Page 12 of The Celtic Resolution

“Bruno Del Prete?”

“Who’s asking?”

“You can call me Daniel. Word on the vine is you’re good for some work.”

“Sure, I’m looking.”

“You made some friends inside so they’re throwing you a bone. Get you back on your feet.”

Befriending the Triad continues to pay off, it seems. I sit up fully and stifle a yawn. “Appreciate it. What you got for me?”

“First, we need to know you’re good. We have a problem that needs taken care of. Do it, and we’ll know you’re trustworthy.”

“Sure. What is it?” The call ends in a click and a few seconds later, a text arrives and my stomach twists the moment I open it.

Four words and a picture.

A photograph of the woman who kicked my ass tonight.

Take care of her.

6

SAOIRSE

Huddling over my breakfast, I feel like I’ve aged ten years overnight from how the pain of my blossoming bruises refuses to ease. The thought of wolfing down my oatmeal turns my stomach so I end up pushing it around my bowl while my twin, Cian, hurries around me stuffing toast into his face.

“You should have called me,” Cian says between mouthfuls. “You shouldn’t be taking on shit like this yourself.”

“I’m perfectly capable of handling myself in a fight, Cian.”

“Are you? Because you look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backward.”

“My inability to sleep has nothing to do with the fight.” A lie. The pain in my ribs kept me up all night and there’s a continuous throbbing at the back of my skull from where my head collided with the van door. It throbs now almost in rhythm with my heartbeat.

“Are you sure?” Underneath his cocky smirk, there’s real concern in his eyes when he stops his pacing and leans down to my height. “Have you been to the doctor?”

“I don’t need a doctor. The guy didn’t even fight that well.”

“Do we know who he is?”

Cormac instructed me to keep my investigation quiet, which, as much as it pains me, includes keeping it from my twin. “Just some homeless loiterer. I think he was high or something.”

“Must have been, to get a shot on you,” Cian replies. He studies my face for a long, silent moment then nudges my shoulder as he smiles. “Well, I’ll keep an eye on the hospitals in case any homeless men turn up with Saoirse Gifford’s fists imprinted on them.”

“Fuck off.” I laugh, biting back a soft groan of pain. “Listen, I need you to make sure you call Ma.”

“I always do.”

“Yeah, but she’s back to quizzing me about my love life, so entertain her with your latest escapade to get her off my back.”

“You know, the easiest way to do that is to get out there and find a lover.”

“When do I have time for romance?”

“Could try Cormac’s method of falling in love with a hostage.”

“Imagine.” I snort, amused. “Please?”