Page 34 of Dirty Pool

“Something happened, boss.”

“Something like what?”

“We fecked up.”

“How?”

“Italians.”

Gabbie stiffened in her chair.

So did her father.

“How so?” Charles asked, his tone dropping with a sharp edge. “And choose your words very carefully—it will determine how the rest of this evening goes, ye eejit.”

“Someone took a slug to the chest. Word went around about the doc, you know? Kevin had the bright idea we could fix it, and not have to bother you with it. We took him out of a club downtown, and—”

“Is he alive?”

“Outside, boss.”

“Feckin’ hell. Useless, all of you are a bunch of useless cunts. More trouble than you’re worth, I say.” Charles was up from the table in an instant, and dropped the napkin down without a word to Gabbie, but she understood well enough. Dinner was over, and while he wouldn’t explicitly tell her so, he still expected her to leave the house. “Bring him around back, and take him downstairs, then. Be quick about it. Go.”

Her father left the dining room.

She didn’t move an inch.

Only one person had ever been called doc around her.

Michel.

• • •

Out of all the things Gabbie had learned being the daughter of an Irish mob boss, the most important had been to never step in on her father’s business.

Ever.

If something was happening in the house, which didn’t occur often, then she was to leave, if she could, or hide herself away. She could count on one hand the amount of time her father’s line of work had stepped into her daily life and became vividly clear to her just what being the boss of an illegal crime family truly entailed.

Be safe, he’d tell her. Turn your cheek, he’d say. We don’t talk about the business, lass. What did you see, huh? Nothing, Gabbie. You saw nothing.

Still, as she crept down the stairs leading into the basement of her father’s house, she couldn’t convince herself to go back upstairs. Even knowing it could get her into a world of trouble, and she would likely never hear the end of it from her father, she continued taking the creaky steps one at a time.

Because what if?

If it was Michel down there with Charles and his men … what did that mean? Would they kill him? Why had they even taken him?

She just had to check.

If it wasn’t him … then it didn’t matter.

If it was—what could she even do?

Gabbie didn’t know, but she had to at least try.

Besides, she might like to see him again.

That was kind of hard to do if he was dead.