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I plop the stack of papers back on the desk. “Why don’t we just force Archibald Dumont to run again?”
“Because he’s already halfway to a nursing home,” Lorcan growls. “He’ll be dead a year in.”
Crossing my arms, I turn to face him. “All right, what about his lieutenant governor, or even the lieutenant governor who was going to run on Danny English’s ticket?”
Lorcan grumbles, muttering something incoherent under his breath. “I’m shocked you know so much about politics, Don,” he drawls. “You don’t think we’ve already scoped them out? All no-gos. Danny English was perfect. Why did he have to have a thing for murderous whores?” He twists the ring on his finger, still grumbling venomous shit. “What happened to that little bitch, anyway? Bring her into the Tunnels and let me use her as target practice. Might cheer me up a little bit.”
What happened to her?
Uh, I kinda married her.
But I don’t drop that atomic bomb just yet. Instead, I lean over him and pick up the single sheet of paper in front of him. “What’s this?”
“Well, I’m glad you asked,” he grunts, dragging his hands through his hair. “Declan found it in the inbox of Belsky’s secretary. It’s a list of signatures. All the CEOs in New York who will back Belsky’s organized crime bill if he gets into power.”
I scan the list, my blood running cold. “Motherfuckers,” I murmur, recognizing almost all of the names as business owners that Quinn Capital has invested in. “I’ll take this,” I say darkly, folding the paper and sliding it into my back pocket along with Valentina’s drawing. “I’ll pay each one of them a visit personally.”
Lorcan grunts something of a thanks.
A heavy tension fills the dining room, broken only by Declan’s frantic tap, tap, tapping. I look at Lorcan, then at Poppy, and back again. They both look defeated.
A familiar sense of fury fills up my veins.
My fist landing on the table makes everyone whip their heads to me. “Snap the fuck out of it,” I bark, breathing heavy. “Have you forgotten who we are? We are the fucking Quinns. We rule the entire East Coast with an iron fist, and no Bratva bastard is going to touch down on our side of the Atlantic and keep their life. Fuck the elections, fuck the governor seat. I’ll blow his goddamn head off and end all this right now.”
“While I’d usually agree, Don,” Lorcan says, “A lot of powerful names are on that list. The last thing we need is an uprising in the city. It’d look very suspicious, now more than ever, if Belsky suddenly went missing.”
I nod slowly. “My men have been stationed outside his address at the Hamptons for three days. They can’t get too close because his security detail is insane, but I’ll keep you updated.” I jerk my chin to Declan. “You hacked his secretary’s email. You don’t have any intel on Belsky himself?”
For the first time since I swept into the room, Declan looks up at me, his eyes bloodshot. “His personal email and cell phones are heavily encrypted. FBI-level of encrypted.”
I lean on my palms, creating a shadow over the kid. “Too encrypted even for you, Inspector Gadget?”
He smiles awkwardly. “All I have is a few bank statements from one of his shell companies. There are several large transactions to a business in Moscow, but it doesn’t appear to exist.”
Lorcan’s booming voice cuts over the table. “At this rate, Belsky is going to win the seat, and if that bill goes through, we’re fucked.”
Fuck it. Now is a good of a time as ever.
I clear my throat. “Good thing his new law won’t affect me then.”
Both Poppy’s and Lorcan’s eyes slash to me. “I beg your pardon?” Poppy says quietly. But I can see in her expression that she already knows what I’m about to say.
I drag a knuckle through my beard and focus on the twelfth-century tapestry spanning the length of one of the walls. I can’t even eat a fucking sandwich in this dining room without Lorcan going on about it. “I got married.”
Poppy whimpers. Lorcan mutters an oath. Declan finally stops typing.
My gaze settles on Poppy first. Despite Lorc’s reputation, I know she’s going to be the one who gives me the most shit, so I guess I better get her wrath over with. I watch as she curls her red fingernails into her braided hair like she wants to rip it out. But then she takes a few deep breaths and shifts in her seat. “You have a wife.”
It’s not a question, but I answer it anyway. “Uh-huh.”
“And do I dare ask you where you picked her up from?” she replies, tone dripping with acid.
Yeah, I’m not going to drop that many bombshells on the family at once. Maybe when this is all over with, the fact she’s the whore who killed Danny English will be a funny dinner party anecdote. But right now, it’ll probably go down like a led balloon. “Around.”
“Around,” Poppy repeats. She steeples her hands together and tucks her fingertips under her chin. “Donnacha.” Fucking hell, I know she’s pissed when she calls me by my full name. “What the hell do you know about having a wife?”
I lean back in the chair and swing my feet up on the table, trampling piles of sheets. “What’s there to know? As long as you keep them fed and watered, they’ll survive.”
