Page 417 of Lodestar

“Democracy hasn’t been a part of ourrepublicfor a long time, Shay,” I said quietly. “You just need to read the news to see that.” As he bit his lip, gaze flickering once more between us, I continued, “Do you want to change that? Do you want the chance to make this country a better place?”

He swallowed, his still-forming Adam’s apple bobbing with the move, but his answer was definitive, sure,confident.“I do.”

Declan squeezed his son’s shoulder. “So be it.”

36

CONOR

“Anton,”I greeted. “This is my brother Aidan. Aidan, this is Anton.”

As both men shook hands, Anton stated, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Aidan. I have heard plenty about you.”

“Plenty? From Conor?”

“No. From the city itself.” Anton’s eyes, for the first time since our initial meeting, were cold. “There are plenty of whispers about you.”

“Brothers have infiltrated the Points?”

“No, but even I know the impossibility of keeping hundreds, if not thousands, of tongues still.” He sat back in the armchair in the whiskey club where he’d asked to meet with us. “I’ve heard you’re an aficionado of whiskey.”

“Aren’t most rich men?” Aidan mocked, in full self-deprecating mode.

Studying them both, I mused on how strange it was to see Aidan cornered. It happened so rarely now that Da was gone that it was unusual.

Apparently, his vice for whiskey was becoming infamous if both Star and her grandfather were using it against him—I’d need to guard against that.

As I made a mental note of my brother’s Achilles’ heel, Anton argued, “Not unsurprisingly, my vice is vodka.” He clicked his tongue. “Though I can appreciate a nice single malt.”

As if on cue, a waiter appeared out of nowhere with three empty glasses and a bottle on a tray.

As he served us, setting a small dish of dates stuffed with salted pistachios in the center of the table before departing, Anton explained, “The Glenlivet. From 1965.”

“Beautiful vintage,” Aidan agreed, twisting the cap on the fresh bottle and then pouring the three of us a couple fingers.

Raising the glass to his nose, he took a deep inhalation. His eyes closed as he savored the notes, and curious as always to see what was so damn good about it when it might as well have been air freshener to me, I lifted the glass to my nose too but failed to be impressed by the top notes of alcohol, alcohol, and alcohol.

Anton chuckled at my grimace. “You’re not a connoisseur, Conor?”

“Alcohol’s never tempted me.”

Aidan’s eyes popped open. “Conor’s biggest temptation is work.”

“Hardly,” I scoffed.

“You’re a workaholic. No matter what Star says about us cracking the whip on you—youchooseto work. Sure, you bore the burden without asking for it, but you thrive on it now.”

I scowled. “I don’t thrive on work.”

“When did you last do nothing for Acuig or the Five Points in a twenty-four-hour period?”

Scratching my nose with my middle finger and making sure he knew it was directed at him, I retorted, “Last Wednesday.”

After he took a sip that he clearly savored, he asked, “At no time on Wednesday you worked?” When my mouth tightened, he clicked his fingers. “Of course you did.”

I ignored his smug look.

“I’m not sure the leader of the Irish Mob spends much time resting on his laurels,” Anton mused, staring down into the amber liquid in his glass. “I’m well aware that you collect information on people?—”

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