“Do you know how many Marios there are?” he says, and I can’t shake the feeling he’s being evasive.
“And the family?”
“Not important.”
I grab his arm. “Are you fucking with me?”
“No. But I’ve got clients, too. And I’ve given you all the information I can. I think the photo of your girl’s the only thing you should worry about, got it?” When I don’t answer, Roark says, “I’m on your side. We’re fucking blood, Dec.”
I follow Roark into an Irish pub. Since Cal, Seamus, and Tor are there drinking, I guess the place is his and they’re all here to coddle me.
The cold anger starts tobuild in my chest.
How I feel about Marlowe is irrelevant. She’s just a job. One I can do. Without my brothers. Or my cousin.
“What happened to the Nazi fuck?” I ask.
Cal meets my eyes. “Dead. Tell me about the photo Roark gave you. I’m fucking interested.”
“She’s not…she’s no criminal mastermind. And this picture shouldn’t even exist. I cut those damn security camera wires,” I mutter, putting the photo down. “So…”
“You didn’t get them all,eejit,”Seamus says.
“I did. Two old school cameras were set high up, nothing that would have taken this photo. Gotta be a deep fake. The resolution’s too good, the shadows are wrong.”
Nobody else sits close by to us, but since Roark doesn’t seem bothered by the conversation, I’d guess the other patrons are his people. “Which means there are probably pictures of me, too.”
“They’d have surfaced by now. Someone’s either out to hurt her, or she’s in on it all,” Roark says. “Maybe she went in for the heroin.”
“She didn’t leave with it. Not that it was there,” I snap.
A look I don’t like flashes across Cal’s face.
I reach for the glass offered to me and down the whiskey. “Marlowe’s a lot of things, but she’s not a criminal.”
“She could be a pawn,” Torin says.
The wordtraitorhangs in the air, but no one voices it.
I reach for my humor, but it slides just out of reach. Because the last thing I need is my family turning on her.
Roark smooths a ringed hand along the edge of the bar. “The photo comes with rumors.”
“Like what?” I bite out.
My cousin meets my gaze. “That she lured the cartel there.”
I stare at them all. Seamus pours another drink and downs it. “Or she lured themafia. Depends who ye talk to.”
“Molly’s not fucking anything but a dancer,” I snap. “What the?—?”
“You know that, we know that, but if someone’s trying to get her killed, then…slap on a price to take her out and no one’s going to care.”
“Jesus,” I say. “The redhead in the photo is Marlowe. They’ll be saying she tried to pit the mafia against the cartel. The truth doesn’t matter. The rumor does. We need to kill it flat. I need to do something. Her mam’s right, someone’s definitely threatening her.”
And it’s not just the stalker.
Cal peels away and takes me by the arm. “We will get this done. We’re family, Dec.”
