It clarifies things. The street gang in the alley was just a probe—something messy and deniable. This…this was the execution.
“Your uncle wishes to meet with you,” adds Cian.
The vein in my throat throbs. “How very Claudius of him.”
Cian gives me a blank look, and I dismiss the uncultured bloke.
“Where?” I ask.
“The Family mausoleum. Tonight. 9 pm sharp. He vows to come alone.” Cian shrugs.
I consider how simple this could be a trap. But if O’Malley is the traitor, Eamon could also hold valuable information. And provide an alliance to confirm and trap the rat. A calculated risk.
“And the other matter?” I note.
Cian’s expression shifts, a subtle tightening around the eyes. “Claire Ryan. Lexie’s grandmother.”
He pulls a folder from inside his jacket and slides it across the desk. “You wanted a background check. You might want to sit down for this.”
“I am sitting.”
“Read it.”
I flip open the file. The first page is a standard bio: Queens, Art Historian, widow. But the second page is redacted so heavily, it’s like a censorship art project.
“She wasn’t just authenticating paintings, Liam.” Cian taps the page. “She was undercover FBI. Deep cover. The Russians, the Italians…she worked them all.”
My blood runs cold. “And my father?”
“Especially him,” he confirms. “She was a master forger. She’d recover stolen masterpieces for the Bureau by replacing them with forgeries so good, the Families never knew they’d been robbed. For a decade, she walked in and out of vaults, and no one suspected the woman with the magnifying glass.”
I stare at the photo of the sweet, white-haired woman from the pictures on Lexie’s phone. “She worked operations against the Donovan family?”
“She was the handler for one of the biggest informants in ‘92. She knows the game, Liam. Better than you. And if she’s letting her granddaughter stay with you…”
“She has a plan,” I finish, my stomach hardening like lead.
“Or she’s gathering intel,” he suggests. “Lexie visited her a week ago, right? If she told her anything…”
“Lexie didn’t know anything then.”
“She knows now.”
I slam the file shut. “Lexie is not an asset, Cian. She’s not a spy.”
“She’s still blood,” Cian counters sharply.
He drops another item on the desk, a small, black key fob. “Access to the offshore account. Untraceable. It’ll fund the cleanup.”
“Thank you, Cian.”
He nods, turning to the door. “Watch your back, Liam. And maybe watch the girl. You know families hold dangerous secrets.”
He slips out as quietly as he entered, leaving me with the weight of betrayal.
But none will ever come from Elexia Carter.
Taking a deep breath, I pocket the drive and the key fob. I need coffee. And I need to see Lexie. Just seeing her quiets the storms in my head.
