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“We aren’t sure. Whoever it was had easy access to the back. I believe they infiltrated the staff. Cain and his brothers are questioning them now.” Her lips thin.
Sienna glances up at Dante, communicating in a way I can’t understand. “I think now is the time to finally start branching out with our alliances,” she says. I’m not sure if she’s talking to him or me, so I keep quiet. Dante sighs.
“And who would we approach, Sienna? We’ve already got Wen. The Arco brothers. Smaller gangs that we’re paying off.”
“The—”
“Do not say the Irish.”
I tense. The Irish haven’t been a problem in recent years, but they were still a pain in our ass. Our enemies. Not as bad as the Russians—but still bad enough.
“We can easily make an alliance with them—”
“How?” I ask, cutting in. They both turn to stare at me. “What could we possibly give the Irish to convince them to work for us?”
“Well,” Sienna shifts in her seat, clearing her throat, “there’s a lot, actually. Selling their beer in our clubs for starters.”
“They have their own pubs for that.”
“More territory.”
“Which we just got back,” I argue. “We can’t afford to lose more turf than we already have.”
“And the Captain has a daughter. Only a bit younger than you.”
That stops me short. “You can’t be serious.”
They exchange knowing looks again, and it makes me want to throw something at them. The stapler at the edge of the desk would do nicely.
“Look, Kill,” Dante begins. I already know I’m not going to like what he’s about to say. “You’re already twenty-five. No wife. Not even a serious girlfriend.”
“So?” I glare. “It’s not my responsibility to pop out heirs—that was your job.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what?” I bristle, waiting for the shoe to drop.
“It’s a good thing,” Dante says quickly.
“It means you’re available,” Sienna adds.
I look between them incredulously. “You want me to marry the daughter?” Are they insane?
“No, we aren’t insane,” Sienna huffs. I didn’t realize I’d said that last part out loud. “That’s what alliances are. That’s what we did.”
“And it worked out for us.” Dante took her hand, grinning down at his wife.
“You’re both Italian,” I spit. “You came from the same background. The same culture. I have no idea what the Irish are like other than the fact they prefer to waterboard their victims with beer.”
“Then you’ll learn something new,” Dante quips. I wished looks could kill. He’d be dead already.
“Look, Killian,” Sienna’s hands go up, trying to placate me, “nothing is set yet. We haven’t even fully mapped this thing out. For now, it’s just an idea.”
“A terrible fucking idea,” I add.
She shrugs. “Maybe. But we don’t have many other options.”
“And if it was the Irish that set the bomb?” I ask. “What if they were the ones to attack us?”
