“If you say so,” Carlucci replied, and I wanted to wipe that stupid grin off his face, but the door opened.
A gigantic redheaded Irishman—I knew he was Irish because he was wearing a shirt that suggested I kiss himbecausehe was Irish—stood there in the doorway with a shotgun aimed at us. “And how may I help you fine gentlemen?” he asked politely in a lilting accent.
“Vitali. Carlucci,” I said.
He put down the shotgun and gave a wide grin, showing off more than one missing tooth. “Shanahan,” he replied, shaking our hands. “The lady told us to be expecting you. Come in, now, come in. Make yourselves at home.”
After he locked the deadbolt behind us again, we followed him down the hallway to a living area that had been repurposed as a work space. There were four desks around the room, each with its own computer and monitors.
Conor O’Hara was sitting in one corner, talking to someone on his cell. He gave me an up-nod as I came in and pointed at Shanahan, then indicated the room.
“Alrighty, while the boss is busy, I’ll give you the grand tour,” Shanahan said easily. “Here’s where we keep our cameras, as you can see,” the Irishman pointed out. “Every angle on the house. Every street from here to five blocks out. Nothing gets past us.”
Carlucci nodded, impressed, but I wasn’t. “And if they go down? If there’s planned interference?”
Shanahan tapped his nose. “Ah, now, we have contingencies for that. But if you’re so concerned, I’ll be glad to show you the SOPs.”
“You do that,” I said, and the Irishman stopped smiling.
“There’s no need to question our competence, you know,” he told me. “Ms. Donovan’s a beloved matriarch, better than that fairy Howie would ever’ve been.”
“Hey,” Carlucci said sharply. “Watch your mouth.”
I put my hand up, and Carlucci subsided. “You do wanna watch it, though,” I added to Shanahan. “Don’t think Ms. Donovan’d be too happy to hear you were talking smack about her own brother. Neither would his husband, you know what I’m saying?”
O’Hara, who had finished his phone call, appeared at Shanahan’s side. “There’s no need for threats. And as for you, Shanahan, you can keep your views to yourself. No one wants to hear them.”
Shanahan laughed. “Well, now, we’re all friends here, aren’t we? That’s the word from the top, anyway.” He slapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me on through the house. “Come on and have a look at the rest of the setup. You see anything missing, want any additions or add-ons, we’ll do ’em for you, don’t you think we won’t.”
On the way back, O’Hara stopped me and took me aside. “I’m sorry about Shanahan. He’s good at his job, but he’s an asshole.”
I shrugged. “I know the type. But he needs to mind his manners.”
“I’ll tell him. Only I think you might want a word with your Boss abouthismanners, if you don’t mind my saying.”
I knew at once that he was referring to the other night, when Luca D’Amato had acted like the most important person in the room. The fact that hewasnotwithstanding, acting like it had apparently riled the Irish up. “And what if I do mind you saying?” I asked, unwilling to concede anything.
O’Hara just smiled. “Better to be friends than enemies, Vitali. And your people? They’re guests here, no matter how important they might be back in your hometown. I’m just saying it how I see it.”
I could hardly tell the Boss to knock it off with the alpha energy, but O’Hara had a point. Wewereguests, and the Morellis couldn’t afford to make any more enemies. And I’d overheard Tara Donovan just that morning talking about how difficult she found the relationship with Mr. D and the Boss. “Listen, we’re not looking to start a fight,” I told O’Hara. “I’ll do what I can on my end, but you gotta keep your guy Shanahan’s mouth under control, huh? Homophobes don’t go down great with the Morellis, you know what I’m saying?”
“I get it,” he said. “Better than most.” He offered his hand and I shook it. For then, at least, we’d found an equilibrium.
That building was only the first stop Carlucci and I made. We traipsed round the houses and apartment blocks, meeting and greeting, checking the protocols, and even I had to admit in the end that they were stellar. On par with what we had in place in New York for the Boss.
Maybe even slightly more advanced in some technologies, though I’d never admit that.
By the time we got back to the main house it was coming on midmorning, and although I knew Finch D’Amato was no early riser, I was getting antsy about Aidan and those tell-tale marks on his neck. While we’d been checking out the security measures I’d managed to keep my brain solidly on one track—what’s a danger, where’s a danger, what could become a danger—but on our walk back, I couldn’t help thinking about Aidan again.
Last night had been…
I couldn’t even describe it right in my own head. I wasn’t really a words man, never had been. But it had surefeltgreat, and I didn’t just mean nutting all over the guy.
It had feltright. Like something we’d been meant to do all along.
But in the morning he’d snuck out of the bed without waking me, so I assumed he wanted to let it all go, bury it in the past fast as he could. I had no problems with that. The man was bound to God, and it wasn’t my place to get between them. I’d meant what I said to Aidan: I respected and admired his vocation. I’d never eventhinkof asking him to back out of it, and especially not forme. I didn’t feel fit to walk into Our Lady half the time, I was so sinful.
No, it hadn’t bothered me so much that he’d left the bed, the room. That he’d barely even looked me in the eye over breakfast, and we’d both let Tara Donovan carry the limping conversation. No. What bothered me was his attitude that he’d pushed it on me somehow, the way he talked like it had been purely physical, that I’d just done him aserviceinstead of sharing something with him that…
