She makes the commissioner’s wife laugh with stories about Ireland and her family, about stubborn siblings and loud dinners, and when the commissioner’s attention drifts to me, she never once looks bored.
She looks proud to be my wife.
I hate how much that thought tightens something in my chest.
Between anecdotes and shared jokes, I talk shop.
Carefully.
Strategically.
Nothing overt.
Nothing that could be repeated without sounding paranoid or criminal.
Just enough to paint a picture.
The Tanakas are destabilizing the city.
Their internal fractures are making things messy.
Messy tends to spill.
Chicago doesn’t need that kind of mess.
The commissioner nods along, sipping his wine, offering murmurs of agreement.
He talks about resources being stretched thin, about prioritization.
About how unfortunate it is that he can’t always control certain… isolated incidents from occurring outside his direct purview.
I don’t doubt it’s much the same thing he and Tatsuo discussed before the Yakuza came to wipe my family out, but then, I can’t hold grudges against a lack of loyalty when money and flattery are the only languages the commissioner speaks.
And I intend to own both fields from now on.
By dessert, I’m satisfied.
By coffee, I’m confident we won’t meet with any resistance when it comes to bringing the Tanakas down.
And all the while, Aisling has been winning over the women at the table, so by the end of the night, it feels like we’ve all been longtime friends.
“We’ll have to have you over for dinner soon,” the commissioner’s wife insists, squeezing Aisling’s hand as we head to the door to collect our coats.
“Oh, we would be honored, right, Love?” my wife gushes, turning to me with wide-eyed enthusiasm.
“Absolutely,” I agree from two steps behind her, where I’m walking with Commissioner Doyle.
And as the women collect their jackets, he claps me on the shoulder. “Your father would be proud,” he says, his eyes gleaming with affection.
The compliment lands like a bruise.
I highly doubt it.
My father was never proud of his sons—me and Sandro least of all.
But I’m not doing this to honor his memory. I’m doing this for my brothers, so no one in their right minds will ever dare tothinkof coming for our family again.
Still, we leave with smiles intact, the night crisp and clean as we step onto the sidewalk and go our separate ways.