“Say no more,” I said, watching her carefully. “He’ll have the O’Connell last name?”
“Unless you can think of a better one?” She lifted a sharp brow at me.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to read her motives, but time ticked. I had a meeting. “Ryan,” I said.
“Fine choice.” She nodded and then stood. She walked to the door and then stopped. “Your wife, she’s a good woman, Cashel Fallon Kelly. Be sure to treat her right.”
The door closed behind her, and after I watched her go, I took the slip and opened it up. My old man’s handwriting was scrawled across the threadbare page. It seemed like Maureen had opened and closed it a few times, maybe debating on whether or not to use it when she’d felt she needed it the most.
Opening the drawer to my desk, I took out a pen and wrotedebt paid, the date, and then added the name Ryan.
* * *
At the precisetime I expected Raff, he knocked on my door and then came in at my word. He took a seat across from me, settling in as usual.
“Their shipments are getting bigger,” he said.
I nodded. “Grady wants to be the top distributor, and with the Scarpones backing him, he’s getting what he wants.”
“There’s one problem with the Scarpones,” he said. “They’re in a feud with the other families right now. Things are tense. Shipments keep getting stolen. Grady is getting wary of them. And they’re getting wary of him.”
“Yeah,” I said, sitting back, putting my hands behind my head, grinning. “He thinks they’re lying about the shipments being stolen. That they’re holding out on him. Same goes for the Scarpones. They’re not sure who to trust, since they can’t even trust themselves.”
“That’s how it seems.” Raff paused for a second. “What the fuck is going on with the families? It’s mayhem.”
“I have an idea,” I said.
I thought back to Mari, Keely’s friend, and her fiancé, Macchiavello. They were due to marry shortly, and with him in Italy, I wondered if there was going to be a break for the Scarpones and their goods.
Someone had been stealing their shit from right underneath their noses.
I couldn’t have done a better job myself. I was able to steal petty shipments lately, but nothing that would really cripple them. If Mac was the person I suspected him to be, he had every right to destroy them. Here was the problem, though—he was a ghost.
Vittorio Scarpone, known back in the day as the Pretty Boy Prince of New York, had been killed. Throat slashed and body dumped in the Hudson for the fish to feast on. The hit ordered by his very own father.
I’d never met Vittorio, only heard stories about how ruthless he was, and when I tried to do some research, it seemed the only thing left of him was speculation. Not even a photograph. I reached out to the older men in the neighborhood who were connected at one time, to get a clear picture of the man, not the ghost.
“Not a man to be fucked with” was the general consensus.
It made sense if he was the one who’d killed Lee Grady’s old man, Cormick. Lee would become suspicious of who’d done it. He wouldn’t expect the Scarpones at first, but if the shipments kept disappearing, he’d start to wonder why.
His father gone.
His shipments gone.
Who had he been working closely with?
The Scarpones.
If the Scarpones eliminated Lee Grady next, that would give them one hundred percent of the profit, and a shot at claiming Hell’s Kitchen as part of their territory.
Relationships were under a massive amount of strain because of the current unrest, which was why Lee Grady got a little testy with my wife at the political event.
I held a finger up to Raff. I got Susan on the line. “My wife,” I said to her when she answered. She huffed but connected me.
A few seconds later, the archer picked up. She sounded out of breath.
“Darlin’,” I said.
