Page 30 of The Celtic Resolution
Painfully sound logic, I hate to admit.
“So we l–looked elsewhere. And then the Italians made a deal.”
I stand abruptly. “What Italians?”
“D-Del Prete?—”
“Bullshit!” I storm forward. “Del Prete wouldn’t have a hand in something so disgusting as this.” Not after what happened to Mary. There’s no way my father would allow something this sick to stain his hands.
“Did you ever meet Del Prete?” Saoirse demands.
“No,” the man croaks. “Jus’ some others, but they had pins.” He lifts his swollen, fogged gaze to my eyes. “Barati pins.”
“You lie!”
“Bruno!” Saoirse stops me from surging forward to wrap my fists around that scrawny liar's throat and I swear he smirks at me, which only infuriates me further.
“He’s lying!”
“Listen, if what you claim is right and that your father is being framed then of course they’ll be using recognizable names and pins, right? How else would they appear legit?”
I hate that she makes sense and after she pats my cheek, I pull myself back. “Fine.”
“I’m going to need every name and every face you ever had dealings with, understand?” Saoirse turns back to our captive. “Your little human trafficking ring isn’t going to last long.”
“Little?” A throaty, weak laugh erupts from him. “We’re not little. You’re in way too deep, little girl. But did you want the Italians' names or the Irish as well?”
Her hands, halfway toward him, pause. “What?”
His laugh gets louder, like air rushing through a paper bag. “You think your clan is clean? No, no, no.” He chokes suddenly and coughs up a mouthful of blood that splatters onto his bare thighs. “Italian drugs do most of the work. Get the productaddicted and they’ll do anything. They sign away their homes, their lives, their banks. Irish weapons are a nice gift to send along with them so no one knows what’s really in the crate.”
Saoirse’s shoulders tense into a rigid line. “You should be very careful about what you say next,” she warns, her voice low. “The accusations you’re throwing around aren’t working in your favor.”
“What reason do I have to lie?” He coughs harshly. “I won’t die protecting Italian or Irish blood.” He spits in my direction. “Scum. Fucking scum. At least we own what we do. But you lot hide like roaches. You really think you can do anything to stop us? To stop them?” His smile turns slim and cold. “Without witnesses, you’ve gotnothing.”
“No…” Saoirse suddenly turns and sprints out of the room, leaving me alone with the wheezing, dying triad.
I want to go after her but leaving this guy alone feels like a bad idea. We remain face to face and his smile turns sinister. “You. I don’t know you.”
“No one does.”
“You a Del Prete? That why you ask?”
“Italian blood is all you need to know.”
“So fucking pretentious,” he wheezes. “If Del Prete wasn’t such a big dog, we’d have killed him for how he acts like he’s better than us.”
“You said you’d never met him.” Warmth prickles up the back of my neck.
“I haven’t,” he replies throatily. “But he has a reputation. Big man. Angry all the time. Always about the money, all he cares about.”
My father is tall, butbigisn’t how I would describe him. And we’re rich. Money hardly drives him. At least it didn’t fourteen years ago.
“You son of a bitch!” Saoirse comes storming back into the room with her phone in her hand, drawing my attention away from the Triad.
“What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
Her grip on the phone is so tight that her knuckles are pure white and she stops in front of me with an array of emotions flitting through her eyes, everything from anger to upset. “They’re gone.”
