“And promised you his allegiance?”
I nodded at Conor. “You’re phasing out of the life. We’re not.”
“He has a point. Plus, his allies are our allies.” Star tapped her toe. Then slouched against the wall like a puppet whose strings had been cut. “These goddamn cabals will be the end of me. What the fuck am I even fighting for?”
“Your kids. Conor. Control."
Star’s eyes dampened, but her man yanked her upright and straight into a hug.
I glanced away to give them a modicum of privacy but I heard him whisper, “There’s wisdom in what he says.”
“I know.” She pouted, sounding more like herself. She pulled back but kept her arms looped around his waist. “I hate that.”
“We’ll talk to Aidan. He’ll be leaving for the Summit soon.” Conor squeezed her into another hug. “I won’t let these assholes gain the foothold that the Sparrows did. I promise you, Star.”
“You can’t promise that. They might already be bigger?—”
“These fuckers are playing at war.” He chucked her under the chin. “We’re experts.”
FIFTY-FIVE
STAN
Luc and I reconvened at the address Aidan Jr. had forwarded us—a brownstone on the Upper East Side.
Not a grody warehouse.
That meant Conor and Star had convinced him this was the right play.
Within five minutes, four town cars pulled into the street.
Within five minutes, the most dangerous men in the city were standing on the front stoop.
A maid answered when Aidan knocked. Her eyes widened at the sight of our group but she didn’t hesitate overlong. “Please, step this way, gentlemen.”
I didn’t think it was my imagination that her head bowed a scant inch when Aidan passed her by…
“We’d like to speak with your employer,” he ordered once we were gathered in the overly large vestibule.
“Of course, sir.” The woman swallowed. Just so. Ramming home the idea that she knew him. “Please, give me a moment.”
“Is this really necessary?” Zhao tugged on his shirt sleeve, straightening his cufflink.
“It’s completely necessary. Follow the money, Zhao. Cut it off and things tend to go extinct,” Finn O’Grady drawled, but then, he would.
The Irish had a lot of skin in this game.
So did the Sicilians and the Russians. The Triads? Not so much. I understood Zhao’s reticence, even if I’d shove a gun to his temple to force his compliance.
Along with the Dragon Head and his two men, Hao and Wén, we’d been joined by Lyanov and his two spies, as well as the final O’Donnelly—Brennan.
I stepped over to Aidan. “The maid?”
His gaze cut to me, then his lips quirked at the corner. “Well spotted.”
“Irish?”
“Of course.”
