Page 59 of Corrupted Empire

I need to get ahead of this. I don’t know yet whatthisis, but I need to be prepared for whatever Ruby has planned. She didn’t come here today because she wanted a chat.

I call around to a couple of the street reporters I have brought on board to look into the Cartel. They are people I can trust. I am already paying them a lot, but I offer even more for them to look into Ruby Flint too and see what kind of dirt they can bring up.

By the time I’m done, it’s time for lunch, and I have to race out of my office to meet Gabriel in the lobby. The elevator doors open to him checking his watch, and he gives me an irritated look as I jog across the marble toward him.

“I’m sorry!” I say. “I got caught up.”

He sighs, but threads his hand through mine. “It’s fine. You’re the one who has to answer to Clara if we’re late.”

On the way to the restaurant I consider telling him about my run-in with Ruby. I know that I should. If she is planning something, the more Gabriel knows, the better. But I’m too embarrassed. I let her get to me today, and if I tell Gabriel that it will undermine all the work I have been doing to make him trust me. To make him view me as his equal. He needs to think I’m stone-cold and tough, and I don’t feel like that right now.

We make it to the restaurant, and by then I’ve missed my chance. Clara is waiting for us with Harry, and I am grateful for the opportunity to talk about something other than work.

Clara fills us in on what she and Harry have been up to today (a long walk with her adoring security detail, and some baby yoga—whatever that is), and I can’t believe how happy she seems. As well as helping me out from time to time, she has started working at the rehab centers again and is planning to take on teaching a few yoga classes soon. My best friend is the most resilient person in the world. She amazes me every single day.

I wonder if she would be disappointed in me too.

21

Gabriel

I check the magazine of my gun. Satisfied with the level of ammo, I slide it back into the grip and look over at Silvano. “Are you ready?”

He nods.

I look over my shoulder at Antonio and Dom, who are wedged in the back seat of the car. “You guys good?”

They both nod.

“Let’s go make some Irish stew,” Dom says with a grin.

We step out of the car and cross the street to O’Neill’s. The Irish bar is a hot spot for Irish criminal activity, and on any given day you can walk in and find a member of Kevin Lynch’s gang. Today, however, there are only two thugs we are interested in, and as I shove my gun into the back of my pants, the bloodthirsty part of me hopes that they make things difficult.

Antonio kicks through the front door. The poor girl behind the bar screams, and the two men we followed here shoot up from their table, guns drawn. It’s ten in the morning, and the only other patrons are a red-faced old man and a young tourist couple.

“Everyone get out!” I roar.

The tourists make a run for it, but the old man doesn’t move. Dom ends up going to help him up, and as the two of them hobble toward the door, the Irish thugs keep their guns pointed on us. And we keep ours on them.

“You too, sweetheart,” Antonio says to the bartender. “And don’t do anything stupid like call the police. We will try not to leave a mess.”

She won’t call the police. She will call her boss, who will then call Kevin Lynch, but by the time he does something about it, we will be long gone.

“What the fuck do you want?” the taller of the two Irishmen asks. He’s bald, with a paunch sticking out over the top of his belt. The other is the opposite, still fairly tall but beanpole skinny. They’re both lower-downs. We followed them back here from a handoff with the Cartel.

They have two guns on us, and we have two guns on them, and the air between us is thick with tension.

“We just have a couple of questions for you,” I reply breezily. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Neither of them does. I watch a bead of sweat roll down the fat one’s forehead. Dom comes back, adding a third gun on our side of the equation, and this only makes them both more nervous.

“We won’t hurt you unless we have to,” Antonio says. “We saw how things went down with The Cartel earlier. It looks like you’ve taken enough punishment today.”

Both of their faces flush with embarrassment. Mine would too if my enemy had watched me get pistol-whipped by the Cartel after presumably delivering less dough than usual.

“Why don’t you sit,” I repeat, pointing my gun at the table.

The pair look at each other, and then slump into their chairs, setting their guns on the table and pulling their beers back toward them. I shove my gun into the back of my pants as a gesture of goodwill and pull up a chair.

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