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Finn, surprisingly, kept silent on the matter. I think he’s torn. As ordered, he’s been handling the recruits’ training alongside Peter. Finn’s devoted himself to shaping all five of them into worthy O’Sullivan men. If one of them turns out to be the traitor, he’ll take it personally, and it won’t be pretty for anyone involved.

Especially not the recruits.

If they have any brain cells rattling around in their thick skulls, they should assume that we’re tracking their phones. Connor and Rabbit must realize it, because their phones turn off at ten o’clock every night.

Which is suspicious.

Finn set the recruits’ curfew to two in the morning, same as closing time at the pub. So long as they’re back at Peter’s house by then and they aren’t on assigned duty, they’re allowed to come and go as they please.

According to the house’s cameras, once their phones are off, Connor and Rabbit leave the house at ten and return around five minutes to two. They leave together, they come back together. But according to a neighbor’s camera, they split up at the end of the block.

Which is very suspicious.

I haven’t reported their behavior to either Peter or Finn. Both of them are now too close to the situation, and my own perspective is the one I know won’t be warped.

Because of the kid’s general slipperiness, I tailed Connor first. But all Cora’s little brother does is go to the churchyard to smoke pot by himself in the cold. Kinda pathetic, but not my concern.

Rabbit, though. Turns out he’s even slipperier than Connor. The kid’s managed to shake me for several nights in a row. Usually by getting on the L at a relatively empty station, making it too noticeable for me to board with him.

But tonight, I’ve outsmarted him.

He’s been consistently taking the Red Line north, toward Seven’s territory. So now, I’m waiting for him a few stations up. Standing by myself late at night on this raised platform in the fucking cold.

I keep my beanie low, my collar up, and my hands in my pockets. Beyond the lights of the station, there’s a wide gap of darkness for the tracks, before the city lights resume. Below me, Chinatown at night is all neon, the colors so bright they reflect off the black streets. Drunk tourists stumble along the sidewalks, creating obstacles for the hardworking third shifters to weave through.

As I watch one worker half-jogging in his hurry to make shift, I’m reminded that this is not a good use of my time. I have countless other responsibilities on my shoulders. A whole community relying on me, the shape of their lives determined by my decisions.

Brady wants us to make our own agreements with the Russians and the Italians. Separate from our treaty with Seven. It’ll take finesse, which is Brady’s forte. But it’ll require the threat of violence, of deadly consequences coming from top-level authority. Which is my area of expertise. Da has made it clear that any arrangement with the Russians or Italians will have to go through me, not him. And once I’ve taken over, we can’t have an agreement fall through because our enemies believed their arrangement was with Da.

So there’s alliances for me to focus on. In addition to all the day-to-day activities that require my attention, situations that can turn deadly in a heartbeat if mishandled. Product exchanges, tribute collection, bribe distribution, intimidation, even the occasional elimination. All things I need to be aware of in detail, even if I’m not managing them in person.

A leader needs to delegate. He shouldn’t be tailing a lowly trainee. But here I am.

It was easy for me to justify tailing Connor. The kid’s a Muloney. Yes, the family’s in Boston. And yes, there’s a marriage alliance between us. But the Muloneys are still our rivals. Me personally following Connor made sense.

But this Rabbit kid… There’s something about him. And it’s not just his closeness to Connor. This Rabbit is almost too shiny. With his golden curls and his varsity soccer and his dead mom, the kid’s a perfect pity case. He charmed Gus, of all people, into crashing on his couch.

Not even Brioni can charm Gus. The man’s been guarding her all day and driving her around town for over a week. But as far as I can tell, Gus is still his usual grumpy self around my sweet, disarming fiancée.

Whatever it is about this Rabbit kid, it’s gotten my attention too. And now I’ve learned firsthand that he’s consistently been going north every night with his phone turned off.

As the clock to the next train ticks down, more passengers climb up to join me on the platform. Each with their own foggy puffs of exhalation too close to mine.

I don’t see what Brioni likes about crowds. Or strangers. Or people. It probably helps to be likeable. Take her and Rabbit, for example. But I can’t afford to be likeable. Likeable is soft.

The northbound train’s wheels screech against the rails as it slows down for the station. Before it stops, I catch a glimpse inside of golden curls above a dark gray hoodie. First car, standing up, facing away. I get into the second car.

I rock back and forth with the motion of the train, same as every other sad sack in this metal box. Up ahead, Rabbit sways like the rest of them, and we stay on through all the downtown stops. Unlike me, the kid shuffles over to make room for drunk strangers. I stay where I am. We’re in Seven’s territory now, and I’m too on edge to be anything but bristly.

We pass through Lincoln Park and keep going. We pass Wrigley Field, with all its fucking Cubs shit, and keep going. We’re in the heart of enemy territory, damn near halfway to Evanston, when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I double-check that Rabbit’s still in the car ahead before looking at my screen.

Shit. It’s Gus. He should’ve dropped Brioni back at the penthouse hours ago. If he’s calling to tell me he lost track of her, I will break every goddamn plastic seat on this train.

“Boss,” Gus says when I answer. “Miss Timmons asked me to drive her up to your office.”

“Have a good night,” a peppy girl says in the background. Gus doesn’t answer her.

“Where are you?” I demand.