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“And yet still, it’s more than I knew.” It bothered me.
“She was never in love with me, sir. It wasn’t some romance. She spent her life locked up in the house. I was just a wounded dog she brought in.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“Did you—” I paused. “Do you love her?”
“In that way, no. Not then either. I have someone. I had someone. Like I said, I was just a wounded dog.”
I said nothing more as I walked off the plane. My father stood at the bottom of the stairs with Neal and Declan at his side. Fixing my suit jacket, I ignored them all with Jinx right behind me.
“Damn it.” Declan sighed, handing my father an envelope of what I could only assume was cash.
“Neal, you’re riding with me.” I told him as our Range Rover pulled up, and Monte opened the door for me.
I didn’t even wait for him to close the door before asking, “What the hell have you been doing, and who dipped your outfit in whiteout?”
He smiled before straightening his tie. “In a few hours there is going to be charity function at the manor. Melody told me to even the playing field by any means necessary, this is a part of my plan. Someone has to know more about the President. I’ve been looking over the case for days. It was no prick with an axe to grind. It was a hired hit; I know it. They fired from at least twelve yards away.”
“Neal, I want this over. Prove what you need to prove and get it done because if you don’t, I will kill him, father-in-law or not.”
We needed the presidency, and if Colemen couldn’t get it done, I would personally find someone who could.
“Mel made that clear. I understand, and I would not let you down, brother. I swear it.”
“Very well then,” I said as his phone rang.
“Father?” Neal answered before handing it to me.
“Yes?”
“Your wife just called Declan and I, demanding we meet Roy near the docks in forty-five minutes. She wants you to meet her in her car, which will be parked a block away.”
“What the fuck is she thinking? We haven’t checked out the area yet.” Neal asked, overhearing.
I couldn’t help but grin, knowing exactly what my wife was thinking.
“Why didn’t she call me?” I asked.
“The same reason I didn’t. Your phone is still off. Rule forty-two—”
“Never turn off your phone. Thank you, father, I know. We’ll be there soon.” Before he could speak, I hung up.
“Liam, you can’t be—”
“You did our job for a week, brother. Melody and I have been doing it much longer, do not think for a second you know more than we do. She scheduled this meeting to give Roy no time to contact the feds incase this was a setup. She also owns a few of the abandoned buildings near the docks where a few of her men—our men—guard. And, dear brother, she has a mole. If the police need to move quickly, they will make noise and he will hear it. So, yes, we are serious,” I stated quickly. If there was anything my wife was good at, it was thinking on her feet.
Clenching his jaw, he nodded and looked to the driver. “Take us to the docks.”
“And is there an Opera radio station?” I asked him.
The older man met my eyes through the mirror for a moment before nodding. “Yes, sir.”
Closing my eyes, I rested my head as the music drifted through the speakers. I didn’t understand opera; I didn’t get what the big deal was. But then again, I never had to care, so maybe it was just a lack of exposure. Worse came to worst, I would invest in earplugs and just watch her reactions.
The more I listened, the more I thought about it. Why did she love it? What did it make her feel? So many questions…so few answers. All too soon, the woman’s voice faded and the music shifted into something bleaker. It was like a sudden unexpected darkness had fallen on a bright day, and it had happened so quickly that it took a moment for your senses to adjust. I didn’t understand the words the man sang, but something told me it was about death.
“Liam—”
“Shh,” I whispered, trying to decode the darkness in his voice. It was more than death, but murder, something he did not regret.
Opening my eyes, I turned to face my eldest sibling. He simply looked at me as though I had lost my mind, and maybe I had.
“We’re here,” he said, but we weren’t at the docks. We were on bridge and there stood my wife, leaning against the rails with a pair of binoculars in her hands, and Adriana at her side.
“Head home, Neal. There’s enough family here.”
Stepping out of the car, I basked in the essence that was purely Chicago. I couldn’t help but grin, I loved this city, I loved the wind as it blew through the streets, pushing everything forward, and making sure nothing stayed in one place for too long. The city of big shoulders to carry big dreams. My city.
“I called you,” she said as I leaned against the railing next to her. She didn’t look at me, instead she gazed through her binoculars as the wind blew by us once again.
“My phone was off. We did just get off a flight.”
“Rule forty-two—”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Who taught you all the rules?”
Dropping the binoculars, she grinned back at me. “Your father told me when I called him. How many rules are there? Because I think you people just make it up as you go.”
“My father has one hundred and six rules,” I told her, taking her binoculars to look out over the docks. “His father had eighty-seven. God knows how many I will keep or add.”
Pulling the binoculars down, she forced me to meet her gaze. “Rule five of our rules. Always answer my calls.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She nodded, leaning over the rail. “I called Brooks.”
“The mole?”
She nodded once again. “Yes, apparently the Chicago PD are out fetching coffee for the FBI to pull off a sting operation. They need to find the President’s murderer and every moment that goes by, they look worse. They don’t care about the drugs today.”
“So Roy’s on the up and up,” I said, turning my back to the scenery to focus on her.
“Beau says there is a rumor going around that we had the President killed in order to get Colemen into the White House.”
“I wouldn’t put it past us,” I joked, to which she simply rolled her eyes, but I did see the corners of her mouth rise.
“A drug sting could be a way to get us in cuffs. Then maybe make a deal for information about the President.”
That would be genius, however…
“The Chicago PD are a bunch of idiots who are scared of their own shadows. I highly doubt any of them would be able to pull that type of thing off, even with the FBI.”
“Sir, Ma’am,” Adriana spoke up, looking over the docks. “There’s movement.”
Turning around, I looked through the binoculars only to find nine men all wheeling iced fish towards the factory. One by one, they rowed in pink salmon and scanned the area.
“Does that look like eight million worth?” I asked
“I guess we’re going to find out. If it is, we need to get it off the ice,” she said into the wind, pulling out her phone.
