Mob Bride (The O’Rourke Brotherhood #5)

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Shane

It’s been ten days since I found Carys on my build site. Coincidentally—unfortunately—I needed Meredith to give me six stitches in my right forearm yesterday after a not so fun altercation with Lorenzo Mancinelli. The arsehole sliced me with his knife. In all fairness, that was after I shot so close to his shoulder the bullet singed his suit coat. I missed on purpose. He got me on purpose. There wouldn’t have been a problem if he’d stayed in Queens with his wife and baby like he was supposed to instead of going to Brooklyn to collect rent money from a shop owner we’re extorting.

Enzo, a dad? Hell hath frozen over. No one even knew his wife, Michelle, was pregnant until she was like seven-and-a-half months. She works from their home a lot, and she and Enzo are the biggest homebodies in their family, which is surprising since he owns restaurants and nightclubs.

The stitches meant I had a reasonable excuse to ask Meredith about Carys. It would have been a dick move not to. I’ve still heard little from David, which is odd. He shot me a text last night. Three words: working on it.

Meredith chewed my arse because she knows I assigned a protection detail to her. They’re discreet, so we all know no one’s aware they’re there when she’s at work. But she spotted them immediately. She claimed I was overreacting, and that I was wasting money paying the men to babysit her.

I told her she wasn’t my mother, so I didn’t have to listen to her. That resulted in me getting a shot of painkiller in the arse—through my suit pants when she dropped a pack of butterfly stitches on purpose, and I bent to grab it. Hardly sterile, but she knew I’d survive. Needless to say, I remembered what my mom told me when I was twelve, and Meredith sewed me up for the first time. “Listen to her like she’s me because you don’t want me being the one coming at you with a needle and thread.”

I still didn’t call off the detail, but I admitted I set it up. I dropped it down to two men while she was at work, and two guys in separate cars at opposite ends of her street at night. I compromised and agreed to end it in two weeks if nothing happened.

Frankly, face-to-face, most syndicate men would back down if they had to stand before Meredith’s withering stare. It’s one she perfected after twenty years as a British Royal Navy surgeon—she started specializing in orthopedics after she got out. But a bullet is a bullet, as I proved to Enzo’s suit coat. Fucker owes me one for the unrepairable rip in my coat’s sleeve.

I wove in questions about Carys while we argued, pointing out her daughter would never forgive herself if something happened to Meredith because she’d shown up not knowing it was her daughter who needed help. I asked how Carys would react to her mom declining the detail. I asked if she wouldn’t expect me to do the same for Carys if she lived in the city.

When I asked about Jesse—thinking I was sly—she looked me straight in the eye before her gaze darted to the gun still holstered under my arm, then back up to my eyes. I didn’t react, but we understood each other. She’d just put a hit on her daughter’s ex-boyfriend.

I didn’t tell her what Sean and I found with the photos. They were fake pics, and Sean’s found nothing about a guy named Jesse. Meredith had little to offer on her end since she hadn’t met the last two guys Carys dated. She suspected Carys had been involved with someone in Pittsburgh, but—typically British—she doesn’t discuss her daughter’s dating life.

“David?” It’s an odd time for him to call, but at least there’s no one around to overhear us.

“Hey, boss. Sorry it took so long, but I wanted to be sure.”

I’m in my car alone on the way to a meeting I’m not invited to. It’s sweltering even this early in the morning, but I have a baseball cap on and long sleeves. The red hair and freckles give me away to anyone with even a smidge of a connection to a syndicate. Three brothers married three sisters, so the only dominant genes were recessive ones. The six of us—Dillan, Seamus, Cormac, Finn, Sean, and I—have close shades of red hair somewhere between our dads’ dark strawberry blond and our moms’ russet. Our dads have blue eyes, but all of us inherited our moms’ green ones. It makes us way too recognizable.

“What’d you find out?”

“No one’s been to her place in days. She doesn’t get mail delivered there. Not even a flyer. Her designated parking space was always empty. Pittsburgh’s got public transportation, but nothing convenient enough between her place and where she supposedly works.”

“Supposedly?”

“Yeah. I checked the employee directory on the voicemail.”

I should have thought of that.

“Her name’s not listed. I slipped in and poked around when the night custodian arrived. Her name isn’t anywhere. Not on a desk. Not on a cubicle. Not on an office door. I checked the reception desk, and her name wasn’t on the directory there either. I know you told me no peeking in windows. She lives on the fourth floor, so I went to the roof across the street with my binoculars. Blinds were closed the entire time. I can get that to keep out the sun. But lights never went on at night. Boss, it’s not just that she doesn’t live there. No one lives there. My guess is she doesn’t even live out here.”

“Thanks, David.”

“Anything else? You want me to keep watching in case I’m wrong, and she comes round?”

“No. We’re good.”

“Do you think she’s okay? I don’t want to think something’s happened to Meredith’s daughter. It would devastate her.”

“I know. That’s why I wanted you to check on her. I think I know where she is. I just wanted to be sure she wasn’t out near you before I get nosey somewhere else.”

“All right. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I tap the end call button on my steering wheel. I don’t have a fucking clue where Carys is. But David doesn’t need to know that. I trust him, but he had his job, and now it’s done. We don’t gossip. We don’t shoot the shite.

I have to table my thoughts because I’m at the far end of the lumberyard in Yonkers. I pull into the shadows and park. I own several cars, all of which cost more than some people’s homes. But not this one. I own the Toyota Corolla I’m in, but all of us use it when we want to blend in. It might be a late model, low end car on the outside, but we’ve had it customized. The headlights don’t flash, and the horn doesn’t beep when we lock and unlock it. The dome light won’t come on if there’s a bomb. The entire frame is reinforced against impact big and small—from bullets to bulldozers—and the windows are shatterproof.

The shirt I’m wearing has the lumberyard company logo on it, so I look like I probably have a reason to be here after hours. I have my excuse ready. I’m here to grab my proof of residency for my daughter’s school that I printed on the company machine and shouldn’t have. Whoops. I got distracted by a call and forgot I left the electric bill in the machine’s tray. I need it to register her, or she’ll lose her spot at the magnet school. If that happens, not only will my wife and daughter kill me, I’ll lose my son’s sibling privilege to get into the school next year.

Yeah. I’ve used this story a few times before. I have it down pat. I’ve practiced it with my mom a few dozen times until she said I could pass for a dad—vaguely aware of what’s going on and not interested in dealing with his wife saying she knew she should have just taken care of it herself—like everything else in their house. I’ll take my mom’s compliments any way I can get them. My dad and uncles were—are—totally hands on dads. They knew way more than any of us wanted. My mom was going off her dad; our mob boss until I was in high school. This is not when I want to reflect on that old coot.

I creep along the side wall where I know the security cameras aren’t pointing. They’re fixed lens and only focus straight in front with a forty-five-degree radius to either side.

Me

I’m in place. I’m calling you

Finn shoots me a thumbs up emoji just before I hit the call button. I drop the phone back in my pocket. If anything happens, Finn’ll know right away. I’d wear a wire, but the men know what to look for. If shite goes wrong, Finn can hang up before they take my phone. They won’t know anyone was listening. It wouldn’t be ideal to end the call, but I might live ten minutes longer than if they found me miked or with a camera.

“What the fuck’s taking him so long?”

I recognize Bartlomiej Nowakowski’s voice. That piece of shite.

He’s sucking the Kutsenkos’ balls to keep them happy. After the shite that went down with the Albanians and the Russians, the Polish aren’t looking for the same trouble. They’re skating on cracking ice with the Italians, too. They don’t look in the Colombians’ direction, and we barely tolerate them. That’s why I want to know about the shipments he’s getting from Bogdan, the youngest of the four Kutsenko brothers.

I already looked around as I drove by. I don’t see any of Bogdan’s cars or any of their decoys. I recognized Bartlomiej’s though. He thinks having a mid-shade blue SUV makes him less noticeable. When you’re the only fucker without a black one, you stick out.

I ease inside one of the bay doors and duck behind six stacked sawdust barrels. It shields me from sight, but I can see around and between them. Bartlomiej’s standing with his hands on his hips, even more pissed than usual. Something’s going on because his brother’s keeping his distance. Normally, he’d be the one bitching about people wasting his precious time.

Twat.

Something’s getting Bartlomiej even more worked up. Five minutes pass, and he’s pacing. I’m wholly unprepared for him to draw back his fist and slam it into Jacek’s face. He goes for the throat punch next. Jacek stumbles backward but regains his balance. He goes on the defensive and swings at his older brother. Five men rush forward. They might be siblings, but no one gets to touch a mob boss. The guys restrain Jacek as Bartlomiej swears at him.

“You fucking waste of shit. You told me they’d be here. You confirmed it. Instead, we’re standing here with our dicks in the wind when I could be home with Kaja.”

Kaja? Since when does Bartlomiej have a woman he cares about? I heard he was seeing someone, but he’s always seeing someone. The man is a serial dater. He enjoys knowing he always has a pussy waiting for him. I can only imagine the poor girl stuck with him up her arse—and not figuratively.

“You fucked up, Jacek. I won’t forgive you for this. I should be home with her. You’re the reason for that.” He jabs his finger into his brother’s chest. “Go near her again, and I don’t give a shit about your position in this family. The only thing you’ll be to me is dead. Leave my woman alone.”

Wow!

Their dad died when Bartlomiej was seventeen, and Jacek was fifteen. They saw it happen, and it was brutal. Bartlomiej became their leader in name, but his mother pulled the strings until he finished college. By then, Jacek was in the army. Bartlomiej’s been running his syndicate for real for ten years. Jacek’s been beside him except for the four years he served on active duty. They’re as close as I am with Finn and Sean.

This is big.

“She got what she deserved.” Jacek spews that line as his brother turns away. Bartlomiej freezes before he turns like he’s some actor in a drama—slow-mo.

“You had no right to touch her. If you had a problem with my girlfriend, you come to me.”

“I bet I touched her more than you have. She’s leading you around by the dick. Maybe if you shoved it down her throat more often, she’d know her place. Lord knows you aren’t shoving it up her pretty little virginal cunt or ass. Maybe that’s what I’ll do next time.”

Bartlomiej roars as he barrels into his brother. He knocks Jacek and the five men holding him in place onto their arses. More men rush forward and barely pry Bartlomiej off Jacek before he beats his brother’s head against the concrete.

So much to unpack. Bartlomiej’s dating a virgin? Not on God’s green earth. But whoever she is, he’s more protective of her than he is loyal to his brother. That’s interesting. It must be serious. Could he be on his way to a little white chapel? I wonder where they’re registered.

“Bartek! Bartek! Enough. They were here. They saw you.”

Fucking hell.

Bartlomiej steps away and shakes off the men restraining him. He runs his hand over his hair as he stomps to the bay door across from me. He doesn’t look at Jacek as he bellows at his men.

“Take him out to the car. If I see him before I get home, I’ll kill him.”

I pull my phone out and open the camera. I zoom in as far as I can go. Four black SUVs drive by. The second one’s back passenger window is down. I recognize Bogdan as he rolls past, shaking his head. No one’s ready for Niko to drop the front passenger window of the third car and pepper the place with a full magazine from the high-powered rifle he points out the window.

I scramble from my hiding place before any of the Poles turn in my direction to flee. I don’t need the Kutsenkos finding me here either if they decide to do more than a drive by. I duck out of the door and am about to turn toward my car and sprint when I notice a flash of dark hair that stands out next to the building’s whitewashed walls. The person’s wearing a hoodie, so I can’t tell how long the hair is. Whoever it is, is short but fast.

Did they see me there?

I change course and push myself to catch up to them. When I’m close enough, I wrap my arms around them, throwing my weight forward, knocking us both to the ground. I take an elbow to the nose before I can wrestle them beneath me and push up onto my hands and knees. I’m looking at the barrel of a gun. I’m looking at Carys.

“What the fu—feck are you doing here, Carys?”

I barely catch myself in time not to swear in front of her. The whole no curse words in front of women and children is so ingrained in me that even in moments like this, I still know better than to swear in front of them.

She shoots me a mutinous glare and refuses to answer. Back to this. This is how we met. A gun pointing at me and her refusing to speak. I scramble to my feet and pull her up as I go. Her wrist is in one hand, and my gun is in the other. I glance around, and I’m certain someone is bound to be watching us.

Motherfucking son of a goddamn bitch. There is.

“Carys, we have to go. We can’t stay here.”

“No shit. I was leaving. You’re the one keeping me here.”

“Yeah, well, Jacek is over there watching us.”

Her gaze darts to him, then she spins on her heels. She could be a track star for how she moves. Definitely pushes me to my limits to sprint after her. I know I’m going in the opposite direction of my car, but there’s no way in hell I’m leaving her on her own. I’m running, twisting to look behind me half the time. I’m trusting Carys won’t let anybody shoot me from the front as I try to protect us from the back.

“This way.” Command fills her voice.

It would be a sexy challenge if we weren’t trying not to die. I follow her as she takes a sharp left around the corner of the building. We’re running toward the SUVs, but the Polish targets occupy all the passengers’ attention. Carys pulls a key fob from her pockets and clicks it. I hear a car unlock.

I wait. My eyes scan our surroundings to see if anybody hears the car and shifts their attention toward us. Thank God nobody does, at least not that I can see. At least we’re out of Jacek’s sight.

“Come on.” She’s impatient now.

I jog past her to get to the driver’s side. There isn’t enough time for her to argue with me as I pull the door open and slide in. She changes course and goes to the passenger side. I have the car on and in drive before she even closes the door. My family has always claimed I have a lead foot, and here’s why.

I’m the one who usually drives one of the SUVs on missions. Maybe I was born with a lead foot, and that’s why I’m a driver. Or maybe it’s the other way around, and I got my lead foot from being behind the wheel. Either way, I get us out of there. I’ll have to send one of the men for my car later, or I’ll have to go back for it.

“Carys, you are going to give me some answers. What are you doing here?”

She again refuses to speak. I accept the silence for now. I take us to another part of Yonkers where I’m certain nobody will follow us. I pull into a parking lot behind a sporting goods store and turn off the engine. She’d dropped the fob into a cupholder, so I put it in my pocket. We’re not going anywhere until she answers my question.

All I want is the answer to that one question. What is she doing here? I twist in my seat and reach across her as she moves to unfasten her seat belt. She tries to fight me, slapping my hand out of her way, but I grab both of her wrists and pin them to her lap. If she really tried hard enough, she could break free. I wouldn’t do anything to add to her bruises, but she knows the struggle is futile. She’ll wear herself out before I’ll give in.

“Carys, just answer the one question. What were you doing there?”

“The same thing as you. Watching.”

I was hoping for a more specific answer since that states the obvious. “Why were you watching?”

“You said you only had one question, and I answered that.

“Don’t be obtuse.”

“I’m not being obtuse. I’m being awkward.”

The grin she shoots me is mirthless. She knows she’s not humorous. She knows she’s riling me up. She’s goading me, and I don’t know why other than she doesn’t trust me, which—considering the circumstances—I suppose is a rather understandable reaction. After all, she’s just watched Polish mobsters get shot up by Russian bratva while a senior leader of the Irish mob had his gun drawn, also watching them.

“Carys, you can guess why I’m here. I still can’t guess why you are. Until you give me an answer to that question and any other ones I have, we’re not going anywhere.”

She pulls and yanks her hands as hard as she can from me. I release them, worried she’s going to end up jabbing her elbow into the door. I’m only letting go because I want to avoid giving her more bruises. She glares at me yet again—or maybe it’s still—as she reaches over and reclines the seat. She crosses her arms and closes her eyes.

You’ve got to be kidding me. Really? This is how she wants to handle it? All right. I recline my seat as well, cross my arms, and close my eyes.

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you just snorted. But that couldn’t possibly be true since you’re ignoring me.”

She says nothing in response to that comment, and I don’t want to fight her any further. At least not right now. This isn’t a battle I’m going to win, and it’s going to be a war of attrition, anyway. I can wait her out because if I lose this early battle with too much of an obvious victory for her, then there’s no chance I’ll even the score.

I keep my eyes open just enough to see what’s going on around us. There’s no way in hell I would ever close my eyes and keep them shut somewhere so exposed. Especially not when we’ve just witnessed a shootout and not when Jacek Nowakowski saw us together. It’s bad enough he saw me. It’s bad enough he saw Carys. The fact we were together will make her a target for a man she doesn’t need to meet.

Then again, maybe she has met him. She was there to observe just like me. She had to have known who she went to watch. Does she know him in person? I look at her, and my blood boils as I take in her bruises yet again for the umpteenth time, but something clicks.

“Jacek did that to you, didn’t he?”

Her face shows no expression, no reaction. It’s completely void of anything. She appears relaxed, and if I didn’t know better, she’d look like a corpse.

“Carys, answer me. I am not joking. I’m not playing around anymore. Did Jacek Nowakowski beat the shite out of you? You better answer me because otherwise I will take you to my cousin’s house. I will drop you off there. I will have them put you under lock and key, and I will go shoot that fecker.”

She finally opens her eyes and turns her head to look at me.

“That would not be a wise choice, Shane. You and I both know that. You won’t touch the second-in-command of the Polish mob. They might not have the power and influence you do, but you were there to observe what’s going on with the Russians. You need to know what they’re up to just as much as I do.”

“I need. You want.”

Her eyes narrow at me. “So you say.”

She has one of the most expressive faces I’ve ever seen when she allows her emotions to show. When she doesn’t, she’s as stoic as anybody in my family—as any syndicate member. My grandfather, uncles, and dad trained me to be this way. Considering the shock I witnessed on Meredith’s face, I doubt she knew someone trained her daughter to be so emotionless.

There’re so many more questions with this woman than there ever are answers. We fall back into silence for the next twenty minutes. Shockingly, there’s no tension between us. It’s actually companionable silence, which is not something I expected. I finally feel like it’s safe for us to go somewhere.

“Carys, tell me where I need to take you.”

“Back to your car.”

“I am not going back to get that until I know you’re somewhere safe.”

“The safest place I can be right now, Shane, is away from you. It’s you in your car going wherever you need to go, and it’s me in my car going where I need to go.”

“No, I won’t agree to that. I’m taking you to my cousin.”

I have both hands resting casually on the steering wheel. My gun is in my lap. I’m unprepared for how fast she draws hers and puts the muzzle to my temple.

“You know I can take that from you if I want to, and all I’m going to end up doing is hurting you. We went through this the other night. I told you the last thing I want is to be the one who adds more bruises to you. This won’t end well for you, Carys.”

“You are going to unlock the door, Shane. You are going to let me out. You can do whatever the hell you want with my car, but I am not staying with you. It’d be better for both of us if you got out and let me drive away.”

“You alone—knowing Jacek saw you—will not convince me of that.”

I hear her take the safety off the gun. Now it’s my turn to have my face completely neutral, devoid of emotion, but my heart is pounding. I truly believe she’ll shoot me, and I have a healthy fear of death. It’s what’s kept me alive. I rest my hands where she can see them.

“All right, I’m unlocking the door.”

My left hand moves to the button and pushes it. We both hear the doors click open.

“Get out, Shane.”

My options are leaving her behind where she would have to walk or call a rideshare—there’re certainly no taxis around here for her to hail—or I’m the one who walks or gets a rideshare. Obviously, I won’t leave her completely defenseless. Her handgun won’t do shite against a team of men carrying rifles.

I’m the one who’s going to wait for someone to pick me up. My left hand pulls on the handle, and I ease the door open. I keep my hand where she can see it on the handle as my right hand moves to unfasten my seat belt.

“I’m not leaving my gun behind, so I’m going to reach for it.”

“I know you are. That’s why I already have my gun to your temple. I can pull the trigger faster than you can aim at me.”

I’m in no mood to test that theory, so I let the belt go over my left arm and climb out of the car. I leave the door open, and Carys crawls across to the driver’s seat.

“Give me the fob.”

I hand it to her, and she shuts the door, locks it, then turns on the engine. She gives me one last look. As she pulls out of the spot, then pulls out of the parking lot, I watch her go.

I pull up the rideshare app and reserve a car to take me back to mine. Well, not exactly all the way back to my car. The last thing I need is for an Uber driver asking questions about why there are police at the scene, which I’m sure there inevitably are.

I have them drop me off a couple blocks away, and I walk over there, keeping my head on a swivel as I watch for anybody from the Polish mob or the Bratva lingering, keeping an eye on the scene. In particular, I’m wondering who Jacek left behind to wait for me. I’m certain he knows I didn’t arrive with Carys, so I must have a car somewhere. I make it to the Corolla without incident, but my Spidey-senses are tingling. I know people are here. I just can’t see them. I hit my cousin’s contact on my phone as I pull out of the parking lot.

“Hey, Dillan. It was a total shitshow. The bratva showed up and rather than doing the deal with Bartlomiej, they attacked, shot up the place, took out several Poles and nearly got me.”

I don’t mention Carys yet. I’m not sure how I want to handle that piece of information. I need to think about it. If I tell Dillan, he’s going to insist we tell Meredith. There’s some reason Carys is living a double life. She was adamant about keeping her distance from her mom the other night, so she’s obviously trying to protect her parents.

“You got out all right? Nothing happened to you?”

“Yeah, I did. Bartlomiej had already gotten pissed at Jacek and sent him out. He was at the car waiting on the other side of the building from where Bogdan and Niko pulled up. He saw me, so he knows I was there.”

“How much do you think that’s going to cost us with Bartlomiej?” It’s a reasonable question. I don’t have a solid answer now that Carys is a factor.

“I say beat the living crap out of him. Make him stay quiet about me being there, not the other way around.”

“Well, in a perfect world, maybe we would do both, Shane, but you know that’s not what’s going to happen. You know he’s going to tell his brother everything and then Bartlomiej is going to come knocking on the door with Jacek right behind him to back him up.”

“I know, but maybe we can delay the inevitable for a little while. Let me deal with Jacek, see what he wants to do. Maybe we can keep it between the two of us.”

“I’ll let you try. But the moment he gives you any shite, you come to me, and we deal with it as a family.”

We all learned a few years ago, anytime anyone in any of the syndicate families tries to do something on their own, it all goes to shite. We’re all better off sticking together as a family and working as one unit.

“I will. Just give me a day or two to figure out what’s going on.”

“All right, two days, but I want to report in the morning, and I want a report tomorrow night.”

“I know. I’ll let you all know what’s going on once I have more info, or I’ll let you know I have nothing.”

We hang up, and I pull up to the garage where we keep our fleet of SUVs and cars like the Corolla. They’re not beater cars, but they’re close to it. I hand over the keys to the guy on shift today and get into my car. I want to know where Carys went, so I pull up the app on my phone.

What she doesn’t know is I dropped a tracker under her seat while she had her eyes closed. It’s already pinging to let me know where she is. She’s headed to Greenpoint, which has traditionally been an Eastern European—particularly Polish—neighborhood. Some gentrification has made it more hipster, but that’s Bartlomiej’s area. If she believes she’s not done spying on them, she didn’t learn her lesson.

I make my way over there and follow the signal to a parking structure where I see Carys getting out of her car. She must have driven around for a while before coming here, otherwise, she should have arrived at least twenty minutes ago. She’s on the phone, but she’s looking around. I pull up alongside her and roll down my window. She almost stumbles as she catches sight of me, barely catching herself before she trips.

I don’t know who she’s talking to. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but she gets off the phone in a hurry. She looks around and spots the nearby subway station. I’m already turning off the car as she makes a dash for it. I’m out of the car, right on her heels. She’s down the escalator and through the turnstile faster than I expected. This woman definitely runs often, runs far, and runs fast. I’m right behind her, but she catches the subway right before it pulls out.

I’m stuck having to wait for the next one if I want to follow her, but the tracker was in her car, not on her, so I don’t know where she is now. I don’t know where she’s going, but she’s coming back here at some point. We’re near here because this is where she left her car.

I head to a coffee shop that opened a few minutes ago and order a drink and hang out by the window where I can see the subway stop. It’s two hours of me scrolling news articles and doing email before I see her reappear. Her dark head of hair is very distinct. There are few people with jet black hair and blue eyes. Once she’s on my side of the street, I’m ready to leave and trail her. I know she’s looking around, but I’m careful. She won’t see me until I want her to.

She heads into a much nicer apartment building than I expected. For this area, it’s definitely luxury. I watch her get on the elevator as I slip past the concierge who’s busy talking to an older couple. I watch the elevator until it stops.

Now I know what floor she’s on. I push the elevator button and wait for it, but it’s taking too long. Somebody’s going to notice. I glance around and spot the stairs. I take them up to the fourth floor. I’m not winded when I get where I’m going, but I’m definitely breathing a little harder. I run because it’s good for me and necessary—as today proved—not because I enjoy it. I already did my cardio this morning, so I’m over this bullshit. I’m walking wherever I’m going next.

I hear a door close, so I make a beeline for it. I put my ear to it and detect some movement. I stand close enough to the peephole she won’t see my face as I knock, not wanting her to refuse categorically because it’s me. I don’t want to be so loud as to draw attention from her neighbors, but I want it loud enough she knows I’m not giving up. I’m certain she knows it’s me, but there’s a long pause before I hear anything near the door. I wonder if she thinks it’s Jacek instead of me.

“Carys, open the door. Let me in.” I lean away from the peephole and give her a meaningful scowl.

I hear her unlock the door and open it just wide enough to hiss at me.

“You need to get the fuck out of here before somebody sees us together, which is already bad enough since Jacek did. You trying to get me killed?”

I press my hand against the door, putting some weight against it. I nudge it open. She doesn’t have the weight to block me if I decide to open it all the way. She backs up, letting me in, and that’s when I see the gun pointed at me for a fourth time.

“If you don’t stop pointing that at me, I’m going to take it from you. It’s not a toy.”

“What about my reaction to you—all four times I’ve pointed it at you—makes you think I think this is a toy? Go, Shane. It’s too dangerous for you to be here, and you’re going to get me killed. People talk, and I’m certain somebody’s seen you. They know you came up here to me. You’ve signed my death warrant.”

“Why does it matter who sees you here? Who here would know I’m a mobster?”

She stares at my red hair as though I’m an idiot. I have to admit with this still being a Polish mob territory, having an Irish mobster show up is enough to make anybody talk. And with my red hair and green eyes, there are few people in any syndicate-affiliated neighborhood who don’t know I’m an O’Rourke. They might not know which O’Rourke I am, but they know I’m one.

“Shane, please, I’m truly begging you. You have got to go. You said Jacek saw us. He’s going to tell Bartlomiej he saw us together.”

“If he saw us together, then he saw me run after you and tackle you. I didn’t give you a choice.”

“Yeah. And then he saw us talking, and he saw you following me with a gun drawn.”

“Just like you were.” I push the door shut behind me since—from the way Carys’s gaze keeps darting to it—leaving it open makes her more anxious.

“But I also know you kept checking behind us rather than pointing it at me. You were protecting me, just like I was protecting you.”

“Why does it matter what Jacek says about you? How does he even know who you are? Why were you near enough to him for him to attack you?” I can see that she’s debating what she wants to tell me.

There’s a definite look of dread that settles over her face.

“Wait here a moment. I need to get something. I need to show you why I was there and why you being in my apartment isn’t a good idea for either of us.”

She heads into her bedroom, leaving the door open so I can see what she’s doing. She goes to her closet and uses a biometric pad and punch code to open a gun safe. She checks her weapon before she stores it, but I see her get something else out. My stomach drops to my toes. I don’t know which one she’s got, but there’s no other reason for her to have a black leather badge holder.

She NYPD? FBI? ATF? Interpol? Who the fuck knows? She realizes I’ve spotted it in her hand, so she says nothing when she hands it over to me.

I flip it open.

DEA.

I saved a woman whose only job is to put somebody like me away for life.