Page 92 of Irish Vice

In one hand, Braiden holds a pistol. With his other, he raises a single finger to his lips, warning me to silence.

But it’s not silence Braiden needs. It’s noise. I have to provide a distraction as Braiden maneuvers for a clear shot.

So I lower my Glock just a fraction, and I offer Madden the chance to brag some more. “How did you get in here? Without anyone knowing?”

His one-shoulder shrug is dismissive. “This was my da’s house before it was Braiden’s. I’ve been sneaking in and out of Thornfield since I was ten.”

If Braiden’s surprised, he doesn’t give a sign. I try another line to distract Madden. “That bomb in the garage. Did you learn that from Russo?”

He snorts hard enough that his own weapon slips toward Aiofe’s ear. She whimpers as he boasts, “I’ve known that shite since I was this one’s age.”

Braiden can’t get off a shot yet, not without putting Aiofe atrisk. But I edge a little to my right, trying to get Madden to shift to a more vulnerable position. “But you’ve been working with Russo all along, haven’t you?”

He sneers. “So the penny finally drops.”

“You hid things well.” And he did. Or maybe I didn’t want to see. “At the Rittenhouse, at the summit. You accusedmeof spying for Russo to take attention from you.”

“Couldn’t let Baby Brother knowIwas responsible for East Falls taking that cocaine.”

A quarter of a billion dollars. I wonder how much Russo paid for the tipoff.

My gun is still lowered, an outward show of my good intentions. I shift my weight, taking another half step toward the closest green couch. Madden obliges by squaring his body to face me—not enough of a shift to bring him into range for Braiden, but something.

“You were responsible. And Fiona too?”

“Fiona didn’t know shite. She was Daddy’s Little Princess, running that meeting. Gave me good cover.” He laughs. “Gave me good head too.”

Aiofe flinches. I don’t think she understands his words, but she can’t miss the cruelty in his tone. Madden digs his gun deeper into her skull. Braiden tenses, ready to pounce, but the child’s still not safe.

I slump a little more to my right, trying not to sound frantic as I clutch at straws to keep him talking. “You and Fiona met at the summit?”

This time his laugh is a single harsh bark, contrasting with Aiofe’s moan. “I was nailing Fiona months before she came here. Met her on my trip to Dublin—not that my jackeen brother paid enough attention to figurethatout. Who the fuck bones a contortionist? He’d believe anything.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about, but from the thunder on Braiden’s face, it’s some sort of dirty joke. Horny men boasting about conquests. Naughty boys trying out new lies.

Braiden gestures with his chin toward my Glock. He wants me to raise it. He wants us to go after Madden together. But I still can’t be sure a death spasm won’t kill Aiofe.

Instead, I try to distract Madden one more time. Maybe Braiden can get close enough to grab Aiofe, to pull her away. “You and Fiona met inDublin? Before she ever came to the Rittenhouse?”

He nods, one tight toss of his head. “Asifshe’d settle down with a trip to the old country. Her da’s a feckin’ eejit. She’s a schemer, that one. Her and me both.”

Braiden’s face is dark with barely harnessed rage. I’m almost out of time to make Madden drop his guard. But I have one last point to leverage, the one Asher gave me. Was that only this evening?

I keep my tone even, intent on distracting Madden with a known lie. “But Fiona acted alone, didn’t she? Hiring the waiter to kill me at Diamond Freeport?”

“Fiona? Fuck, no.” Madden’s voice is slimy with scorn. His smile is obscene. “I wanted to prove Russo could trust me. Give him a little present—you. Your body, anyway.I’mthe one who hired that gobshite.”

Braiden bellows.

Aiofe screams.

And I do the only thing I can do, to keep Madden from executing his hostage.

43

BRAIDEN

“Aiofe!” Samantha’s shout echoes in the safe room, loud and clear. “Bring me Coinín!”