“You don’t have to be to appreciate beauty. Mom would have wanted you to have it, to remember her by. And I certainly won’t allow it to be buried with the man who killed her.”
Ah. So the Donovan sisters, Tara and Róisín, have been appraised of their father’s sins. No wonder Tara seems so cold towards Maggie as well these days.
But Finch still shakes his head and presses the rosary back at Tara. “Give it to Róisín. She’ll actuallyuseit.” Tara sniffles, but Finch is adamant.
There’s a loud shout from somewhere inside the house. We’re running out of time. “I’m sorry, baby bird, but we have to go,” I say. “We need to collect Frank and the others before they start yet another war I don’t need.”
* * *
There’sa crowd gathering in one corner of the green room when we return there, and I instinctively know that’s where I’ll find my men. Holding Finch firmly by one hand, I push through the crowds as a low roar begins to build in the center. It ends in a cheer as I burst into the open middle, and stop dead at the sight before me.
Frank and Gus, the enormous Irishman, have linked arms and, if what I’m seeing is right, just chugged a pint of Guinness each.
“What the—”
“Georgie!” Frank booms, throwing his arms wide, a grin splitting his face. The pint glass in his hand narrowly misses smashing the nose of someone standing behind him. “Come an’ have a drink with these assholes.”
There’s a loud bellow of encouragement from the surrounding men, and someone starts singing a drinking song. Loud voices join in. I grab Frank by the arm and pull him away. “Sorry, all, we have a tight schedule.”
“But the wake goes for three days, little bro,” Frank protests as I drag him away. “Three days.” He stinks of beer and whiskey, and I wonder how much he’s drunk in the short time Finch and I have been away.
“Where the hell are Angelo and Marco?” I mutter, and the two of them appear as though the mention of their names has summoned them.
“We’re right here, Boss,” Angelo says. “Time to go?”
“Time to go.”
Angelo reaches into the crowd and plucks out the two remaining idiots who are supposed to be our protection. Nick and Bobby seem just as happy to stay and drink with the Irish as Frank, but I know how fast liquor-made friendships can turn.
“Go get the guns,” Angelo snaps at them, giving Bobby a light jab in the gut when he looks around to see what’s still going on behind him. He catches Bobby as he doubles over, smiling in apology at those around who glance over. “Needs some air,” he tells them with a laugh. Then he bends over Bobby and snaps into his ear, “Quit making a fool of yourself and remember why you’re here. What good are you as protection if you’re wasted?”
Angelo shoves him off towards Nick, and the two of them, looking disgruntled but immediately less drunk, head off to do as they’ve been told. Once again, I feel a twinge of envy at Angelo’s cool ability to make people obey him.
“We need to go,” Finch says, and for the first time since we’ve entered this den of wolves, he sounds nervous.
I look wherehe’slooking and see the cause of his anxiety. Maggie Donovan has deigned to come down among the common folk. I’ve never seen a woman with less grief in her face, and I wonder again exactly how natural Howard Donovan’s natural death was.
Maggie is a changed woman since our last encounter, when she was half-hysterical and afraid for her life. Today she’s shadowed by two large, capable-looking men who, in defiance of the No Guns rule, are heavily armed, weapons prominently on display in their holsters and strapped to their backs.
Finch’s hand tightens on mine, and I see his chin go up. God, I love him.
Maggie eyes him, disgust writ plain on her face. “This is the last time you’ll see me,” she says. “And if I ever see you again, it’ll only be to kill you. So get out.”
“There’s one thing I should’ve told you a long time ago, Maggie,” Finch tells her sincerely. “And that is: you’re a fucking asshole.”
One of the men steps forward, snarling, but she slaps him back. “You know what?” she hisses at Finch. “Pops thought the same. But look at him now, Howie. Look at him now. You’ll be in your own coffin soon enough.”
I pull Finch away before he can run his mouth any more. But if there’s one thing I swear, it’s that Maggie Donovan will pay for everything she’s put my beloved husband through.
* * *
Normally I’d haveFrank driving, but he’s drunk too much. Marco takes the wheel of one car instead and corrals Frank into riding shotgun, with Bobby and Nick in the back. Angelo drives for Finch and me, and does his best to be absolutely invisible. He turns on the radio to a classical music station, wrenching it up loud, and stares resolutely at the road ahead.
In the backseat, Finch looks at me. “You knew I was coming?”
“Of course I knew.”
“Did Marco tell you?”
