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"You, Declan, and me are the disappointments, Aidan. And we're the ones who are fucking interested in keeping this firm going. Not Eoghan, not Conor. They're interested in family. Not the business. But us…
"So, you take Da's foot off your throat, remember that you're not a useless fucker because you can't read easily, you goddamn remember that you beat an addiction without outside help, and you remember that you are my brother, and that I know how fucking smart you are even if Da didn't."
His words rattled me. Enough that I bowed my head for a second, enough that I had to process the truth in them.
He was right—Dec, Bren, and I had all been disappointments, and we were the only ones who'd ever obeyed.
Look where it had gotten us.
Peering up at him, I rumbled, "We can't keep second-guessing who is and who isn't a Sparrow or acheile. It diminishes our power and our strength in the city, but it takes time and precious resources away from what matters the most.
"On top of that, we need a fall guy for the First Lady's assassin, and it can't be Eamonn Keegan—not only because he'll never hand himself in, but because we need him."
"Thought you wanted to take him down? Avenge Da?"
"I can do it Da’s way or I can do it mine."
He narrowed his eyes on me. "Da’s dead," he repeated. "You ain’t. You’re the leader now. We do what you think’s right. I trust you, Aidan. I know you’ll avenge Da. It just won’t be how he’d like."
"With a bloodbath?" I asked with a smirk.
Bren dipped his chin. "Why do we need a fall guy?"
"Because the city’s still on red alert, and the nation is too. That investigation isn’t going to go away. It won’t end until someone’s sent up for her murder."
"That makes sense."
"If we want the city to open back up for real, we need to deal with that. And we don’t want the alphabet agencies looking into Da’s death, do we?"
"No," he agreed. "We don’t. The investigations haven’t caused too much of a problem with our business, though."
"The ports are still under scrutiny," I pointed out. "That’ll affect product being shipped into the city."
"We use roads for that."
"Doesn’t mean they’re not being watched. Plus, the Armenians pay us to make sure their gear gets shipped in under the radar."
"So do the Albanians," he said, his eyes darkening. "Okay. I see where you’re coming from. I wasn’t thinking long-term. Everyone knows that the country’s in uproar because of the assassination, but that won’t stop business forever."
"No. It won’t."
"So, tell me. What are you thinking?"
Taking a leap of faith, I released a breath. "Jonesy loves his wife, doesn't he?"
"Depends on who you ask. I'd say yeah, but that don't mean he ain't got a skirt living in an apartment off Midtown. And it don't mean his wife ain't resentful that her baby girl ain't welcome at home anymore because she prefers pussies to cocks."
"What's his weakness, Brennan?"
I watched his focus fade, shift, as he raced to give me the answer I needed. Brennan was good with shit like this. He didn’t always see the bigger picture and could act prematurely, but he picked up details along the way and they always came in useful.
"The skirt. And the boy."
"Seriously?"
He nodded and clapped me hard enough on the shoulder to rattle my bones. As he called out, "Bagpipes!" I hid my wince.
Fuck, it had been nice to be without pain for a while. It was a shame it appeared to be my best friend.
