through the papers for their reports.
“I thought it might be something because I’m friends with Lewis, one of the cooks, and he mentioned a guy hanging around. He sounded pretty harmless, but I’m pretty sure that same guy is now here.”
“Lewis and the cooking house…” That’s familiar. Where have I seen that before? It takes me too long to search through the heaving pile but eventually, I find a report I cast aside earlier. It reads as a homeless person simply wandering too close to the cooking house, but if this is the same man…
“Tell me what he looks like.”
“Pretty tall. White coat that looks like it’s seen better days. Olive skin, a dark beard, but it’s short, y’know? Not one of those full ones. And brown hair, but it’s all on the top of his head, not the sides.”
It’s the same. The description matches. This can’t be a coincidence.
“Keep him there!” I bark down the phone. “I don’t care how, just keep him there!”
“Where is he?” Night’s fallen by the time I make it to the warehouse, but luckily, the stranger is lingering. For whatever reason, he’s been keeping an eye on the warehouse for hours and given his suspected presence at some of our other properties, it’s reason enough to have a word with him.
“Across the street, behind that van that’s parked up at the crossroads. He wanders out every so often, but never far,” explains the man who called me. “What are you going to do?”
Cracking my knuckles, I roll my shoulders and stride out of the warehouse. “Talk to him.”
“Wait, wait, should I call someone?”
“If you like.” As I approach the van, a tall figure steps out from the vehicle but he hesitates the second he sees me. “Hey!”
As soon as I call out, he runs.
Shit.
I should have expected that. Luckily, the man doesn’t take off with much urgency and I’ve always been an incredibly fast runner, much to Cian’s frustration when we were kids.
The stranger runs back behind the van and out the other side, but I’m there in a few seconds, and he only makes it a few feet when I launch off the ground and collide into him with my body.
We both fall. He hits the ground hard with a grunt, and I land on him then quickly roll off to the side. “Hold on there, pal, where do you think you’re going?”
He clambers to his feet but as he turns to face me, he swings out a fist that I narrowly avoid as I stand.
So that’s how it’s going to be.
He swings again. I duck under his arm and jab at his ribs, land two blows against his back, then I drop down to my haunches and sweep my foot hard at his ankles. He overbalances with a cry of surprise and drops down to one knee, then he swings his torso around and his elbow collides with my gut.
I stumble back, winded, but adrenaline is pouring through me with each frantic beat of my excited heart.
Staying low, I kick him back on his raised knee, forcing him to fall to the side.
He’s back up in half a second, throwing another wide arc punch, but this time when I duck it, he’s ready for me.
His other fist collides with my jaw, stunning me for a few seconds and sending me to the ground.
As he tries to climb back to his feet, I twist my hips, lift my legs, and flip myself back onto my feet.
Following the motion with a spin, I kick him hard in the face and as he falls, I rush at him and jab him once in the face, sending his head back again, then once in the gut, forcing him to double over.
“Need help?” calls a breathless voice to my right that immediately distracts me.
Someone else being here completely changes the balance of the fight, and the stranger notices it too.
His attention snaps to the arrival of the man from the warehouse and he steps toward him.
My instinct to protect overtakes my desire for answers, so I throw myself between the stranger and my warehouse worker.
Unfortunately, he expects this and I realize it too late.
He swiftly lifts one leg and delivers a powerful kick to my gut, sending me crashing hard into the van.
Every bone in my body screams in pain at the impact and my world blurs briefly as my head crashes back into the van doors.
Then I crumble to the ground, gasping for air and groaning in pain.
“No!” The warehouse worker rushes toward me. He’s by my side in seconds and when I finally clear my vision, the stranger is gone.
Who the fuck was he? And… Why do I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before?