Declan's Demand

“Maybe you need to think of him as a lost cause and start thinking about how you’re going to protect yourself when this all goes down.”

“What?” I don’t know what Puthe is referring to, but it sounds like there is more than one crooked cop working this end of the city. I doubt my dad, for all his faults, would stand up for this, and maybe that’s what this is about. He’s already in over his head and a sinking ship. Keep Dad drunk enough that he can’t catch on to what’s going on right under his nose and obliterated senses.

Dirty cops, Declan’s club, and the usual underbelly of crime seem to be at war, and somehow I step into the shitstorm of it all.

“You better watch yourself, Sydney. Daddy won’t be around to protect you forever.”

The threat is clear and I push Puthe back as a screech of tires sounds down the street. I recognize the big black SUV as the one Stevens and Rhodes use.

“Go fuck yourself,” I scoff at Puthe, pushing against him with all my force and making him stumble back down a step. I hurry down past him.

“Natas won’t help you either, Sydney,” Puthe yells as Farrow finally unearths his head from the paper, looking between Puthe and me.

The SUV stops and I run past as Declan’s thugs getting out of the car—for what, I don’t know. For a change, I’m too quick for them to stop me. I’m not safe anywhere and I have no allies here. The one man who should have been protecting me is drunk and useless. I never thought of myself as an orphan, but here I am truly and completely alone. I push my pace racing down the block, dodging old neighbors and kids playing ball in the street, innocent of what is happening here. I hope they stay that way.

I don’t stop until I reach my apartment and slam the door shut. Instinctively I grab for the folding chair at my cracked Formica table for two and throw it under the knob of the door, but I know that wouldn’t hold a good kick of the doorframe. I dash to locate my phone in my purse and scan for bus and train schedules, thinking maybe if I run away and leave, I’ll be able to escape. A smart person would flee, but I know I won’t. I couldn’t leave my dad here anymore than I could try finishing a puzzle with missing pieces.

I toss my phone onto the full bed that takes up all the space in my room. I could try hiding under the covers, but I’m not that girl. I need a new plan. It’s not long before the sun sets and a solid knock on my door jars me from the daze I’ve let myself slip into.

I see him in the peephole, so I open the door. “Hi, what are you doing here? Is Selma okay?” I step back to let him inside but he stops to put his arms up as he leans on the doorjamb.

“You need to stop asking about my boss, Sydney.”

“Y-your boss?” The guy who spent his time at the coffee shop flirting with me is hard and different standing there with his body blocking out the light from the hallway. My head tries to logically process what he’s saying and connect the dots.

“Yeah, because now he’s asking about you. Says he wants to meet you, get a good look at the girl that’s got Natas acting like a fool. Let’s go.”

“I-I don’t think—”

“That’s the problem. You didn’t think.” He jerks my arm, pulling me down the hall. I don’t even get the chance to shut my apartment door, and he doesn’t care.

Chapter Seven

Declan

There’s nothing worse than temptation when you’re trying to go legit. It can be as subtle as the penny you find on the ground—a little tarnished, maybe nicked on the edges. You pick it up and examine it; it’s not yours, but it’s there. It’s free. No one wants just a penny. No one will miss it, so you take it thinking it’s only this one time—and then one time repeats itself with the next bad penny and the next until you’ve collected more than you know what to do with. Business is an awful lot like that. At least my father’s business had been. A little here, a little there until you had to launder it all to make it shiny new and untraceable. Dad left me with a pile of shit pennies to clean up somewhere in the millions, and even if I wanted to give it back I couldn’t without incriminating everyone in the outfit, and that’s not how we work here. I’m trying to build the Mob 2.0, but if I’m not careful the sins of the father and my own demons will drag this whole thing down.

When my phone rings, I pick it up knowing the voice on the other end is a bad penny—a loose tie I should have taken care of but didn’t when I had the chance. What did Sydney call me? Ah yes, merciful. How wrong she is about me. I’m exactly like my father. I’m a bad apple not far from the tree, picking up bad pennies like Sydney and LeHavre along the way.

The voice on the line laughs. “Did you get my present?”

I sigh. “You know it’s not my birthday, Andre.”

“I know, but we used to share everything.” He’s laughing out loud now, an obnoxious sound that makes the phone vibrate, and I hold it away from my ear, grimacing.

“I’m not interested in sharing.” I hang up the phone.

He’s implying women. Obviously I had my wild days. I still do, but I haven’t shared a woman in a decade. Knowing Andre LeHavre’s peculiarities made sharing impossible.

LeHavre is a complication I don’t need, and one of the many things I’m cleaning up from the days my father let his boys run around like lawless thugs. Last thing I need is the FBI—or worse, another street war to rival the one my dad created in the seventies. And to think I went to college and studied business for this bullshit. So many other ways I could have used that business degree from Dartmouth.

Now I have the luxury of sitting on the stone steps watching a limp Chinese carpet wiggle in the rain. Heavy droplets bounce off the wool of my dark suit, adding misery to my mood. With my elbows on my knees and my hands folded under my chin, I contemplate my next move. I’ve been holding in a deep breath until now, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do with said carpet.

It shouldn’t be here.

She shouldn’t be here—if my suspicions are correct—because anything that crosses the threshold of this house becomes mine and my sole responsibility. That rule and that one alone is the only holdover from my father’s era as Boss. Consider it an extension of protection once I’ve brought something into my domain. There’s no going back from here.

The carpet is easily six feet in length and a mottled red-and-navy pattern through the reverse side of the weave. It’s not a cheap carpet. Damn thing probably cost twenty grand directly from China. Unfortunately I recognize it and the study from which it came.