Wolf seems like a smart guy. Mam will see that too. I give her less than a minute to trot out that old Shakespeare quote, about how ungrateful children are sharper than a serpent’s tooth.
He’ll lap it up. Shitehawks like him always do.
Wolf’s voice cuts through the little courtyard like an earthquake rumbling through the center of the earth. “I saidenough.”
Mam loosens her grip on my throat before backing up a full step. Clearing her throat, she offers up a stuttering cough, catching her breath.
I risk a glance at her face. I’ve seen my mother play-act every emotion under the sun—love for Breagha and me, concern, compassion… For a moment, I think she’s adding a new fake to her repertoire: Fear.
But Mam isn’t faking. She’s actually, honestly terrified. And when I look at the cold fury in Cole Wolf’s face, I understand why. The man looks like tearing her apart limb from limb is the science experiment he never got to complete in school, and he’s looking forward to the chance to complete his education.
Plus, he clearly overheard our fighting. He knows my money has been shoring up the Canton Crew. Even a whisper of the truth in the wrong ear could ruin Da forever.
Mam wipes her palm against her eight-thousand-dollar dress and starts to stammer. “I— She— Th— this isn’t what it looks like. W— we were just t— talking. I— I was j— just explaining?—”
Wolf puts his body between my mother and me. “Let’s go,” he says to me.
It isn’t a question. He isn’t presenting an option, giving me a choice and letting me think about all the places I might prefer to be on a late winter night in Boston. He’s issuing a direct order.
And fuck me. I go.
I march like a soldier, without looking left or right. I don’t study the courtyard. I don’t glance back at Mam.
The spell only lasts until we’re through the gate. Once I’m free from Mam, my brain comes back online with the click and whirl of a computer booting up.
This is where I’d thank Wolf if I didn’t hate the very air he breathes. I clench my fingers into fists because I don’t haveanother glass of champagne to throw. This man is my enemy. Marching me away from Mam doesn’t change that.
He stops in front of a jet-black BMW. I have to skip a couple of short steps to keep from running into his tuxedo jacket. When he turns to face me, his eyes catch the streetlight—those hunter’s eyes, shrewd and narrowed, making me feel cornered, like he’s seeing a lot more than I mean to display.
“I’m Cole Wolf,” he says. “Which I assume you know, unless you’re in the habit of throwing champagne at random wedding guests.”
I grunt, crossing my arms over my chest.
“And you are?” he prompts, with the exaggerated politeness of a Sunday School teacher.
“Kate,” I finally say. When his eyebrows flicker toward the sky in a silent prompt, I add, “Lynch.”
“Kate Lynch,” he repeats, like he’s checking my name for landmines. “Perhaps you can enlighten me, Kate Lynch. Perhaps you can tell my why I’m agoddamn over-reaching fuckwad.”
And I suddenly realize I’ve played this all wrong.
Sure, Cole Wolf is my sworn enemy. He’s Lone Wolf Enterprises. I’ve vowed to undermine every last one of his defenses, to take down the banks and corporations and princes of fortune he’s sworn to protect.
But Wolf doesn’t know any of that. He has no idea I’m CyberGhost, that Kate Lynch leads the Red Cap Raiders. No one knows the truth—not even the men I campaign with. I’ve kept my real-world identity completely separate from my life online.
Fuck.
Tiny flames lick beneath the kindling in my brain. I need to give Wolf a good enough reason for hitting him with the champagne. Something he’ll accept without question. Somemisunderstandingthat led to my social faux pas.
“What did you expect me to do?” I ask, in the whinging tone Mam always says gives her a headache. “You fuck my sister,then don’t take her calls? Breagha tells me everything, you know.”
His predator eyes narrow, just a hint, as he ignores my false trail. “Try again,” he says. “Any man who jilted your sister would have the mob to answer to. He’d be left mopping up a lot more than champagne. Tell me another story.”
His smooth reply tamps down the fire of my thoughts. It’s been a while since one of my lies fell that flat. I’m good at making people angry enough to believe whatever I want them to.
With my first attempt having gone so far wide of the mark, it’s hard to come up with a second lie. Some mistake that would make me throw my champagne… Maybe even something to justify my mother’s short temper, her raging at me in the alley…
I offer take two: “You call yourself a designer! Mam paid you enough for her dress, and she expected you to have it waiting at our hotel. Do you have any idea how devastated she was, making a last-minute substitute? You embarrassed her in front of all the other mob wives.”