Page 19 of Irish Reign

“Stop,” Braiden says, his voice low and gritty.

“I’m not wearing my collar now,” I point out.

“You’re not taking Aiofe out of this hotel.”

“Then what’syourplan?”

“My plan?”

“Will you keep her under lock and key forever?”

“You, of all people, know it’s not safe out there.”

I set my knife and fork across the edge of my plate. “Of all people?” I ask, with deadly precision.

He leans back in his chair. “You want me to spell it out? All right. One. Kieran Ingram put a price on your head. Two. Madden did his level best to take you out. Three. Antonio Russo is stirring again. He boosted one of my trucks last night, a fullload of electronics. Left a good man knocked out by the side of the road.”

I didn’t know about Russo. But I’m ready to fight back on the other two points. “Kieran Ingram’s dead. Who’s in charge of Boston now?”

His mouth twists like he smells something foul. “No one. Not yet.”

“And who’s running the Grand Irish Union?”

“Don’t push me, woman.”

I don’t back down. “Who’s running the Union?”

“No one. Not until the captains gather for a vote.”

“So Ingram’s clan and the Union are in chaos. They’re fighting for their own territory, finding their own boss. No one has the resources to come down here from Boston. Not now.”

“You can’t be certain of that. My job is to keep you safe.”

“No,” I tell him, and I make my voice gentle because I need him to hear me. I need him to understand. “Your job is to run the Fishtown Boys. And you can’t do that if you let ghosts run you.”

He’s not ready to give in yet. “Madden?—”

“We both know Madden isn’t a threat anymore.” I glance at the bedroom door. Aiofe already knows too much about her uncle’s last hour on earth. I don’t want to give her more fuel for nightmares.

“He was working with Russo.”

“How many men do you have watching Russo, at this very moment?”

Braiden looks away.

“Two?” I push. “Four? A dozen?”

“I have men watching Russo,” he concedes.

“And how many men could you assign to guard us, if Aiofe and I went to the Liberty Bell?”

“There is no reason on earth why the two of you need to see a giant cracked bell.”

“You’re wrong,” I tell him. “There’s every reason. Aiofe needs help. She’s talking, and that’s a miracle. But she lost Birte. She lost Grace. She even lost her tutor. She has nightmares—just ask Fairfax. She needs something—some structure, some rules.”

He snorts.

“Dammit, Braiden, don’t do that. You gotyourrules back last night. Are you going to say you don’t feel better this morning?”

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