“The fact her name was Angelina wasn’t a big enough clue?”
“Hmm, I must have missed the introduction. Fairly, though, you see how much hair she was sporting? That ain't right if your own family doesn't help you out. Someone could have got her a waxing certificate if they didn’t have the guts to tell her to go fucking shave.”
Santiago stops talking. I can see his mind going a hundred miles an hour, but it seems he doesn’t find the right words.
I keep winding him up. “I was thinking of Valentine. I can’t even imagine being able to take a bite of food, having to sit around for a family dinner with that hairy lip taunting me.”
He closes his eyes. “Ronin, go change before I shoot you myself.”
I wait until he’s looking at me again. “Fair enough. I’ll send Angelina a gift card from the Irish. Pave the way back to friendship. Yeah?”
Santiago reaches for a weapon behind his slick linen suit. Fancy fucker always looks so suave.
I blow out a loud and dramatic breath, scratching my nuts to annoy him some more. “I’ll have a shower, then I’ll have us leveling out above the Ligurian Sea in around thirty. As long as they’re quick at the beauty salon downstairs.”
He looks at me, stunned, again as he cocks one of his styled eyebrows.
“Aye?”
Santiago gets all serious on me. More serious than him having a go at me because I asked one of Valentine’s female family members if she was a yeti. “I paid the drinks bill, Ronin. You are not fit to fly. I’m not fit to fly.”
“Trust me, I am as shook as a hand at Mass but raring to go. We’ll pick up some pasta downstairs, maybe have a pint, and be on our way.”
Chapter Seven
TALLY
Ispent a lot of time after St. Patrick’s Day in my suite at the hotel. Only part of that was because of what happened that night. Spending the time I did with them was good for my soul, though I suspect most psychologists would argue the case. Either way, after a few days sleeping, only eating in, and reminiscing their every touch, I was ready to explore the sights of Genoa. Which is how I spent the rest of the time there.
Genoa’s popularity with tourists meant I could blend in with the crowds. The likelihood of running into anyone from London was pretty low. If I chose Ibiza as the destination for my holiday, it might be a different story, but I was safe in north-western Italy. Although, meeting those two Alphas here, of all places, kind of blew my theory out of the water. I let my guard down, for a few hours, then hid away for the rest of the time.
Arriving in Ireland, I was well rested and ready for my next assignment. The meetup with my contact was uneventful, but that’s how those moments are meant to be. It’s supposed totake no time at all and appear like two strangers meeting. Our interactions with each other will stay like that, unless the shit hits the fan and I need backup or rescuing.
I did the meet-and-greet with my new contact at the ferry terminal before I said goodbye to Joe. The dossier he left behind gave me all I needed, a photo and a rundown of safe houses in the area. Once I had his contact details, and the faces in the photo, committed to memory, I shredded the contents of the envelope, leaving the rubbish in different trash cans in and around the ferry terminal.
My target—four men involved in the Irish Mafia. All of them are up-and-coming figures in the underworld, each of them involved in some form of extortion and racketeering, drug running, and the murders of several key players. My job is to gather enough evidence to bring them down, using whatever means possible.
After a teary goodbye with Joe, I distracted myself on the ride over to Dublin with applying for work, waitressing and bar work, mainly. By the time I found a room and booked it through Airbnb, I’d also managed to get two trial shifts set up for waitressing. I chose the one at the bar—The Shamrock—and declined the one at a posh restaurant.
Getting from the ferry terminal to my Airbnb was uneventful, as was dinner. I went to bed, not excited, but happy with what I’d done.
I had a plan of how my first morning with my new possible job would go. At no point did my plan start with me sleeping through my alarm, something I haven’t done for a very long time because I always sleep with it plugged into the wall socket next to me. Given the very sporadic nature of my job, it’s not unusual to be woken up at any hour during the day or night. So, when the alarm eventually registers and I have to search through the house to find my phone in the kitchen and not where I left it.
Something isn’t adding up. I do a full sweep of the house, and my mood hadn’t improved because it’s pretty clear someone was here last night, while I was sleeping. I send a message to the “host,” asking them to give me a call. The apartment stinks of my frustration and rising stress. I hate not having answers but figuring what’s going on is going to have to wait unless I want to be late for my first day.
Walking into The Shamrock with a takeout chai latte, I’m relieved I’m not late. I sit at the bar until the manager shows up. It doesn’t take too long for him to come barging in.
Walsh is an Alpha with a wide smile that instantly puts me on edge. His unpleasant scent backs up my first impression, inadvertently also confirming I made the right choice in accepting this job, because he’s exactly the type of shady mofo I need right now.
He obviously knows who I am, his eyes locking my way as soon as he walks through the door, and he booms out, “Madainn mhath.”
His accent is so thick, I honestly have no hope of understanding what he’s saying.
I must look like a deer in the headlights, because he throws his head back and laughs. For way too long, all but confirming the type of person he is.
“Shite, lass, you should see your face.” He speaks without putting on his accent or speaking in Ulster Irish, making it a lot easier to understand.
I stare him down while I walk towards him, only making him laugh harder. “I didn’t realize I needed to speak Irish.”
