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“It’s why we flew back from Vegas,” I said softly.
Digger’s tone was oddly smug. “Where we got married.”
Junior’s gaze flickered onto the hand I had around Digger’s arm. He glanced at my ring then focused on my husband. “And you decided to come here first?”
“No, I found Mary Catherine outside the compound,” Conor answered. “She wanted to speak with Ma.”
“You thought she’d help?” Junior asked me kindly.
“I hoped she would,” I whispered.
“If we want to call Da off, we have to switch the bait. You know he hates the Sinners,” he mused, uncaring that Digger was standing here, listening in.
“Why the hell does he hate us?” my husband demanded.
Junior shrugged. “Da hates everyone. It’s the Catholic in him.”
Snorting, Conor sank back in his seat at the head of the table. “Well, there’s an option.” He scratched his chin. “Rather than going to war with us, how do you think your Prez would feel about going into business instead?”
The brothers shared a look that went over the head of everyone but them.
Digger hitched a shoulder. “I’m not that high up that I could say either way.”
Conor studied him. “You know we’d win.”
Digger tensed. “Excuse me?”
“Numbers alone says we would. We have more manpower than you do, and Da’s got his fingers in a lot of pies on the East Coast. West Orange is being gentrified, isn’t it?”
Digger’s mouth pursed. “Lots of rich Manhattanites are moving in, yeah, but they don’t have allegiance to you.”
Conor hummed. “Wouldn’t take much for Da to poison your backyard.”
“Conor,” I grouched. “Are you trying to annoy him?”
Conor grinned. “There’s nothing more annoying than the truth, Mary Catherine. And the truth is that the Five Points could take the Sinners in their sleep.” He turned to Aoife. “What are we eating for lunch, Aoife?”
“She’s not your cook,” Finn grumbled, shoving him on the shoulder.
My experience with them one-on-one might be meager, but even I knew how these guys bickered.
Well aware that the situation was about to devolve, I turned to Digger and asked, “War or business?”
He sighed. “I’ll talk to Rex.”
Junior, who’d been listening to us, not the argument in the background, grunted. “Wise choice.”
30
DIGGER
“Where the fuck are you?You were supposed to be here hours ago. Wasn’t that the point of taking the fucking red-eye late last night?”
I grimaced. “Sorry, Prez. Got waylaid.”
“Got waylaid? What are you? A set of keys? How the hell do you get waylaid between Newark and West Orange?”
As I stared at the city skyline, one that included a peek at Lady Liberty herself, I muttered, “MaryCat had a plan.”
