I'm only half listening to her. I’m running through my days, mentally trying to piece together what happened that day. It hits me that it was the day E-Z brought in the traitors that were skimming money from the casino. Fuck. I remember I thought I heard a noise when E-Z and I were talking.
Could it have possibly been Belle?
"Sierra, please tell me that you made sure she didn’t come upstairs."
I lean forward, and she must not like the look on my face because she takes a small step back. I work with her daily, so she's seen my anger, but the possibility of Belle watching me kill someone doesn’t sit well with me. The woman I met a few days ago was way too innocent to process something like that. Which means she could try and call the cops or anything. Shit. This could be a major clusterfuck and I don’t have time for it.
"Of course not. You said you didn't want to be disturbed because you had E-Z in your office." I nod, some of the tightness leaving my chest.
"Did she leave a message or something?" I mutter, already dismissing her in my head and thinking of the work I need to get accomplished today.
"No, that's about the time they called over the radio about Vince, so I went to help. When I came back, she was gone already." She shrugs as if it's not a big deal. Surely, she can’t be that stupid. Leaving Belle alone in the office when all the security guards were busy with me means that there were no eyes on the elevator or the halls. Belle would have had all the time she wanted to move through the building—including upstairs around my office.
"Shit! Did she come upstairs?" I ask in a growl. What if she was the noise that I heard? What if she saw everything? That's a loose end that I can't afford to leave. If she was there, I’m going to have to find a way to shut her up.
Fucking hell.
"Surely not. Security would've found her." She looks sure of her answer, but I know better. Sierra has no idea that security was with me and E-Z disposing of the bodies.
"Tell Joe to have the feed from that day sent to my office computer right away," I order, barking it out and unable to contain my anger and frustration. I don’t know what I’m going to do if Belle went snooping around. I’m not one to kill innocents and that’s definitely what Belle Tate is.
Jesus.
CHAPTER 11
BONES
It’s four in the morning and I’m bored as fuck listening to Donovan going on about how simple this shit will be. He’s such a fucking idiot. Nothing is ever simple in this business. When a man drops his guard thinking it is, he ends up six feet under, feeding worms or in prison for life. We’re waiting for Orla and her nephews to bless us with their presence, and I know that’s the main thing bothering the fuck out of me. We’re set to do this damn gig today and the last thing I need to be doing is wasting my time here.
I keep circling back to why this woman would cheat on her rich, mafia husband with the likes of Donovan. She’s up to something. If you’re married to Ryan O’Leary, cheating in general will sign your own death warrant, but sleeping with a fucking caddie inside the family network? Jesus, that is insanity personified. No, there’s something more going on with Orla O’Ryan.
I’m sure of it.
I should've washed my hands of all of this. I have the money to pay my way out. I'm too old for the games.
Donovan is sure this is his lottery ticket out of his ordinary life. He’s fucking the wife of the head of a mob family. His days are numbered. Shit, a woman that will do what Orla is doing is also the kind of woman who will throw you under the bus when shit hits the fan. I'm sitting here wondering if Donovan just finally burned out the last of his brain cells with alcohol and whatever other bullshit he's doing. The last job we did, we barely scraped out of it, holding our breath for years in case someone found out. I feel like my asshole just started to unpucker, and yet here—the stupid fuck that I am—I seem to be getting right back into Donovan's schemes. It seems I never can turn down the lure of money.
Orla finally walks in flanked by two men. I know from talking to Donovan that the men are her nephews. She takes a seat at the table after kissing Donovan's forehead. I want to roll my eyes, but I just take a sip of my beer instead. The men she's with eye us suspiciously, and I wonder idly if they are on her side or O'Leary's. It could go either way. Throw enough fucking money around and loyalties change. Orla sets a gun in a bag on the table. I stare at it and the careful way it’s wrapped inside the plastic. It’s hard for me to believe that she wants Killian O’Leary left hanging just because of some sort of slight or disrespect.