"Patrick," I say carefully, standing slowly with my hands raised. "What are you doing?"
"What I should have done two weeks ago." He kicks the door closed behind him, the sound echoing in the suddenly too-small room. "Taking control of the situation."
"Let him go," Erin says, and her voice is shaking but firm. "Whatever this is about, Dolan has nothing to do with it."
"Oh, but he does." Patrick smiles, and it is not a nice smile. "He is leverage. Just like you are, Erin. Just like everything and everyone Rosalina cares about is leverage to ensure her cooperation."
"Cooperation with what?" I demand, even though I already know.
"With my plan, of course." Patrick shoves Dolan forward, and he stumbles, catching himself on the edge of Erin's dresser. "You see, I gave you two weeks to come to your senses. Two weeks to realize that helping the Irish mafia is more important than your misplaced loyalty to the Italians. But you did not. You told them everything, didn’t you?"
My silence is answer enough.
"I thought so." Patrick reaches into his jacket pocket with his free hand and pulls out a small box—maybe six inches square, wrapped in plain brown paper. "Which means we need to do this the hard way."
He tosses the box to me, and I catch it reflexively, my bandaged hands protesting.
"What is this?" I ask, though dread is already pooling in my stomach.
"A bomb," Patrick says casually, like he is discussing the weather. "Small, but effective. Enough to take out a house and everyone inside it."
The box suddenly feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.
"You are going to take that back to the Salvatore estate," Patrick continues, his voice hardening. "You are going to plant it somewhere central—the kitchen, maybe, or that media room I have heard about. Somewhere the boys like to spend time."
"No." The word tears out of me. "No, I will not?—"
"Yes, you will." He presses the gun harder against Dolan's back, and Dolan grimaces. "Because if those three Italian boys are not dead within thirty-six hours, I will kill Erin. And Dolan. And their unborn baby."
Erin gasps, her hand flying to her stomach, and Patrick's smile widens.
"Oh yes, I know about the pregnancy. Congratulations, by the way. Shame the baby will never meet its father."
"You are insane," Erin breathes. "Patrick, please?—"
"I am practical," he corrects. "Seamus was too soft. Too willing to compromise. But I know what this family needs. What the Irish need. We need Brooklyn. And the only way to get it is to eliminate the Salvatore leadership and move in before anyone can react."
"This is not what Seamus wanted," I say, my voice shaking. "He would never have approved of this."
"Seamus is dead," Patrick says flatly. "And I am in charge now. Which means what I say goes." He gestures with the gun. "So. You have your orders. Plant the bomb, and press the red button. You’ll have ten minutes to get out of the house, but make sure Dante, Gabriel, and Luca are all in the house when it goes off. And if they are not dead in thirty-six hours—" He looks at Erin, and the threat is clear.
"Rosalina," Erin says desperately. "Don’t do this. We will find another way?—"
"There is no other way," Patrick interrupts. "Not anymore. If I don’t get notice that those fuckers are dead in thirty-six hours you’ll have to deal with the consequences, Rosa. "
I stare down at the box in my hands, my mind racing. I could refuse. Could throw the box at Patrick, try to fight, try to protect Erin and Dolan?—
But the gun is still pressed against Dolan's spine. And Erin is pregnant. And I can’t risk their lives, can’t gamble with their safety.
"Okay," I hear myself say, and the word tastes like ash. "Okay, I will do it."
"Rosalina, no—" Erin starts, but I cut her off.
"I will do it," I repeat, looking at Patrick. "Just—please. Do not hurt them."
"As long as you hold up your end of the bargain, they will be fine," Patrick says. "Thirty-six hours, Rosalina. Tick tock."
He opens the door, gestures for me to go, keeping the gun trained on Dolan the entire time.
