"What kind of something else?"
"The kind we can't afford to handle badly." I meet his gaze. "I'll make the calls."
I spend the next hour on the phone.
The lawyers first, walking through the share documentation I had drawn up three days ago in the early hours when I couldn't sleep and needed something to do with my hands. The paperwork is clean. Frank's name, a percentage of shares, an advisory title, language that makes it look legitimate and considered. A reward for loyalty, for intelligence, for keeping us alive.
I read it back to myself when the lawyer sent it over, and I feel nothing in particular. It says what it needs to say. That's enough.
Aidan will handle the others. That's already understood without saying it. He'll ring Matty, ring Reilan, tell them when and where. That's what Aidan does. It's always been what Aidan does.
Which means the only call I have to make is to Frank.
He picks up on the second ring.
"William." There is something moving beneath his voice when he says my name, a careful quality, like he is deciding how much to give away. "I thought you were dead."
"That seems to be a running theme in this family," I say. "Thinking people are dead when they aren't."
A short sound comes down the line. Frank, laughing. I don't think I've heard that in years, and I'm not sure it's a good sign that I'm hearing it now.
"I've been in hiding," I say. "Whoever is feeding the Bratva our location is still out there. I couldn't risk moving until I knew the house was secure."
Silence on the line. I wait. I give him the space to fill the silence, because if Frank knows the name of the mole, now is when he offers it up. He has been sitting on intelligence for days. The intelligence is the reason he is still alive, the reason he has the promise of shares coming his way, the reason I have kept him close rather than finishing what Jason started. If he knows who it is, this is the moment he trades the name for goodwill.
He doesn't offer anything.
I listen to him not speak, and I try to read the quality of the silence. With Frank, there is always the same problem. He never gives anything away without first calculating what the information is worth and what he gets in return for handing it over. The silence could mean he genuinely does not have a name. Or it could mean he has one and he is holding it back, waiting to see how much higher the price can go before he plays the card.
I store the question away and leave it unanswered for now.
"There's a family meeting tomorrow," I say. "Aidan's home is the only secure location we have right now, so we're using it as the base. Everyone will be there." I pause. "Including you."
"Me?"
"We're doing this properly. The paperwork gets signed in front of the whole family. No more operating in the shadows." I keep my voice level. "Better to rip it off fast than drag it out."
Another pause. Longer this time. I can hear him thinking, the way I always could, that particular quality of his silence when he's checking every angle before he commits to a direction.
"I'll be there." Something in his tone shifts, just slightly. Warmer. Like he's won something. "Thank you, William. I know this wasn't easy."
I hang up without answering that.
Aoife is leaning in the doorway of the bedroom when I put the phone down, a mug in both hands, and she doesn't ask how it went.
"We're leaving," I say. "Aidan's home. Tonight."
She nods. "Give me ten minutes."
I pack in less than five. There isn't much. There never is in a safe house. A bag, a change of clothes, the phone charger. I stand in the middle of the room for a moment and look at it, this place we've been for four days, and I think about what happened here, and then I stop thinking about it and pick up my bag.
Aoife is already by the door when I come out.
It's a long drive. The roads are quiet, the dark comes early, and Aoife sits in the passenger seat with her knees pulled up and her head turned toward the window. Neither of us speaks for a long time.
She breaks it first. "Tell me about Aidan."
I glance at her. "What about him?"
