“What do you know about Mickey?”

Frank looked uneasy.

“What?”

He shook his head. “I can’t say.”

“Is it about his gang?”

“His wife,” Frank said flatly.

Everyone perked up. “What about her?” Logan asked.

Frank closed his eyes for a moment before speaking. “Have you seen a picture of his wife?”

I had, but everyone else around the room shook their head.

"Rose O’Shea was a knockout. Picture Maureen O’Hara mixed with Lana Turner and eyes the color of the clearest blue sky.” He seemed to shake his head at the very thought of her but then cleared his throat, probably when he remembered I was in the room. “She was one of those women who turned every man’s head no matter if he was in love, straight or gay, and she knew it. She loved the attention and often sought the company of other men. Word on the street was that she was a tease, which was ironic because she claimed to be such a good Catholic girl. Went to church twice a week.”

Something like anticipation crested under my skin. The way he was talking drew all of us in, even the man I loved sitting beside me.

Logan crossed his arms over his chest and stretched those long legs. “Do you know how she died? I mean people say it was gang related, but that’s all. Never any details.”

Frank exhaled and looked away. “I do, but I swore on my life to keep it to myself.”

Uneasiness moved through me. Whatever it was didn’t sound good at all, and I wasn’t sure any of us should know.

Logan eased forward. “Anything you can tell us about Mickey would be helpful.”

Frank looked contemplative.

“Listen, Frank, this is going to sound crazy but I have reason to believe Patrick’s former gang, the Dorchester Heights Gang, is reassembling. And that maybe Mickey is running it, going by the name ‘the Priest’ to keep his identity secret.”

Doubt passed over Frank’s face like a shadow.

“It sounds crazy, but it’s not completely out of the question,” Logan said.

Frank was shaking his head.

“Think about it—over the past few years the drug trafficking on the streets of Boston has been pegged to one supplier, but no one knows who he is. Cocaine use has more than doubled across all income levels, which means someone with a substantial network is supplying it. What if it’s been Mickey this whole time using former Dorchester Heights members? The ones Patrick didn’t welcome into Blue Hill?”

My stomach twisted into a thousand knots. Clementine’s grandfather running one of the biggest drug rings in the history of Boston meant that if word got out, she would be in constant danger. Kidnapping threats. Death threats. Mob danger. And to make things worse, I had no idea what Mickey felt for Clementine, if anything. At least I knew that Mickey wasn’t involved in his granddaughter’s care as far as I had observed. In fact, aside from my sister’s funeral, I’d only seen him one other time, over at Erin’s for her son Conner’s birthday. I’m not even sure we ever spoke another word after we were introduced there. Still, the thought that he might be leading a secret life didn’t make me feel good about Clementine’s environment.

Frank stood up and walked over to the sink in the corner of the room. He opened the pine cabinet beneath it and rummaged around for a bit before he pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He raised the bottle. “Anyone else need a drink?”

Logan gave a shake of his head and leaned back on the wooden chair. I worried it might not withstand the pressure and tried not to wince.

“I’ll take one,” Declan said.

“Me too,” I chimed in. I wasn’t a drinker, but thinking about Clementine in possible perpetual danger drove me to want one.

With a quiet thump, Logan brought his chair upright and leaned forward. “You okay?” he whispered so only I could hear. It was as if he was thinking the exact same thing I was and also didn’t like what that meant.

I nodded and put my hand on his knee. Just touching him made me feel so much better.

Frank continued to rummage around.

The room waited in quiet anticipation.

Logan placed his hand over mine, as if in reassurance that he’d make everything okay. The sentiment touched me. What we had together was so real, at times I had a hard time believing it. With Logan in my life, I knew what Charlie and I once shared wasn’t real love at all because real love doesn’t fall apart when someone is broken. Real love toughs it out . . . no matter what. Besides, according to Logan I wasn’t the least bit broken, and I chose to believe him.

The liquid poured easily into the glasses Frank found above the sink and went down even easier. Logan’s touch had already started to settle my nerves and this finished the deal.

Frank, on the other hand, downed one, then another glass. When he finished, he looked toward Logan, who seemed to have switched gears and suddenly gained patience. A slight trickle of perspiration broke on Frank’s forehead. “It’s not Mickey. I’m almost certain of that.”

Logan looked perplexed. “What do you know, Frank? What makes you say that?”

He gulped another sip. “This is dangerous information. What I’m about to tell you has to remain in this room. Promise me it won’t get out.”

Logan raised his right hand. “I promise. I swear on my own life.” He glanced around and Miles and Declan did the same, and then his eyes landed on mine. I didn’t raise my hand. I didn’t have to; he knew I’d never do anything that would hurt him.

Frank’s words sputtered out. “He’d never run a gang once run by Paddy Flannigan. Never. Besides, he wouldn’t have any trusted members. No one would work for him.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Everyone knows his wife died because of him. He broke code and didn’t protect his family. No one would work for a man like that.”

“What really happened, Frank?”

“His wife took a bullet meant for Paddy.”

Everyone’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

Logan twisted in his seat and his right foot was tapping furiously on the floor. “Are you certain about that?”

Frank nodded. “It happened right here, in my pub, in front of me.”

“Who pulled the trigger?”

His response was an empty, “Mickey.”

What?

I felt like the room was spinning. All the air was sucked from my lungs. I think I gasped. A chill went down my spine and I suddenly felt very cold. Mickey and Rose were Clementine’s grandparents, and learning details of their tainted past made those knots in my stomach tighten even more.

Logan moved closer to me and the gesture warmed me instantly. I couldn’t believe how much I needed him.

“What happened, Frank?” he asked, with a softness in his voice that surprised me.

Frank squeezed his eyes closed. “It was 1989, just after the New Year. The weather was miserable and the pub was empty, so I sent the bartender home. I’d thought about closing early, but my wife had just left me and the thought of going home to an empty bed wasn’t appealing. In walked Paddy and he ordered his usual. He came in a lot back then. I used to joke with him that I was his therapist and was going to start charging. He and his wife were having trouble and I was no stranger to that.”

Logan narrowed his eyes in concentration. “So you and Patrick Flannigan were friends?”

The hollow laugh that escaped Frank’s throat sent chills through me. “Friends. That would be a stretch of the word. I did what I had to in order to stay on his good side. Molly’s was between Blue Hill and Dorchester Heights turf but hadn’t been claimed by either. That was enough to make me his best friend if he wanted me to be.”

“You were afraid he was going to make you pay for protection?” Declan asked.

He nodded. “Fuck yeah, I was. Listen, things had changed by then. The Irish Mob was no longer about the cause; the IRA had long been forgotten. Like now, it was about profit, but it was also about pride. I was lucky I hadn’t been forced to pay for protection like everyone else around me. I didn’t care whose friend I had to be; I just wanted to keep it that way.”