Page 13 of Sweet Revenge
Pulling into the driveway, he punched the button for the tall, wrought iron gate and waited for it to swing in before pulling around the circular drive and into the garage beside his brother’s Jag. Reliving the past was pointless. She’d made her choices and he’d made his, and now they were both living with them.
Ignoring the mail one of the staff had left on a table by the door, Declan climbed the wide, carpeted stairs to the third floor. Glenmore House had been in the Callahan family for generations. Some great-great-grandfather had built it before the stock market crash of the ’20s, and it had been passed down to every first son and heir ever since.
Like everything else about the Callahan name and legacy, Declan took his responsibility to this house and its upkeep very seriously. Which is why he’d recently paid an exorbitant amount to restore the third floor from unkempt old servant’s quarters with peeling paint and drafty windows to updated staff rooms, a library his mother would have loved, and a sprawling tech lair for Brogan.
Indulging his brother’s natural affinity for technology had been another of his moves to drag the syndicate into the twenty-first century. His father had wasted Brogan’s time and talents on old-school listening devices and wiretaps. Why risk planting a bug for anyone to find when you could hack directly into a security camera for a live twenty-four-hour feed?
Rounding the corner toward Brogan’s windowless lair, Declan could already hear the hum of the machines. He didn’t understand how half the shit worked, but Brogan did, and that’s what mattered.
“What did we get?”
Brogan barely spared him a glance as he finished typing neon letters into a black box. When he was done, a black and white video popped up of cars rolling through an intersection. A traffic camera. Brogan dragged the video feed onto another screen and brought up a series of stills on the monitor closest to Declan.
“We confirmed his pattern, and it’s exactly what we expected.” He clicked through the images of DiMarco disappearing into a restaurant in Little Odessa.
“So he’s playing both sides with the Russians and the Italians.”
“Seems to be. Couldn’t prove anything for sure, though. Maybe the asshole just likes borscht.”
Brogan shrugged when Declan raised a brow.
“I want dirt on this guy in case he becomes a problem.”
“For the Italians or the Russians?”
“For my city. Where’s my dirt?”
“McBride swears he carries a little flash drive around with him everywhere.” Brogan blew up an image where it looked like DiMarco was holding a small silver lighter. “Apparently he never lets it out of his sight. If that’s true, I imagine he’s got some pretty incriminating shit on there.”
“Yeah, but how do we get it from him without him knowing?”
“That’s the million-dollar question. I’ll keep working on it.”
“Good.” Declan checked his watch and rose. “Keep me posted.”
“So, Evie’s back.”
Declan paused in the doorway, slowly turning to face his brother who was staring intently at his screens. “Until the funeral.”
“Huh.” His fingers flew across the keyboard. “And you’re okay with that?”
“Get back to work, Brogan.”
Declan left his brother alone with his expensive toys and headed for the stairs. He debated going into his office over the restaurant or working from home the rest of the day. Pulling his phone out of his pocket to text his assistant, he stopped in front of the library and, against his better judgment, wandered inside.
His great-grandfather had drawn up plans for this room for his great-grandmother who loved to read and write—one of her original poetry books was preserved in a glass case in the far corner—but hadn’t been able to build it before he died. When Declan meticulously described the renovations to the architect, he told himself it had been to preserve the history of his ancestors for future generations.
But bringing this room back to life had never been his dream. It had been the dream of a girl with wild curls and hazel eyes flecked with gold. The girl who had walked back into his life but was still impossibly out of reach.
On second thought, maybe he’d work from the restaurant.
* * *
Helen was waiting for him when he stepped off the elevator with a stack of folders and a cup of coffee. He finished the text he was sending to his youngest brother Aidan about a delivery they were expecting and pocketed his phone, accepting the cup of coffee from Helen.
“The realtor sent over some property options for the inquiry you made last week. She said they’ve all got flexible zoning depending on your plans, and she’s available next week to show you whichever ones you choose. I moved the ones I think you’ll like best to the top.”
She waited until he slid into his chair before laying the folder on his desk. He flipped it open and quickly looked through the options. She was right; the top three were more along the lines of what he had in mind. When he closed that folder and set it aside, she laid another one in front of him.
