Chapter 2 #2
Grayson takes a grainy traffic camera photo of Finn and tacks it to the board below three others. But …
“Hey,” I say, standing. “Do you know who that is?”
Reed sidesteps to look at the photo. “Name says Souta Takahashi. He was our third victim.”
I glance between the two men. Frankly, I’m shocked they’ve invited me into their office instead of an interrogation room. Must’ve had a conversation with their chief I suppose. I’ve proven helpful in the past, and unlike my father, I don’t oppose law enforcement. I use them.
“Do you not know who he is?”
Grayson looks at the photo and shakes his head, rubbing a hand through his thick dark hair. “You going to tell us?”
“He’s Yakuza.”
Reed sucks in a breath. “No, shit …”
Grayson tilts his head, studying me. He turns and points to the other two. “What about these two? Victim one turned up here in Beacon Hill. Rob Morris. The second victim’s still unidentified.”
I shake my head. Rob Morris looks like your run-of-the-mill soccer dad with a double chin and spiked hair.
The other man is foreign, and I squint at his tattoo.
Cyrillic? No—older. “I don’t know Rob Morris; he’s not a name I recognize.
This man here—” I point to the photo of an Eastern European-looking man.
Broad in the chest and thick around the neck.
His skin, though pale and sickly from the autopsy photo, is olive-toned.
“—his tattoo uses some Latin, though I’d need to see it better to verify.
If I had to guess, I’d say Albanian Mob. Though I haven’t seen many in Boston.”
Grayson stares at me. “Albanian Mob? That’s a thing?”
I nod. “Yep.”
He sighs, a look of disgust spreading over his face.
“Where did he work?” I ask. “Do you know?”
Reed snorts. “We don’t know his name. He’s a John Doe in the morgue.”
“Is this the best photo you have?” I pluck it off the board, and Grayson snatches it back from me.
“Yes.”
“If you get me a copy of that I can ask around,” I say, moving back to the chair. I run my fingers through my hair, and Grayson watches it fall to my shoulder. He blinks.
“I’ll figure it out. The mermaid tails. Your people, correct?”
I nod.
“Why is that? Is the mob not fiction enough for you? Gotta add some fairy-tale to the mix?”
I flip him off. “You’re annoying.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a criminal, so I don’t exactly trust your judgment.”
My phone rings, and I pull it out of my leather riding pants, which are getting sweaty in here, by the way, and glance at it. Sasha. Well, hell.
It rings again, and I tuck the phone to muffle the sound between my legs. Hell, if I send Sasha to voicemail …
“Just get it,” Grayson says. “Go ahead and conduct your dirty business. The whole damn city doesn’t seem to mind.”
I glare at him and hold his stare while I answer. “Hey …”
“Hey? Girl, are you okay? You sound off.”
“Finn is dead, and I’m with the detective.”
“Nyet, I’m so sorry, Aoife. I’ll let my father know. He wanted me to call to see if you were ready to get the shipment from Russia. It’s coming in next week.”
I nod until I realize she can’t see me. Typically, we FaceTime. “Uh-huh. I’m ready.”
“Two containers under the name Morozov imports. He also sent some unattainable art that your father wanted for Summer. I have zero clue, but don’t let your men be too rough.”
I laugh, and Grayson narrows his focus on my mouth. I kick into the air at him, and he rolls his eyes. Reed picks my helmet off Grayson’s desk and studies the holographic mermaid tail I wear proudly.
That was one of my goals when I took over for my father, especially with the chief being …
the chief. I didn’t want to hide and be on the run, always trying to escape in the shadows.
I want the mob to thrive here in Boston, and our underground fighting ring is doing just that.
We’ve continued the family restaurant business and money laundering.
We don’t flaunt it, but I don’t hide who I am. I’m proud.
“Okay, sounds good. Thank you. Hey! Luka know anyone from the Albanian Mob?”
“Probably. Why?”
“I need a possible ID.”
Sasha laughs. “Playing detective, Aoife? I’ll have him email you. Talk to you later.”
We hang up, and after I put my phone away, Grayson and Reed stare down at me. I rip my helmet out of Reed’s hand. Touchy little—
“You know Luka Morozov?” Reed asks, leaning in eagerly to hear the answer.
Grayson and I both look to him. “Do you?” I ask, but it’s like Grayson hangs on for the answer, too.
“Nah. Only in name.” Reed swallows and pulls out his phone, answering what appears to be a text message. “ME wants to see us.”
Grayson reaches for his suit jacket, hung on the coatrack by the office door. “Thank you, Miss O’Donnell. We’ll be in touch with any more questions.”
I quirk an eyebrow, ready to fire off something inappropriate just to piss him off. But there’s an eagerness in his expression—a mix of worry and urgency that I can’t mock right now. Not when he’s going to go see Finn.
I swallow the baseball lodged in my throat and stand. “Good luck, detectives.”
They both rush out their office door, letting it bang open behind them. I glance down at Grayson’s desk, at the phone pushed perfectly in the corner, and the notepad parallel with a cheap pen.
I poke the desk phone enough so it’s cricked. It’s nothing, only a breath out of place, but on his ordered desk it’s a sliver of chaos. He’ll see it. Notice it. Know someone nudged his perfect little world off balance. I smile, knowing he’ll think of me.