Page 25 of Irish Reign

Of course he knows Samantha. She’s his lawyer too, at least for all his freeport deals. But I still have to fight the urge to shove his juice glass down his feckin’ throat at his presuming to know what Samantha wants.

Instead, I shrug, as if my promise to leave the hotel isn’t important. “She wants bigger closets.”

Best gives me a look that says he doesn’t buy my lie for a second. But he says, “I’ve got a man. He can look over any place you’re thinking about buying, give you a run down on the security pros and cons. He can supervise whatever work you decide to put into the place.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

We spend the rest of the flight talking about meaningless shite—hockey playoffs where his Washington Capitals annihilated my Philadelphia Flyers, the Fed’s idiotic waffling on interest rates, Elon’s latest rocket to blow up on the launch pad.We’re just two billionaires enjoying a day off, and neither one of us has ever dreamed of breaking a law in our lives.

I’ve kept an eye on the window the whole time we’ve been in the air. We’ve traveled south from Dover, with the sun on our left. Two hours after take-off, we’re touching down at a tiny airstrip—there isn’t even a control tower. A sign on the one building in sight announces we’ve arrived at Daniel Field.

Six luxury town cars wait by the runway, trunks open. We approach like kids on Christmas morning. I’m not surprised that Gage Rider finds his prize first.

The former hockey player whoops as he lifts a leather bag out of the trunk. It looks heavy, which makes sense, because it holds fourteen golf clubs along with—as Rider quickly displays—balls, tees, gloves, towels, and a miniature first aid kit.

“Gentlemen,” Trap Prince says, with a gloating smile. “Welcome to Augusta National.”

He deserves the gloat. The club is famously closed to the public. The Masters was played here just weeks ago, every blade of grass manicured to perfection for the days-long televised orgy. There are just three hundred members, and they’re only allowed on the course from October to May. Each member is allowed to invite four friends for a single round of golf each year.

There are twelve of us in the Diamond Ring. That means Prince found three Augusta members to invite us in as guests.Boughtthree members, more likely.

By the time we arrive at the first tee, boasting is in high gear. I’ve spent some time on golf courses—more, before I took over the Fishtown Boys from Da. But my fourteen handicap is nothing compared to Rider’s four.

Prince divides us into foursomes and reminds us we’re responsible for making good on our own bets. Dubois immediately starts in with his group, calling for Dots, his bettinggame of choice. He sounds like an eejit, going on about barkies and pinnies and poleys.

Cole Wolf looks at Torrington, Weber, and me and suggests, “Hundred grand a hole?” We shake on it, and Weber tees off.

Torrington takes the first hole. Wolf and Weber tie the second, carrying over the bet. A gust of wind makes me lucky on the third.

I wait until we’re walking to the fourth tee before I ask Wolf, “Say you were wiring a new house to block electronic surveillance.”

“New to you? Or new construction?”

I’ve learned my lesson from Best. “Both.”

Wolf nods. He’s not big on wasting words.

I’ve been a lot more concerned about the feds getting into my business than I have been about other crime bosses hacking their way in. But by the ninth hole, Wolf has convinced me I’ve been looking at it all wrong. Criminals like me arealwaysa concern.

“So, how many guys like you are out there?” I ask Wolf. “Who else would Russo hire?”

“There’s no one like me,” Wolf says, as we watch Torrington drop one onto the green. “But three, maybe four pretend to do what I can.”

“You’ve got a man? Someone in Philly who can do the work once I’ve found a place?”

Wolf shakes his head. “I don’t play well with others. You hire Wolf Hall, you hire me.”

He’ll cost a fortune. And Declan, my clan’s long-time computer expert, won’t be thrilled. But it’ll be worth it, if I’m certain the new place is secure. We shake on it and Wolf steps up to the tee.

Prince knew what he was doing, dividing us into groups of four by nearly equal skill. We trade off holes on the back nine. Imanage to birdie fifteen, but I’m out three hundred grand at the end of the day.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t think twice about the loss. But as they say, one hundred grand here, one hundred there, soon we’re talking about real money. I tell myself it’s only cash flow. I’ve still got a grip on my finances.

Prince picks up the first round of drinks in the clubhouse. I take my time, working my way across the room to where Connor Boyle is watching the other members of the Ring. He holds his massive shoulders perfectly still. Only his eyes move, as if he’s weighing danger.

I touch my Jameson to his Guinness. “Good day on the links?”

“Dubois’s a right eejit, when it comes to betting.”

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