Page 7 of The Celtic Resolution
“And last month at the ball, I snuck into Domenico’s office and found nothing but the tracking number of one of the drug shipments they sent us the month prior.”
“This is news because?”
“Because on his records, the drugs arrived, but I know for a fact that they didn’t. I remember chasing it up because the stupid tracking number was like eight and six for seven numbers in a row and it was fucking with my eyes.”
“Told ya you need glasses.”
“Fuck off.”
“Truth hurts.”
“Anyway,” I sigh deeply and resume shoving the dirt from the stall. “It was definitely a package that didn’t reach us, but we got a replacement and extra as an apology.”
“What are you thinking, glitch in the system?”
“Maybe, but it bugs me, y’know?” Filling Cormac in highlights just how little information I’ve gathered, and frustration fuels my next sweeping shovel. “On the surface, it looks like a mistake, like all the others. But for nearly six months, this has been happening more and more frequently. Missing drugs here and there, delayed weapons, the trouble at the border, even one of our ships going way off course. And on top of that, they pay us late sometimes and people have been going missing.”
“Saoirse, you know how common it is for people to flit in and out of this line of work. Especially the grunts lower down. They make a quick buck and run off to a new life.”
“I know. I know.”
“But you still think this is something?” Cormac continues to watch me from his stall, and when I nod, he sets his fork aside and walks toward me. “Then pursue it. I know you. Your brain puts shit together faster than mine and if you think there is something here, then go all in. Do what you have to do. Butquietly.”
I finish shoveling by the time he reaches me and shove strands of hair away from my sweaty forehead to see him clearer. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t want the Italians getting wind that we don’t trust them, and I can’t bring this to Rocky until you have something more concrete. The treaty’s been threatened once before, and I doubt it’ll survive another round. But I’d rather you find out, if there is something, than sit back and have shit quietly unravel under my nose. This world isn’t black and white, so if you tell me it’s something, I’ll give you the resources you need.”
My heart rate picks up as if I’m suddenly facing down an old school teacher ready to face accusations of someone else’s troublemaking. Cormac’s putting a lot of trust in me, not just as his underboss, but as his sister. Our relationship with the Italians has survived a lot, but this world is fragile. One word in the wrong ear and everything crumbles.
“I think it’s something.”
He clasps my shoulder and smiles. “Then come back to me when you can prove it.”
Cormac returns to shoveling the shit out of the stall while I finish up my side. My mind runs with all the tiny pieces I’ve gathered so far. None of them fit together, and part of me hopes they really are nothing. Maybe the Italians have just hit a badadministration patch and several unrelated incidents just make it look like there’s an issue.
That’s the ideal outcome.
Finishing up, I store my equipment and trek back to the ranch house where my mother, Clodagh, greets me with a wide smile and flour-covered hands. “Be a gem and open the oven for me, would you?”
“My hands are filthy,” I warn her.
“Doesn’t matter.” She chuckles. “We’ve all contaminated our fair share, and you’re not touching food.”
I oblige her request and open the oven for her, earning myself a short burst of smothering hot air in my face. She leans past me and slides what looks to be a homemade pie into the oven, then motions for me to close the door. “Are you both done with the stables?”
“I am. Cormac was slacking so he’ll be some time.” I beeline for the sink and shove my dirty hands under the stream of hot water. “Mom, have you thought about hiring someone else to help out here? I haven’t been able to visit as often as I want to, and I worry about you out here alone.”
“Oh, Saoirse, I’m hardly alone. Cian visits almost every weekend, and Evelyn drops by regularly with her little one. And I have plenty of staff, so don’t you worry.” She appears next to me smelling of sweet fruits and pastry dough. Flour clings to her weathered cheek and dusts over her wiry gray hair. “It’s not me who should be worried about being alone.”
Oh, here we go.
“Mom—”
“I’m just saying.” She grins. “When am I going to have you coming home with a nice man on your arm, hmm?”
“Given how this family finds their romantic partners, I’m not sure I ever will,” I reply as I thoroughly scrub my hands.
“Please don’t talk like that. I don’t want you to miss out on one of the great joys of life.”
