“Listen, bitch,” I snarl. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you might want to think for a second about who I am. What I can do. You ought to be careful what you say around me if you want to avoid any trouble.”
I freeze, horrified at what I’ve just said, but it’s too late.
Ruby smiles knowingly. “It’s been nice talking to you, Alexis.”
She saunters out of my office without so much of a backward glance, and only once she’s gone do I sink back into my chair and release a long, frustrated groan.
What have I done? I was supposed to keep my cool. Gabriel would have.
Fuck.
I need to get ahead of this. I don’t know yet what this is, but I need to be prepared for whatever Ruby has planned. She didn’t come here today because she wanted a chat.
I call around to a couple of the street reporters I have brought on board to look into the Cartel. They are people I can trust. I am already paying them a lot, but I offer even more for them to look into Ruby Flint too and see what kind of dirt they can bring up.
By the time I’m done, it’s time for lunch, and I have to race out of my office to meet Gabriel in the lobby. The elevator doors open to him checking his watch, and he gives me an irritated look as I jog across the marble toward him.
“I’m sorry!” I say. “I got caught up.”
He sighs, but threads his hand through mine. “It’s fine. You’re the one who has to answer to Clara if we’re late.”
On the way to the restaurant I consider telling him about my run-in with Ruby. I know that I should. If she is planning something, the more Gabriel knows, the better. But I’m too embarrassed. I let her get to me today, and if I tell Gabriel that it will undermine all the work I have been doing to make him trust me. To make him view me as his equal. He needs to think I’m stone-cold and tough, and I don’t feel like that right now.
We make it to the restaurant, and by then I’ve missed my chance. Clara is waiting for us with Harry, and I am grateful for the opportunity to talk about something other than work.
Clara fills us in on what she and Harry have been up to today (a long walk with her adoring security detail, and some baby yoga—whatever that is), and I can’t believe how happy she seems. As well as helping me out from time to time, she has started working at the rehab centers again and is planning to take on teaching a few yoga classes soon. My best friend is the most resilient person in the world. She amazes me every single day.
I wonder if she would be disappointed in me too.
21
Gabriel
I check the magazine of my gun. Satisfied with the level of ammo, I slide it back into the grip and look over at Silvano. “Are you ready?”
He nods.
I look over my shoulder at Antonio and Dom, who are wedged in the back seat of the car. “You guys good?”
They both nod.
“Let’s go make some Irish stew,” Dom says with a grin.
We step out of the car and cross the street to O’Neill’s. The Irish bar is a hot spot for Irish criminal activity, and on any given day you can walk in and find a member of Kevin Lynch’s gang. Today, however, there are only two thugs we are interested in, and as I shove my gun into the back of my pants, the bloodthirsty part of me hopes that they make things difficult.
Antonio kicks through the front door. The poor girl behind the bar screams, and the two men we followed here shoot up from their table, guns drawn. It’s ten in the morning, and the only other patrons are a red-faced old man and a young tourist couple.
“Everyone get out!” I roar.
The tourists make a run for it, but the old man doesn’t move. Dom ends up going to help him up, and as the two of them hobble toward the door, the Irish thugs keep their guns pointed on us. And we keep ours on them.
“You too, sweetheart,” Antonio says to the bartender. “And don’t do anything stupid like call the police. We will try not to leave a mess.”
She won’t call the police. She will call her boss, who will then call Kevin Lynch, but by the time he does something about it, we will be long gone.
“What the fuck do you want?” the taller of the two Irishmen asks. He’s bald, with a paunch sticking out over the top of his belt. The other is the opposite, still fairly tall but beanpole skinny. They’re both lower-downs. We followed them back here from a handoff with the Cartel.
They have two guns on us, and we have two guns on them, and the air between us is thick with tension.
“We just have a couple of questions for you,” I reply breezily. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
Neither of them does. I watch a bead of sweat roll down the fat one’s forehead. Dom comes back, adding a third gun on our side of the equation, and this only makes them both more nervous.
“We won’t hurt you unless we have to,” Antonio says. “We saw how things went down with The Cartel earlier. It looks like you’ve taken enough punishment today.”
Both of their faces flush with embarrassment. Mine would too if my enemy had watched me get pistol-whipped by the Cartel after presumably delivering less dough than usual.
“Why don’t you sit,” I repeat, pointing my gun at the table.
The pair look at each other, and then slump into their chairs, setting their guns on the table and pulling their beers back toward them. I shove my gun into the back of my pants as a gesture of goodwill and pull up a chair.
“Those Cartel assholes made fools out of you today,” I tell them.
Neither one meets my eye. They know.
“I think we can help each other,” I say. “I want the Cartel gone even more than you do, and I have the resources to achieve that goal. What I don’t have, however, is the right kind of knowledge.”
“We won’t squeal,” the bald one mumbles pathetically.
I think that they will squeal. I really do.
“Of course not,” I say in a calming voice. “I only need one thing from you, one small little thing. Then you can go back to your beer.”
“What is it?” Beanpole asks, lips tugged into a taut grimace.
“I just need to know where Kevin Lynch is,” I say simply. “That’s all.”
Both of them shake their heads, and I hear Dom and Antonio cock their guns. I shoot them a warning glance.
“Listen, guys.” I lean closer, as though we are all buddies. “Kevin Lynch is a traitor to your organization. He has completely sold you out to Felicity Huffman and her goons. Do you really want to follow someone like him? Who doesn’t give a shit about you?” I lean back, chuckling. “Fuck, I remember only a few months ago half of you committed treason just because you didn’t like that Patrick Walsh was working with me. And now someone else is in complete control of everything you do, is beating the crap out of you whenever they feel like it, and you won’t lift a finger to stop it?”
A lightbulb clicks on behind the fat one’s eyes. He glances over at Beanpole. “Come on, Callum. What do we really have to lose?”
“If they find out it was us…” Callum growls.
“They won’t,” I assure. “All you need to do is give me a location, and then I’ll be out of here. I will never tell another soul where I got it from.”