We say our goodbyes and I wait for it, knowing that there’s going to be some reprimand the moment we’re alone. I don’t have to wait long. As soon as Fergal is driving home, Mam turns to me, a nasty snarl on her face.
“You may be marrying into the Mariano family, but you will not be better than us, do you understand?”
“Bridget,” Da says with roughness I haven’t heard him have with her for a while. “She did well this evening, she’s helping mend things with the Mariano family. Leave it be.”
Caden nudges my leg with his own. “You’ve always been good at making friends. It’s because you’re the nicest one of us all.”
Mam huffs in disagreement but I don’t let it affect me. I smile at Caden grateful for his praise.
Maybe living with the Mariano family will be better than with my own?
God, I can only hope so.
Chapter 5
Lorenzo
I enter the bar and as usual, the sound lowers slightly. This shit always happens, it doesn’t matter where I go. Bar, restaurant, or even an event, the sound levels lower and people turn to watch me. The bar is called Welcome Inn, and it's on the south side of the city. That means it’s not Mariano territory, Delaney territory, or anyone else's territory, which is exactly why I use it.
Neutral ground is harder to find than people think. Most of Boston has been carved up one way or another, claimed by either a Syndicate faction or even by the Saint’s Outlaws Motorcycle club. The Welcome Inn is one of the few places I've found that hasn’t been purchased by one of us. It’s a place that’s full of regulars who just want a quiet drink without having to worry about offending anyone. Unfortunately, tonight, they’ll have to worry about Tempest and me.
My father approved this meeting before I ever made the call. The leaks affect every family in the Syndicate, and while I'm leading the investigation, he wants trusted eyes and ears in every organization. Tempest is mine along with Marco and Ciro, all of whom my father has approved. Every lead comes back to me, and every night I debrief my father before we decide where to move next.
I'm ten minutes early, which means I'm on time. Being early is something Tempest has never once managed in the years I've known him. Tempest is a patched member of the Saint’s Outlaws Motorcycle club. He’s, in fact, the club secretary. For Tempest, the club is above all else, just as the Famiglia is for me. Family comes first, and while the mafia is in the traditional sense of the word, family, the Saints have a brotherhood that is above all else.
I order a drink and take up a seat in the back corner of the bar, giving me the perfect vantage point of the front and back door if I need it. While I wait on Tempest, I sort through the information that I’ve been looking into recently. I haven’t spoken to my father about it yet. There’s no point until I have concrete evidence. Even then, I’d need to find out who the fuck is doing it. Once I have all of that information, I’ll bring it to the table. In the past six weeks, the details of four ventures reached the wrong ears before we were able to make our move. Once could be a coincidence, twice is a pattern, three times is a problem, and now we’re at four times.
It's four times for the Famiglia. It’s at least three for the Delaneys based on the information that Daithí gave me, and six times for the East Street Kings. Prior is beyond enraged, especially as his line of work involves running guns, and someone is undercutting him by using the information they’ve received from someone within the Syndicate.
It’s someone in our organization. Someone close to us, close enough to gain confidential information and then either sell it on or use it themselves. Luca crossed my mind; one of our men doesn’t sit on a territory dispute for six weeks unless he's either incompetent or comfortable.
Marco is already watching him, the problem is that the leaks go beyond anything Luca should have access to. I’ll brief my father tonight after I get a briefing from everyone. He'll want the full picture before we make our next move.
Which means either I'm looking at more than one source, or the real problem is sitting somewhere much closer to the centre. Which is one of the reasons I’m meeting with Tempest. Although he runs with the Saint's Outlaws, we go back further than either of our current roles. There are people in this world I trust with pieces of information and people I trust with none at all, and Tempest sits firmly in the former category. He’ll be able to snoop and dig deep enough without the rat noticing.
The last time someone inside the Syndicate betrayed us, my siblings and I buried our mother.
This time my father has given me complete control of the investigation. He wants daily updates, and until I put a name in front of him, this stays between the two of us. Finding the leak isn't just another task, it's a responsibility, and an opportunity. Cesare Mariano doesn't hand out trust. If I identify who's responsible and deal with it, I'll have proven I'm ready for the position I've spent my entire life working toward.
Underboss.
Whoever is feeding information out doesn't know it yet, but they're already dead.
The door opens, and he comes in at seven minutes past eight. "You're late," I say, glaring at him.
He’s such a bastard for always being late.
"I'm practically early for me," he says, dropping into the seat across from me like he owns the place. He flags the bartender down with two fingers and leans back in his chair, and looks at me like he's mildly amused by my irritation.
It doesn’t take long for the bartender to bring him a bottle of beer. Tempest thanks him and hands him some money before turning to me. "So," he says, picking up his bottle. "Two months."
He’s talking about my marriage. It’s only two months away. It’s like having a noose around my neck that tightens with each passing moment. God, I’m getting married, and I don’t want any of it. I have no fucking option besides actually doing it and marrying Quinn Delaney.
"Two months," I confirm.
"Got a ring yet?" he asks with a smirk. He’s trying to get under my skin. He needs to try a lot harder than this.
"Working on it," I murmur as I reach for my glass and take a sip of bourbon.
