My cell phone buzzes, but I’m looking across at the boss from one of the oldest Boston crime families, Liam O’Doyle, and I can’t afford to fucking blink.
His wrinkled face resembles a fucking Shar-pei, and I immediately clench my jaw, so I don’t laugh at the image floating around my brain.
This sonovabitch is behind Sanchez’s sudden power grab, and I know it. I just need him to admit it.
Stupid prick has a daughter he’s been dangling in my face. Fucker thinks I’m interested, and I’m inclined to let him think whatever he wants. As long as I get what I want and that’s info on where Sanchez is hiding out.
The prick vacated his known residences and haunts. My guys have been searching for days.
If O’Doyle is hiding him, I need to know. And if that means lying to the old piece of shit, I can do that with no problem.