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She’s here, she’s now, and she’s perfect.
I need her to know it.
“All right,” she says. “When do we leave?”
“First, we have breakfast. Then you shower and get ready. Then we’ll go.”
“Right. Breakfast.” She glances over at the tray. A little smile breaks across her lips. “Did you really think that was going to work? Bribing me with food?”
“I hoped I could ply you with breakfast meats. Soften you up for an interrogation.”
“Awful tactic. You should’ve waited until I had slept in. I’m in a better mood after a lot of sleep.”
“We can’t all waste a morning like that, you know.”
She rolls her eyes. But at least she’s smiling as she joins me on the bed, and this time she has a little toast, some more bacon, a little coffee. We don’t talk about what she’s hiding—her secret’s still there, still between us, but hidden now. Locked away.
Which is fine with me. I can be patient.
But I will figure it out—sooner or later.
She is mine, which means everything of hers is mine, including whatever she’s trying to keep from me.
Chapter33
Keely
Ikeep thinking about those words.I’m falling in love with you. They buzz through my head as Nolan drives his BMW through the city. He makes calls as we go, checking in with captains and lieutenants, getting status reports on various businesses. It’s all boring—mostly numbers, a few minor problems, things that would crop in a normal business. Nothing violent. Nothing scary.
We stop at various bars and restaurants. He heads inside, talks to the owners, gets passed an envelope or passes one, then we move on. He hands them to me in the car and I always peek: tons and tons of cash. More than I’ve ever seen, all sitting in his back seat, stuffed into neat little packages.
Part of me thought his job involved tracking down people that owed him money and breaking their legs. But mostly, he talks with his employees, guys in his crew. I’m introduced to a dozen men, most of which are pretty forgettable. A bunch of Irish guys, all of them Boston born and bred.
“This is what a big, bad gangster does?” I ask Nolan when we stop at one of his restaurants around noon. The owner, a red-haired guy named Mikey O’Sullivan, seats us at a front table and serves us coffee before giving Nolan a massive ledger book. “You check over numbers?”
“More or less,” he says, pursing his lips. “It’s boring.”
“Must be nice. You get free stuff, everyone acts like you’re royalty, and you barely have to break a sweat.”
He flips the page. “This is peace time, my darling wife. War time is harder.”
“Yeah? I bet you’d know.”
“I would.” He glances up. “You know I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done.”
“Tell that to Jamila.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “I didn’t know all of that would lead me here, and even if I could’ve somehow seen it, I still would’ve killed those men. Because you know why?”
“Family and honor and all that.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Because if I hadn’t killed them, then they would’ve killed my guys. I understand you don’t approve of that. Unfortunately, violence is a part of this life, even if it’s mostly boring day in and day out. I have a responsibility to these people.”
My eyes drift over toward the kitchen. “Like to Mikey here?”
“Him and dozens more like him. When there’s war, our businesses are targets. Mikey’s a civilian, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get caught in the crossfire.”
“What’s your relationship to this place?”
