Page 40 of Hidden Heir

Galeazzo grasps my hand in his meaty fist and shakes. “Excellent.”

As I leave the meeting and that extortionate deal behind, Selina lights up my phone with a call. I ignore it as I check the updates from Rik. He informs me that Brooke has been resting and has eaten. All in all, she’s better than she was a few days ago when that picture was sent.

I answer Selina.

“How did it go?” she asks as I walk toward my car.

“Father won’t be happy,” I reply. “But the deal is secure. Honestly, I think I could take over their entire shipment if I gave them enough money.”

“I’m not surprised,” she says. “Galeazzo has always been a greedy fuck. He exists for dollar signs in his eyes.”

“Isn’t that the truth.”

“I have an update for you on the Irish.”

“Hit me.”

Selina fills me in as I slide into the car and order the diver to take me home. “The Murphys are on the move. You remember the rumblings about a misplaced shipment within the smaller families, right? Well, it turns out they have been doing everything they can to keep it quiet. But it hasn’t worked, and the Murphys sent some people into the city to find out exactly what’s going on.”

“Shit. The Murphys haven’t moved in decades.” The Murphys were the oldest Irish clan still in existence, a quiet power that held the respect of hundreds of families regardless of affiliation. For them to make a move, something big was happening.

“Well.” Selina almost sounds too excited as she speaks. “I spoke to my informant. It turns out the Conti family—you remember them from a few years ago—greasy, tried to make some grand gesture with those motorcycles that couldn’t make it ten miles?”

“Oh fuck yeah, I remember.”

“Apparently, they’ve gone and lost a shit load of drugs. And the chaos they’ve been causing trying to get it all back has kicked up such a shit bucket with the Italians that the Murphys are in town to make peace.”

“No shit. How much are we talking?”

“Not sure exactly, but there is one number being tossed around.”

Seven hundred andfifty thousand dollars.

A small sum in my line of work but to others, it’s a life-changing amount. It’s no coincidence that the amount the Irish have misplaced and the amount Brooke asked me for are the same. There’s a connection there, I’m sure of it. But nothing about Brooke screams that she’s part of the Irish Mafia. If she was, she would know there is no safe haven for her.

Yet she came here.

To me.

The truth is there, buried beneath her lies, and I have to find a way to extract it. I need to know everything so I can make the best choice for all of us.

I intend to call her into my office as soon as I get home, but when I enter, rubbing my eyes, she’s already there.

“Brooke?”

“Leon.” She rises from the leather couch and immediately twists her hands together. “I hope it’s okay that I’m in here. I didn’t know when you would be back and I need to talk to you.”

“You could have asked Rik to call me.”

“I know.” She flashes an uncertain smile. “But I knew you were busy and didn’t want to disturb you.”

Shrugging off my suit jacket, I drape it over the closest chair and head to the wet bar. “What did you want to talk about?”

Brooke swallows hard. I’m not going to disclose what I know about the Irish yet. Something tells me that if I approach her in a way that makes her feel attacked, she’ll clam up and the truth will be lost forever. I have no problem keeping the Irish away but context is key.

“I thought about your offer,” she says quietly.

Pouring a Vodka, I turn back to her and move to lean against the edge of my desk. She’s lost a little of her spark which I can’t blame her given the nature of Hannah’s death. If it was the Irish that did that, things will make more sense.

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