Page 59 of Irish Reign

“Let us not waste any more time,” Russo says.

He turns back to the gallery door, clearly assuming I’ll obey him. Returning his finger to the electronic pad, he lowers his face to the retina scanner. But when the door glides open, I say, “Let Liam clear the gallery. Once he’s confirmed there are no weapons in there, he’ll wait outside.”

It’s a dangerous compromise. Even if Liam confirms there are no weapons insight, the gallery holds hundreds of cases of stolen goods. Any one of them could hide a firearm—and I have no doubt Russo can kill with his bare hands.

But that tax document… The chance to verify I’m on the right path as I work toward Russo’s downfall…

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “I am afraid that will not?—”

Liam bulls past him.

It’s clearly against freeport policy, invading the private gallery of a client. But Russo’s reaction shoots a warning arrow down my spine. He bellows in outrage at Liam’s interference: “You have no right!”

A bitter taste numbs the back of my throat, and my fingertips tingle. Every cell in my body orders me to flee.

But if I flee, I’ll never know what happens to Liam.

I won’t know if Russo will actually fire the pistol he’s raked from the small of his back.

And I’ll have no idea who the man is standing inside the gallery. The one beside the hospital table, wearing a white coat. The one holding a gun of his very own.

26

SAMANTHA

Liam produces the pistol I’ve always known he keeps in a shoulder holster under his jacket. He’s aiming it now, arms rigid with his two-handed grip. His attention shifts from Russo to the stranger inside the gallery and back again, but then he settles all his concentration on the Mafia boss.

“Get out of here, Samantha,” he says, not bothering to look at me.

“That would be a mistake, Giovanna,” Russo says, like we’re doing nothing more important than swapping recipes. He’s still pointing his weapon at Liam.

Without shifting his own aim, Liam juts his chin toward the unknown man. “Put it down and back away from the table.”

The man does nothing.

Continuing to aim at Russo, Liam orders the stranger: “Put it down, shitehawk!”

The man remains frozen until Russo says, “Put down the gun, Paolo.”

The stranger—Paolo—places his weapon on the table before he backs away. He takes three large steps with his hands over his head.

“You do not understand,” Russo says to Liam.

“I understand you wanted Herself in here. Without me. Alone with you and that dry shite.”

Russo glances at me. “Pat your dog on the head, Giovanna. Give him a bone and send him away.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” My voice is steadier than I expect after a lifetime of dreading Russo.

“Because I will not explain a thing while a gun is pointed at me. Because you want to know what I have to say.”

“Who is that man?” I ask, nodding toward Paolo. “What were you going to do to me?”

“Nothing you do not allow,” Russo says.

“Bollocks,” Liam says, which makes Russo frown, as if he smells sewer gas.

My cousin Eliza didn’t consent to Russo shoving a gun between her legs. “Whatpermissioncan you possibly think I’ll give?”

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