Page 59 of Offside Bride

After a little while, when Maggie heads out to grab some wine and takeout for dinner, I seize the opportunity to talk to Siobhan alone. The moment the front door closes, I join her on the couch. She looks so tired.

“So,” I say. “What’s the latest on Dad’s situation?”

She lowers her voice even though we’re alone. “I talked to Uncle Whitey.”

My stomach tightens. Uncle Whitey’s always been around for as long as I can remember. He’d come over and give us candy. I always thought we were related. Turns out, he’s a criminal—just like Dad. And that makes me itchy.

“And?” I prompt, leaning forward.

“It’s…not great, Sawyer.” Siobhan bites her lip. “He’s turning informant.”

“Wha…what do mean informant? Like a stool pigeon?”

He’s just an accountant. A criminal accountant, but an accountant just the same. He’s not even an important member of the Irish mob.

Siobhan’s expression goes hard. “He’s looking for full immunity. He talks, and in return, the Feds give his business partners some breathing room.”

“Sheesh,” I mutter, “What’s his angle?”

“From what Uncle Whitey says, Dad’s brilliant plan is to shift the FBI’s focus onto the Italians. He thinks if he gives them enough dirt on their operations, the Feds will be too busy chasing them around while the Irish do whatever the Irish do.”

I let out a low whistle. “That’s a dangerous game he’s playing.”

“Yep.” Siobhan bites her thumbnail, her gaze drifting to the middle distance. “It’s like he’s trying to get us all whacked.”

I can feel my heart racing, a mix of anger and fear churning in my gut. This isn’t just some game of hockey where you can check your opponent and skate away. This is the freaking mafia we’re talking about.

“So, what do we do now?” I ask, running a hand through my hair.

Siobhan shrugs. “Keep our heads down, I guess. And maybe start learning Italian…you know, just in case we need to beg for our lives.”

“Pretty sure half the Italian mob have never been to Italy,” I say. She nods in agreement.

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of our father’s choices hanging heavy between us. I think about Maggie, about how I’ve dragged her into this mess without even realizing it.

I scratch the scruff on my chin trying to process everything Siobhan’s telling me. The whole situation with Dad is like a twisted game of chess, and I feel like we’re the pawns. He’s playing double agent, and we’re potentially in the crosshairs of not one, but two mafias. Fantastic.

“So, what about those weird messages you mentioned before?” I ask, trying to get as much information from her before Maggie gets home. “The ones from Dad?”

Siobhan’s eyes light up, a mix of excitement and frustration. “Oh man, those are driving me crazy!” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small box. “Look at this.”

She hands me what looks like a snow globe, but instead of snow, it’s filled with tiny four-leaf clovers. At the base, barely visible, is the word ‘Clover-girl’—Dad’s nickname for her.

“Cute,” I say, turning it over in my hands. “But what’s the message?”

“That’s just it,” Siobhan groans. “I have no idea. This is the third one I’ve gotten. There was a keychain with a miniature book inside, and before that, a bracelet etched with seemingly random strings of numbers and letters. I think they might be some kind of code, but I can’t crack it.”

“Maybe they’re just innocent gifts?” I suggest, knowing even as I say it how unlikely that is.

Siobhan shoots me a look. “Come on, Sawyer. When has Dad ever been the sentimental type? And why would he suddenly start sending me random knickknacks?”

“All right, all right,” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. “So what’s your theory?”

She leans in close, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if Otto would repeat any of it. “I think…I think he’s trying to tell us where he hid something. Something important.”

“Could be Lotto picks,” I say breezily, but Siobhan gives me a hard stare. “I’m just kidding. If anyone can figure it out, it’s you, Miss MIT brainiac.”

Probably why Dad chose to send the messages to her and not me.

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