Page 22 of Mob Bride

“I’ll let you try. But the moment he gives you any shite, you come to me, and we deal with it as a family.”

We all learned a few years ago, anytime anyone in any of the syndicate families tries to do something on their own, it all goes to shite. We’re all better off sticking together as a family and working as one unit.

“I will. Just give me a day or two to figure out what’s going on.”

“All right, two days, but I want to report in the morning, and I want a report tomorrow night.”

“I know. I’ll let you all know what’s going on once I have more info, or I’ll let you know I have nothing.”

We hang up, and I pull up to the garage where we keep our fleet of SUVs and cars like the Corolla. They’re not beater cars, but they’re close to it. I hand over the keys to the guy on shift today and get into my car. I want to know where Carys went, so I pull up the app on my phone.

What she doesn’t know is I dropped a tracker under her seat while she had her eyes closed. It’s already pinging to let me know where she is. She’s headed to Greenpoint, which has traditionally been an Eastern European—particularly Polish—neighborhood. Some gentrification has made it more hipster, but that’s Bartlomiej’s area. If she believes she’s not done spying on them, she didn’t learn her lesson.

I make my way over there and follow the signal to a parking structure where I see Carys getting out of her car. She must have driven around for a while before coming here, otherwise, she should have arrived at least twenty minutes ago. She’s on the phone, but she’s looking around. I pull up alongside her and roll down my window. She almost stumbles as she catches sight of me, barely catching herself before she trips.

I don’t know who she’s talking to. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but she gets off the phone in a hurry. She looks aroundand spots the nearby subway station. I’m already turning off the car as she makes a dash for it. I’m out of the car, right on her heels. She’s down the escalator and through the turnstile faster than I expected. This woman definitely runs often, runs far, and runs fast. I’m right behind her, but she catches the subway right before it pulls out.

I’m stuck having to wait for the next one if I want to follow her, but the tracker was in her car, not on her, so I don’t know where she is now. I don’t know where she’s going, but she’s coming back here at some point. We’re near here because this is where she left her car.

I head to a coffee shop that opened a few minutes ago and order a drink and hang out by the window where I can see the subway stop. It’s two hours of me scrolling news articles and doing email before I see her reappear. Her dark head of hair is very distinct. There are few people with jet black hair and blue eyes. Once she’s on my side of the street, I’m ready to leave and trail her. I know she’s looking around, but I’m careful. She won’t see me until I want her to.

She heads into a much nicer apartment building than I expected. For this area, it’s definitely luxury. I watch her get on the elevator as I slip past the concierge who’s busy talking to an older couple. I watch the elevator until it stops.

Now I know what floor she’s on. I push the elevator button and wait for it, but it’s taking too long. Somebody’s going to notice. I glance around and spot the stairs. I take them up to the fourth floor. I’m not winded when I get where I’m going, but I’m definitely breathing a little harder. I run because it’s good for me and necessary—as today proved—not because I enjoy it. I already did my cardio this morning, so I’m over this bullshit. I’m walking wherever I’m going next.

I hear a door close, so I make a beeline for it. I put my ear to it and detect some movement. I stand close enough to thepeephole she won’t see my face as I knock, not wanting her to refuse categorically because it’s me. I don’t want to be so loud as to draw attention from her neighbors, but I want it loud enough she knows I’m not giving up. I’m certain she knows it’s me, but there’s a long pause before I hear anything near the door. I wonder if she thinks it’s Jacek instead of me.

“Carys, open the door. Let me in.” I lean away from the peephole and give her a meaningful scowl.

I hear her unlock the door and open it just wide enough to hiss at me.

“You need to get the fuck out of here before somebody sees us together, which is already bad enough since Jacek did. You trying to get me killed?”

I press my hand against the door, putting some weight against it. I nudge it open. She doesn’t have the weight to block me if I decide to open it all the way. She backs up, letting me in, and that’s when I see the gun pointed at me for a fourth time.

“If you don’t stop pointing that at me, I’m going to take it from you. It’s not a toy.”

“What about my reaction to you—all four times I’ve pointed it at you—makes you think I think this is a toy? Go, Shane. It’s too dangerous for you to be here, and you’re going to get me killed. People talk, and I’m certain somebody’s seen you. They know you came up here to me. You’ve signed my death warrant.”

“Why does it matter who sees you here? Who here would know I’m a mobster?”

She stares at my red hair as though I’m an idiot. I have to admit with this still being a Polish mob territory, having an Irish mobster show up is enough to make anybody talk. And with my red hair and green eyes, there are few people in any syndicate-affiliated neighborhood who don’t know I’m an O’Rourke. They might not know which O’Rourke I am, but they know I’m one.

“Shane, please, I’m truly begging you. You have got to go. You said Jacek saw us. He’s going to tell Bartlomiej he saw us together.”

“If he saw us together, then he saw me run after you and tackle you. I didn’t give you a choice.”

“Yeah. And then he saw us talking, and he saw you following me with a gun drawn.”

“Just like you were.” I push the door shut behind me since—from the way Carys’s gaze keeps darting to it—leaving it open makes her more anxious.

“But I also know you kept checking behind us rather than pointing it at me. You were protecting me, just like I was protecting you.”

“Why does it matter what Jacek says about you? How does he even know who you are? Why were you near enough to him for him to attack you?” I can see that she’s debating what she wants to tell me.

There’s a definite look of dread that settles over her face.

“Wait here a moment. I need to get something. I need to show you why I was there and why you being in my apartment isn’t a good idea for either of us.”

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