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“You want me to stay?” Valentina asks me.
“Yes. You’re a crucial member of this team.”
“I suppose,” she says.
“But there's something you have to promise me. If we find evidence that your brothers are involved in this—you have to stay the course. Can you do that?”
“You mean turn on my own brothers? Stand silently by while you… kill them?” Her voice wobbles.
“If they meant you harm? Yes.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
VALENTINA
The war room at the McCarthy house is something to marvel at. The dining room table's been pushed back, with a laptop at each end. It's busy. Seamus sits at one end, Declan at the other. Bronwyn is cross-legged at a table by the side wall. Cavin is already on the phone in the hallway.
“Hey!” Bronwyn says, waving to me when I come in. “You alright?” She pushes the plate of cookies toward me. I take one gratefully. My pants are getting tighter, and my belly’s actually rounded again. I’m feeling stronger.
“I'm alright.” I don’t want to talk about the worries holding my brain hostage.
“You work for your family?” I ask her.
“Aye, of course,” Bronwyn says with a smile. “How do you think I make all that money to shop? They don't just hand it to me.”
“Beauty before brains,” Caitlin says, tugging a lock of Bronwyn's hair as she walks by with a tray of drinks. “Or is it brains before beauty?”
“Hey, what does that mean?” Bronwyn says. “Does your family not let you work for them, Valentina?”
“Definitely not. My father's old-school Italian. Thinks a woman's place is in the home, bearing children and all that.”
“Oh god.” Bronwyn wrinkles her nose, continuing in a low voice. “I suppose if my da were still the one in charge, he'd probably agree. Seamus is a little more, how shall we say it, progressive?”
“I could see that,” I say, giving her a look.
“Valentina?” A very, very pregnant woman sidles up to me, places one hand on her belly, and extends the other.
“My name is Erin McCarthy. Cavin’s wife.”
“Oh, I see. Pleased to meet you.”
“And the reason this matters is that my job is to run the numbers for the McCarthys. In particular, I need to make sure there’s nothing fishy going on with Boston. We've been tracking things for years, you see. We know the Boston Irish are after us, and we suspect why, but you can always tell with the numbers. Data doesn't lie.”
“Right.” I nod. I look down at her enormous rounded belly. “When are you due?”
Erin sighs and blows out a breath. “Last week.” She rolls her eyes heavenward and sits back down.
“Don't worry,” Torin says in my ear. “Bronwyn's capable of delivering a baby if she needs to.”
“I heard that,” Bronwyn pipes up.
Seamus glances at me but doesn't comment. I wait for him to tell me to leave, to say he doesn't want me in the room, but he continues speaking, even with me here.
“Progress. It’s all progress. This is what we know. We got a view on someone a few days ago, but he was scouting, seeing if he could find anything. Likely wanted us to see his filthy mug.
“The rest came in overnight—two separate entries, one through the port and one through the north road. We've got eyes on every vehicle. As of now, there are four, and a rented warehouse on the water.” He pulls up the map on the screen. “Donnell O'Brien is leading this one personally, which means they're not sending a fucking message. They're closing it out.”
All eyes come to me when I ask, “Is it the woman who pretended to be me?”
