Page 124

“Everything I’ve found out at home corroborates this,” Torin says, his eyes devoid of any emotion. “We’ve got two people begging for their lives, and what they say backs up everything we know.” He looks to Giuseppe. “Are you thinking what I am?”

Giuseppe nods. “That we eliminate the immediate threat and severely punish those who put hands on my sister?”

Torin’s grin sends a shiver down my spine. “I like you, Esposito. Exactly.”

“Don't kill me,” Shannon screams. “Please don't.”

“I let you go once,” Lorenzo growls at her.

“She killed our father,” I remind Lorenzo. “She won’t stop. We know she won’t.”

He pulls the trigger once, twice, three times. She never even screams. Blood splatters on the ground. I look away. I can't watch.

“This is one of the fucking assholes who took you?” Torin has his hands in Ginger’s hair. I look into the soulless eyes of the man who kidnapped me and likely did the same to many others just like me.

“Yes,” I whisper. Then I walk to Torin and fall to one knee. I place my hand on his shoulder and lean in. I kiss him hard, then pull away. “Make him pay, Torin. I don’t ever want him to touch another woman.”

Torin’s face goes deadly calm before he slams his gun against Ginger’s temple.

“I promise.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

TORIN

Fire burns in my veins, momentarily subdued when Valentina’s hand rests on my arm. I breathe more freely.

The next evening, we’re sitting in a swanky hotel in Boston proper—me, Valentina, and her two brothers. We have a world of pain and suffering to put to rest tonight.

“They’re waiting in a warehouse in South Boston.” Declan’s time in America served us well. He gave us a location and a time. We’ve got a handful of Boston Irish, the first generation, in holding—drugged, helpless, cuffed, and waiting for their punishment.

“But before we make another move, we need all our cards on the table.”

Valentina’s leaning against me, nursing a light beer that’s gone warm. She stares at the wall. Every once in a while, I run my fingers through her hair.

Giuseppe’s stripped out of his tie, wearing nothing but a white tee and pants. He paces near the window like a prowling lion. I imagine most of the day was spent putting his father’s affairs in order.

He sighs. “Let’s start at the beginning.”

Lorenzo is still fully dressed, a small laptop open, typing away. “I’m taking notes.”

And so I do. I tell them about my cousin Declan and how he was in Boston undercover. His contact had a direct line to the American FBI. They were not there tonight, as Valentina feared, because Declan made sure of that.

“Shannon O’Brien worked for the oldest generation of Boston Irish,” Lorenzo repeats, typing furiously. “She impersonated my sister while my sister was taken. We found her out, but my father convinced me he would see to her death. Except they were working together all along.”

I nod, weary. “Yes.”

“And her ultimate goal was to get you sent back to prison, Torin.”

Giuseppe turns around and faces us. “What I don’t understand is why. Why Torin?”

“Because I was the easiest target,” I tell him.

“And because she said her primary goal was to destroy any hope of an Esposito-McCarthy alliance.”

Giuseppe nods, as if processing it all. “And what about that alliance?” A muscle tics in his jaw. “I saw that kiss.”

I hold her brother’s gaze. Lorenzo’s fingers have come to a momentary halt.