Page 50 of Irish Brute

“What things?”

There are files, but Mary can send those. There are books, but Braiden will buy me a library. There’s really only one thing I wish I’d carried home. “My roses,” I say.

Against all odds, he laughs. He knows he’s won this fight. “You’ll have fresh flowers every morning,” he promises.

“I wantthoseflowers,” I sulk.

“I’ll send Liam back for them tomorrow.”

He would too, if I let him. But I shake my head. “The man had a long enough day today.”

“As have you,” Braiden says. “And I suspect you forgot to eat.”

He’s already leading me to the kitchen, no arguments allowed, before I think to lie.

20

BRAIDEN

Itell Fairfax to have fresh flowers in Samantha’s office every morning. He places them while we eat breakfast—Samantha, Aiofe, and me.

Then Samantha settles into her first full day of working from home, and I get busy in the sound-proofed basement of the Hare, in downtown Philadelphia. I’m sending a message to Russo, by way of a filleting knife applied to his capo in charge of South Philly drug distribution. The shitehawk lasts longer than I expect—a full twelve hours after I start cutting. That’s probably because of the Crash we pump into his system—the same drug he’s been pushing to middle-school kids. Ordinarily, I won’t touch the stuff, but I’m happy to make an exception today.

Three days later, Russo raids my executive poker game, killing one of my guards and sending another to the hospital, gut-shot.

He beats up the madam at my best massage parlor, leaving her with a broken arm and serious doubts about her chosen profession.

He buys off the customs inspectors on a shipping container of cheap Irish whiskey, sending thousands of gallons of booze down the drain, and impounding my counterfeit Jameson labels.

I hit back—casinos and whorehouses and olive oil imports, blow after blow after blow.

Four weeks of cat-and-mouse gets expensive. Police Commissioner Washington is making a killing, collecting from both of us to look the other way.ThePhiladelphia Enquirertakes notice of the crime spree, making people start calling for changes in gun laws. Buying off legislators in the state capital is my least favorite way to spend money.

So I’m not paying attention to Samantha the way she deserves. I get reports from Fairfax. I know my wife works long hours. If I’m not in the house, she skips meals. Even when I’m there, she doesn’t take breaks. I know all that, but I’m too busy to do anything about it.

Until one month after my work-from-home rule went into effect.

Samantha doesn’t leave her office until a quarter to midnight. I’m waiting in the shadows of the hallway.

“New rule,” I say.

“Jesus!” She jumps like she’s watching some third-rate horror movie. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“If you left your office before sunset, you’d have seen me.”

Her laugh sounds forced. “Time and lawsuits wait for no man.”

“You work too hard.”

“I work as hard as I need to, to get the job done.”

“From now on, you’ll put in ten hours a day, max.”

She brandishes her laptop. “Let me guess. I should do your work first, and the rest of the freeport clients can go to hell.”

I refuse to be pushed into that argument. “I trust you to set priorities.”

“Well,that’sa lie.”