The neon buzz of the meatpacking district lit up the rain-soaked alley as I leaned against a locked steel door, nursing the ache in my ribs. My name’s Saoirse Malone, ex-priest turned skip tracer. Tonight, I wasn’t chasing a debtor. I was chasing the ghost of my brother, Martin.
The Boyle Twins, butcher-kingpins who ran the district like their personal abbatoir, claimed Martin was skimming. He swore he wasn’t. Last week, his body showed up in a dumpster, teeth shattered, hands missing, heart carved out. Guilt sank my gut—I’d introduced him to the Twins. Told him it was a break.
A boot scuffed behind me. “Why d’you care, Saoirse? He was dirty,” growled Declan Boyle, his cleaver gleaming in the wet light. I pulled the revolver I’d smuggled under my jacket. “Nobody cuts a man’s heart out to prove he’s stealing. I find out why you really did it, you and Finn are dead.”
Declan barked a laugh. “Ask your brother’s widow. Or can a priest still handle confession?”
My grip tightened, but I let him go. Declan’s laughter echoed down the empty street. At home, Martin’s wife met my eyes, then her gaze fell to the floor. I stared as she clenched a wedding band in her fist, one that wasn’t his.
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