Page 78 of Irish Brute

“So yer not as stupid as ya’ve acted th’ past six weeks.”

I ignore the insult. “Where?”

“The Rittenhouse.”

“Here in Philadelphia?”

“Unless ya know another Rittenhouse.”

I’m just surprised two top family bosses will hit the road to come down here. But it makes sense. Russo and I are here. Ingram won’t set foot in New York. And Scuderi must be equally opposed to Boston.

The hotel is just three miles from the port. If things go arseways at the docks, I can be there in a quarter hour. Madden will be my second at the summit, but I can put Patrick on lead for the shipment. As chief enforcer, my Warlord knows how to get things done.

It’s not craic. But it will have to be good enough.

There’s just one question left for me to ask, and I’m not certain I want to hear the answer.

“I need to know,” I say. “Do I have your support, going in?”

He sighs, which is a mistake, because that launches another coughing fit. I almost think it’s not worth it to wait him out. If he says yes and it’s the truth, I’m grand. And if he lies, I still have to take the meeting.

But when Ingram finally catches his breath, he wheezes, “Ye’ve made a fine mess, boyo. But I’d rather wipe yer arse any day than kiss the arse o’ one o’ those guinea thugs.”

I end the call, praying that’s enough to get me through Sunday.

31

SAMANTHA

Braiden’s face is grimmer than I’ve ever seen it when he ends his call with the person he calls boss. “I’m sorry,” he says to me. “I need to take care of some business.”

Without further explanation, he yanks open the nursery door, only to come up short when he sees the ruin in the hallway. The carpet is soaked. The door to his office is reduced to kindling. The entire corridor stinks of smoke.

“Fairfax!” Braiden hollers.

The elfin man appears on the staircase within seconds.

“I need a suite at the Rittenhouse,” Braiden says. “And Eoghan to drive us there.”

“Certainly,” Fairfax says, as if he has nothing else to manage in the wake of a house fire. “How many bedrooms for the suite? And how many nights?”

“One bedroom. Three nights. I’ll be in business meetings. Have my clothes sent over.”

Fairfax takes out his phone and begins to make the arrangements. Braiden says to me, “Can you pack a bag, with that shoulder?”

I nod.

“Go on then. Make sure you take everything you need. You won’t be leaving the room once we’re there.”

I want to argue. I want to ask him to slow down. I want to say he can’t just expect me to drop everything on his say-so.

But the truth of the matter is, Braidencanexpect me to do his bidding. I have, ever since he put his ring on my finger.

We both go to our bedroom. I find a duffel bag in the closet and start to pack while he makes a series of phone calls.

He can’t reach Madden, but he leaves a scorching message. He calls Liam, my driver and bodyguard, ordering him to meet us at the Rittenhouse in an hour with the keys to the suite Fairfax is arranging. He tries Madden again and leaves another pointed voicemail. He tells someone named Patrick to get to the hotel as well and to bring six of his best men. When Madden doesn’t pick up on Braiden’s third try, I think the phone may end up shattered.

Instead, Braiden settles for jamming it in his pocket and saying to me, “You’re done?”