That’s all I need, Luka Morozov in my city because I failed to receive the orderheprocured for me. How am I going to explain that to my dad? Granted, Sasha probably believes I’ve told my father about the container terminal last week. She’d be wrong.
In fact, the last conversation I had with my dad, he and Summer were asking what I wanted for Christmas while they were in Paris the next week and a half. They said they’d be back in Boston on Christmas Eve, which is …
Ugh. I need to sort out Finn’s affairs. He’s sitting frozen because I haven’t told my dad he’s dead yet—go me—and because the Irish were his only family, we’ll be the ones to put together his funeral. I finally told Lizzy and Cormac two nights ago, to which Lizzy full-on reprimanded me for not telling mydad. I had to silence my aunt with threats, and I hate myself for it.
It’s not me.
If I could just find his killer. I don’t care about the Yakuza, the Albanians, or Rob Morris; Ionlycare about the Irish. It’d figure Grayson hasn’t updated me once with any information since I kicked him out of my apartment. He got too close to revealing my husk of a self, and I balked.
My temples throb, and I knead them. The screen’s glow burns my eyes as if it knows every thought I’ve let fester today sequestered in my office. I need to churn out a response. Instead, I snap my laptop shut harder than I should, cutting off the Christmas music. For a minute, I sit, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes, willing Sasha’s voice to fade.
Finn’s ghost lurks in the corner, my father’s shadow at my back, and Luka Morozov’s name like a damn curse. Sitting here isn’t going to help. My office air is stale, and the glitter bomb of Christmas annoys me after Grayson’s accusation. Of course, it’s the only room I decorated. This is where I live, breathe, and scheme. Right? That’s the only reason.
Grabbing my coat from the loveseat, I head for the door. If the answers won’t come staring at my email, at least I can get some fresh air and find a sliver of quiet. I bulldoze past my men, the evening waitstaff, and the restaurant full of patrons, needing out.
Puffy flakes drift down from the night sky as I exit O’Brien’s and pull my coat up around my ears. After glancing along the sidewalk and seeing no one, I tilt my head back, open wide, and stick out my tongue. The cold pinprick hits, then dissolves instantly until another follows right behind it.
These giant snowflakes were always my favorite growing up. Allie, Summer, and I would stand by the firepit, mouths open toenjoy the winter snow for hours. To the point my dad would run out and toss mini marshmallows into them instead.
A car door slams shut, and I jump, retracting my tongue and pretending to reach for my phone.
“I saw that.”
My head snaps at his voice.Grayson’svoice. He strides toward me, and I blink, taken off guard by his lack of a suit. The trench coat is still there, but his pants have been replaced with dark-wash jeans tapering down into gray boots, and his suit jacket upended for a gray turtleneck sweater. No badge hangs at his hip, and while I’m sure his Glock is on his body somewhere, it’s not visible this evening.
I look down at my yoga pants and oversized sweater as if I’m a walking billboard for his observation the other day. He doesn’t think I can lead the Irish either, does he?
The snowflakes kiss his combed-over hair, and I find I want to lick those, too.Oh, damn it, Aoife.
“Saw what?” I ask.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Nothing.”
I cross my arms, the bulge of my coat not doing me any favors. The door to O’Brien’s opens, and Ronan pokes his head out. I roll my eyes. Can’t have five minutes of dang peace. “I’m fine,” I tell him, then pin Grayson with a look. “What are you doing here?”
He joins me on the sidewalk and leans against a lamppost wrapped in white Christmas lights. “Two things: First, your hunch about Mrs. Morris was right. After some interrogation, she confirmed her family ties.”
I slowly nod. I wouldn’t want to admit I was part of the Cosa Nostra either.
“So, we’ve confirmed it does seem like the killer is going after mob men, but we’ve hit a dead end. The lack of evidenceis astounding, which further supports the idea that perhaps itissomeone in one of the crime families.”
“Or law enforcement.” I retort. “They’d have the know-how to cover their tracks, right?”
He swallows, and that’s the second time I’ve mentioned this theory, and he’s gone quiet. Is he so caught up with his own profession that he doesn’t think there can be bad apples there, too? Maybe right under his nose?
Finally, he relents. “Or law enforcement.”
“And second?”
Grayson straightens, his eyes softening on me. “And second, I want you to come somewhere with me.”
I stare at him, then let a burst of laughter fly from my mouth. “Go somewhere? With you? After you just admitted law enforcement could be behind these murders.”
“I’m not going to kill you.”
I throw up my hands into the void space beside me. “Well, when you’ve seen what I’ve seen, nothing is impossible.”
“I don’t envy you, Aoife.” His face stalls out on a serious expression. “I can’t imagine what you go through every day.”
