Page 60 of Lucky Strike

Benny’s is Heath’s sports bar, one of two in the city. They’ve been connected to illegal betting since the 80s, and they still thrive in that regard despite the recent legalization of sports betting. Now they make a mint off the up-and-up stuff as well as the shady shit.

He nods, picking up his cell phone. “Keep me updated, all right? I want to hear what’s going on from you, not the streets.”

“Just go,”Tristan says. “Nothing’s happening around here, and I know you miss them.”

“Them?” I ask absently, shuffling through the chaos on my desk for the sheath of papers I know I placed there. This bullshit with the Sokolovs has me so distracted that I missed my self-imposed deadline to get the firm’s biggest client—myclient—his latest portfolio report. I have to get it together. Letting the quality of my work suffer at my real job is not an option.

“Liam,” he says,moving a paperweight around my desk. “And Bria.” My eyes flash to his. The corner of his mouth quirks in an impish grin. “Don’t deny it.”

“I do miss Liam,” I agree, finally locating the report. Stuffing it into a manila envelope, I scribble an address onto the front. “Give me a minute. I have to call the courier so this gets delivered before five.”

Tristan plops into his favorite chair, hands bracketed behind his head. “I’m amazed that, in this day and age, people still use couriers. If he’s gonna be old-fashioned, he could’ve just asked you to fax it.”

“Believe me, I tried,” I say. “But some clients prefer hard copy.”

Once that fire is put out, I check in with Dad and then Johnny, making sure there hasn’t been any funny business down at Conley Terminal. “Don’t worry, Lucky. It’s been quiet as a tomb,” Johnny says. “Murphy has a couple of guys on shift out on the street, but we don’t even need ‘em.”

Better to have them and not need them, even if I do hate asking Heath Murphy for anything at all. Can’t let common sense be blinded by pride. Besides, if letting the Murphys be involved improves relations between our families, it’s a win.

I have a couple of guys keeping an eye on the townhouse now, too. At least until I can make sure the alarm system glitch was just that: a glitch.

Wanting to avoid any possible detection, I wait until rush hour and then drive to the Necco Street garage to switch cars. Once I’m in my Lexus, a nondescript gray sedan with blacked-out windows, I join the masses escaping the city for the weekend. Crawling along at fifteen miles an hour blows, but the crowding affords me anonymity. I have no idea if the Bratva—or anybody else—has eyes on me or my guys at the moment, but I’m playing it safe until we figure out what’s going on.

The traffic lightens up as I get farther from Boston only to get busy again as I approach Cape Cod. It’s summer. Everybody wants to be at the beach.

I haven’t been to this part of the coast in a while. I bought the beach house in Mashpee partly as an investment and partly because I wanted Liam to have his version of the country house in Winchester. Some of the best memories of my life were in that house. Liam doesn’t havesiblings to share the beach house with, but hopefully one day, he’ll have cousins. And, when he’s older, he can bring his friends.

Tristan sends updates every once in a while, keeping me abreast on the situation at Conley Terminal’s docks as well as my place. I don’t necessarily trust the quiet—it can be deceiving—but I have faith in my brother and the rest of my circle to handle shit while I’m gone. The Sokolovs have kept a low profile since our altercation, and there haven’t been any more stolen guns, but the alarm system disarming itself nags at me. I won’t be able to relax until I know for sure it wasn’t hacked.

It's just after six by the time I pull into the driveway. Terry and Mitch know I’m coming, but I didn’t tell Liam because he latches on to plans like super glue and I would’ve hated disappointing him if something came up. I didn’t want to disappoint Bria, either. She doesn’t say it, but I can tell it bothers her that I’m away from Liam so much.

Inside, the house is quiet. I leave my shoes and bag on the floor and head for the back deck, where the fresh, salty wind hits me as soon as I step through the French doors. Terry’s looking out at the water, his elbows balanced on the rail. He peeks over his shoulder at the sound of the door, giving me a salute. “’Sup, boss?”

“What’s up, man?” I join him, looking down at the beach where Liam’s chasing Bria along the water’s edge. She’s wearing a deep green bathing suit that looks incredible against her skin, which has deepened from light brown into a sun-kissed bronze. Her hair is down, her curls flying behind her as she runs away. Spinning around, she reverses course and starts after Liam, who doesn’t even stand a chance, he’s giggling so hard. His happiness cracks my heart open.

“She’s real good with him,” Terry says, nodding. “They play all the time like that.” Farther down, Mitch’s figure cuts a silhouette as he walks along the beach with Shelby and Bacon. There are a couple of other houses along this stretch, but they’re all spread out, lending a feeling of privacy.

“Yeah, she’s pretty great.” Below, Liam shouts as Bria catches him. “Thanks for keeping an eye on ‘em for me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

I bend to roll up my jeans. “Feel free to go into town when Mitch comes back, if you want. Get something to eat, have a beer.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

I jog down the weathered wooden steps leading to the beach. A smile lights up Bria’s face when she notices me, and Liam whoops, sprinting across the wheat-colored sand, his cheeks tan and rosy. “Dad! Dad!”

“Hey, buddy.” The crack in my heart cleaves completely, leaving me raw. I catch him in my arms and hold him close, pressing my nose to his damp, salty hair. He smells like sunscreen. Bacon lopes over, sniffing my bare feet.

“You’re here, Dad.” Liam grins widely, holding my face between his sandy palms. “Why’d you come?”

“’Cause I missed you too much. Boston’s boring without you.” He nods, wrapping his arms around my neck and his legs around my waist like a chimpanzee. Laughing, I squeeze him as I walk the two of us back to the water’s edge, where Bria’s drawing half circles in the wet sand with her toes. “Hey.”

Her eyes flash to mine, glowing like melting honey in the low sunlight. “Hey. Glad you made it out.”

“Yeah, Dad.” Liam kicks his legs, just once. “Glad you made it out.”

“Doyou want something to drink, Liam?” Bria calls from the kitchen, where she’s preparing pan-fried flounder, salad, and baked potatoes.

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