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“Oops.” I didn’t really think that person was on the jet. What was worse was how terrified he was, now staring at Ethan’s back. Ethan cracked his jaw to the side, gripping on tightly to the glass in his hand.
“I—”
“Please inform me how bad the information in front of me is so I may know whether I’m shooting to maim or kill,” he said a little too calmly.
Something is off.
Everyone’s attention was now on me and from what I’d seen about Ethan, he didn’t make threats lightly.
“Ivy,” he said seriously.
Reaching over, I took the papers from him. “First of all, why the fuck is Mattapan one of the places you wanna go to? Ain’t no Irish in the Pan. In fact, it was…”
I stopped and my gaze shifting over to Hugh. Oh, he is dead.
“Finish your statement,” Ethan said, staring out the window at the heavy thick clouds, darkening as the storm came in. It looked like gray waves rolling over the sky.
“It was the place people joked and said they’d make their relatives go stay because they only wanted to see their asses from afar,” I said.
“What?” Greyson questioned aloud.
“The population of Mattapan is mostly black,” Wyatt clarified.
“Go on.” Ethan nodded to the paper in front of me, not at all fazed, but then again I doubted he’d show it if he was. Lifting the paper, I nodded. “McNardy is always the money cleaner and he’s only in my neighborhood of Southie—South Boston, not East.”
“There has to be thousands of McNardys in South Boston,” Wyatt spoke again, and for someone who didn’t want to be a part of this family he really fit in with ease. However, I didn’t comment because I knew he’d realize that too.
“That’s the point. You go round askin’ for McNardy and not the right McNardy you’re either a fed or an idiot. Both are grounds for your ass being handed to you one day when you’re walkin’ your dog.” I scanned through the rest of the paper. “Everything else ain’t that bad. It’s just you end up lookin’ like a hahdo boy from Milie, and believe me, you don’t wanna look like a hahdo boy from Milie.” I laughed.
“Translation?” Ethan asked.
Wyatt spoke up before I could. “A person trying too hard that comes from a rich neighborhood, aka Milton.”
“How long have you lived in Boston?” I asked him.
“Five years. After the first year you catch on quick, especially at the hospital.” He smirked to himself.
“Oh.” I could see that. “But yea,” I spoke to Ethan again. “People in this city don’t like showie. Everyone wants money, but they don’t want to see you with it. There was this guy, Jimmy, who lived across the street from us and he stole things. Nothin’ from anyone in the neighborhood, like jewelry shops and stuff. One of those things where everybody knew but nobody knew. His wife started showing off…buying things, real nice things and hiding them from him. Jimmy found out. Soon the whole neighborhood knew ’cause he chased her down the street with only one shoe. Not one person let her into the house when she knocked. My grandmother turned up the TV then.”
Wyatt frowned. “He killed her?”
“No. They are still together last I heard, livin’ in Back Bay,” I said, sliding the paper back to him.
“Thank you,” Ethan said, and he really seemed to mean it. He looked me up and down, a tiny grin creeping up on his face. “I must ask. Is the Boston accent going to be a fixture or only while we’re here?”
I didn’t even realize it just slipped out. “Do you have a problem—”
“B—Bos—” Hugh choked out, interrupting me, grabbing onto his neck as his face slowly turned purple-blue.
“No, actually, it’s a strange turn on.” He winked at me, which only briefly distracted me from the man falling out of his seat.
“Boss—”
Realizing whatever he did to Hugh had to have been prepared ahead of time, I couldn’t help but get annoyed. “Why make me go through all of this if you already knew he was fucking with you?”
“Firstly, no one fucks with me,” he said seriously and the man now gasping out for air behind him really hammered that point home. “Secondly, I wanted to see how much you knew about the darker parts of your city.”
“So you were manipulating me again?”
