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  I shake my head out of those thoughts and send Bennett a quick text.

  I'm back. Everything was fine. How's your date going??

  Not even thirty seconds later, he responds: I figured he wouldn't dump you on the side of the road somewhere ;) Details on my date to follow.

  It's then that I realize I'd just had the first genuine and real conversation I've ever really had with someone who wasn't Bennett. Not to mention one of the strangest conversations I'd ever had. He challenged me, meeting me measure for measure, matching me point for point, and didn't let me off the hook. It was energizing and...almost fun. If you can call debating the nature of God, organized religion, heaven, and hell fun. But with him, I almost want to do it again.

  I don't know what that means, but I do know I'm not sure if I like the way that feels.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jack

  Hypocrites flank me on every side. My dad stands to my left. My mom on my right. And the mayor stands in front of me, about thirty feet away on his podium. As I stand here, my back stick straight and my eyes forward, my mind flashes to that conversation I'd had with Rae two days ago. That completely out of nowhere, bizarre, and surprisingly enlightening conversation.

  Everyone's a hypocrite about something. Rae in judging the judgmental. Me in 'playing fast and loose' with the Bible. And then you have my parents. I glance at my mom, who's standing there with her picket sign that reads, Reclaim Boston, and she's as beautiful as she ever was with her eyes hard and furious. How much does she know? Does she know the man she's protesting right now raised her husband's illegitimate daughter? Does she know that daughter even exists? Even if she doesn't know, she can't be happy with him like this. I bet she hasn't really been happy with him in years, if she ever really was. And yet she still stays with him in spite of everything.

  I can't bring myself to look at my dad for too long.

  Instead, I focus what's left of my attention on Moretti, who's gone full-out in the height of his speech. Despite the fact that it's still early in the day, a sweltering heat settles over our shoulders and the sun glares down at what's happening here in my neighborhood.

  "We must repair and revitalize our city—we can make Boston great again," the mayor tells the amped-up crowd. Part of me is waiting for him to start waving his hands and pounding his fists like a proper dictator. "We must. With time, care, and hard work, we will see flourishment and rejuvenation. I'm not just talking about business creation and expansion. I'm talking jobs. Jobs with better benefits, higher salaries, and quality environments. I know that's something we all want and I know that's something we all most certainly need."

  I huff out a laugh and glance at Brennan out of the corner of my eye. He shakes his head at me with a wry grin and lifts his Whose City? Our City! sign higher in the air. It's all bullshit. Every single word.

  "Each square inch of this city that's renewed and reborn is another opportunity for greatness. Another opportunity for creation and diversity. We must grab this opportunity with both hands and allow it to lead our city where it has never been before. Our city will no longer be a stagnant relic of the past, but an ever-changing, ever-growing organism of progress."

  There are cheers and whoops of approval, but they don't last long.

  My mom, enraged by years of tension and escalating recklessness, reaches deep into her back pocket and reveals a large, smooth rounded stone. Before I barely have a chance to realize what's about to happen, she launches it through the air. The stone sails past the rest of the crowd, high in the air, and lands right on the side of the mayor's head. He jerks back, his hands fly to his head, and then it's pandemonium.

  Shouts and cries erupt through the crowd as cops shove through the throngs. All the bodies around me start pushing and pulling, eager to rush the stage and have their turn to finish what my mom started. My Gentrify This sign clatters to the pavement and I turn my head to see my dad already has my mom by the elbow. He's yanking her away from the crowd and away from the cops with their batons drawn, ready to find the culprit who started this riot.

  This definitely wasn't part of the plan, but my mom clearly had other ideas.

  Hands shove me forward and I move with the crowd, too deep inside it to find an easy way out. Pushing and pulling my way through doesn't help me much because I can't see Brennan anymore. I don't care about what happens from here on out—we've made our point, even if it wasn't the one we'd planned. All that matters to me now is getting a hold of my brother and getting the hell out of here.

  Scanning the scattered crowd, I push my way through with my fists ready and I have to throw a few punches to get closer when I spot Brennan shoving closer and closer to Moretti. As much as I want to take a few shots myself, there's no way that can end any way but bad.

  You're not in the ring yet, I have to tell myself as I get closer. Save it for the real fight tonight.

  All I need to do is just get a little closer and I'll be able to grab him by the back of his shirt to put some space between them. Just as I reach out with both hands, I hear Brennan's voice above the shouting.

  "You think you can come into my neighborhood and pull this shit? You think you can come in here and push people out of their homes? Not in my city, asshole! Just you wait—just you feckin' wait 'til I'm in Beacon Hill. You'll never—"

  He's suddenly jerked back by a nearby cop and there's no stopping it now. I see hands on my brother and I see red.

  "Hey!" I shout as my hands viciously shove the cop in the back as hard as I can. "Don't touch him!"

  "Leave it alone, Jack," Brennan calls out to me from over the cop's shoulder, but it's already too late. Before I can take another step, my arms slam behind my back and cold cuffs slap around my wrists.

  "You're under arrest," a low voice murmurs in my ear. "You should know better than to lay hands on a cop."

  Yeah, I think bitterly as I watch the exact same thing happen to my brother, and how long have you been on Moretti's payroll?

  I REALLY SHOULDN'T have been surprised when Brennan and I are shoved into an interrogation room as soon as we're taken out of holding. It's been awhile since I've found myself with cuffs around my wrists, but the last time, interrogation wasn't part of the deal. Unfortunately, I have a feeling this isn't just another routine arrest. Or, at least, not for me and definitely not for my brother.

  "How much yah wanna bet they're in there," Brennan gestures with his head to the dark glass window just a few feet away from us, "fightin' over which one of them gets to take the first shot?"

  "Don't think about that," I grumble back, easing into my stiff metal chair. Who knows how long we'll be holed up here? Might as well make myself comfortable. "Maybe we should try a different bet—how long are they gonna try to keep us here? One night? Two nights? Three?"

  "Nah," Brennan just bats a hand in the air. "Ma and Pop aren't gonna let us sit for too long if they can help it."

  Now I find myself wondering just how much Brennan knows. I'd like to believe he has no idea, that he's been just in the dark as I was, but then again, how do I know the whole thing wasn't some deep, dark family secret, only to be shared with those on a need-to-know basis? Since I'm not technically family...no. I shake those thoughts from my head because that just isn't fair. Not to me. Not to Brennan and Sean. Not even my parents.

  Luckily enough, we don't have to wait too much longer because just a few moments later, the door opens and Moretti steps through the threshold, just as calm and cool as I've ever seen him.

  He flashes us a wide grin and reaches up to smooth his slicked-back dark hair as he steps deeper into the interrogation room.

  "Hello, gentleman," he starts easily, a little too easily, and pulls out the chair across from us at the table. "Interesting day we've been having."

  Brennan huffs out a laugh and mumbles to me, "And here I thought he'd break out the Batman voice. Wicked disappointin', right?"

  I shake my head, my eyes never leaving the mayor's. "Where's Commissioner
Gordon when yah need him?"

  Moretti's eyes flick back and forth between us like the snake he is and amusement plays at his lips. He doesn't need our banter to know there's nothing he can do, nothing he can say that will change the fact that he has no real hold over us. But that doesn't stop him from getting his two cents in.

  "So, I can assume neither of you will be telling me who threw that stone."

  Right. Like either of us would ever rat, especially on our mom.

  "I really wish you, your family, and the rest of your neighbors would stop being so selfish," he tells us, that smile still lifting his lips. "Sooner or later, you have to understand that your protests, especially when they turn into violent riots, don't do anything but make you look like the hard-headed, poorly-educated idiots you are."

  "Sorry to disappoint," Brennan snarls. "But last time I checked, I've got a constitutional right to assemble with whoever I want and say whatever the hell I want. You can't stop me and you can't stop everyone else in my neighborhood who feels the same way."

  "You're right," Moretti nods tightly and folds his hands together on top of the table. "But you need to understand that my plans for the city are for the good of everyone, not just a few people in one particular neighborhood."

  That has me leaning both elbows on the table to get closer to him. "Oh really? So you're telling me that people losing their jobs, their homes, and their livelihoods so the city can pretty up some buildings and send taxes skyrocketing...that's for the good of everyone? That pushing people out of their homes and their businesses because they can't pay your taxes and rent isn't class warfare? Even you can't believe your own bullshit."

  Moretti's mouth curls in a way that makes my heart drop into the pit of my stomach. "All you're doing is holding the city back. I'm talking about growth and you're focused on the unfortunate inevitables. Some sacrifice is necessary so progress can be made and that just can't be helped. The gains far outweigh the losses and once you see what I've done, once you see what the city can become, you'll know I'm right and you'll eat your words."

  Holy shit. The son of a bitch actually believes that.

  He's actually bought into his own lies.

  "Now," he continues in an eerily calm voice. "I don't want there to be any hard feelings between us, especially if you're elected to city council this year, Mr. Callahan, so I've made sure to have all charges dropped against the both of you."

  "I'm sure you had no problem making that happen," I bite out. "Just like you had no problem letting the Gianottis blow holes through the front of our building."

  He doesn't even flinch. Doesn't even bat an eye at the accusation. "You were just exercising your constitutional rights and I can't fault you for that. But that being said, consider this a warning, gentlemen. Do not get in my way again."

  "What are you gonna do about it?" Brennan shoots back. "This is all about the election and you know it. You're runnin' scared now because you know I'm gonna get elected to the council and then it's all downhill for you. You can forget about expansion and growth and all the rest of that bullshit you've been spewing all these years because it stops the day I step into Beacon Hill."

  Moretti's eyes narrow into tight slits for just a moment and then he smooths a hand over his hair, as if to remind himself where he is. Then he leans forward just enough to make his point razor sharp:

  "I don't take lightly to interference and I will make you regret it if you continue to cause problems for me."

  Those words chill the air and I think a trail of frost follows in his wake when he eases himself out of his chair to leave the room. When the door shuts behind him, Brennan turns to me with a cocky grin.

  "So whaddaya think he's doin' out there? Countin' his pennies and rubbin' his hands together?"

  "Nah," I bat a hand in the air. "Probably stuffin' puppies and kittens into a burlap bag."

  Our laughter is short-lived because when the door opens again, three cops crowd the doorway. They roll up their sleeves as they approach us and their intention is clear: they're on Moretti's payroll and they do his bidding.

  "What?" Brennan lifts his chin in defiance when they slide the table and chairs out of the way, leaving no barrier between us. "Ah, I know. Yah found out I was bangin' your ma, huh?"

  "Oh shit," I shake my head, my eyes locked on the cop leering over me and cracking his knuckles. "So that was the slampig yah picked up last night? She sure as shit wasn't walkin' right the last time I saw her..."

  I get a fist slammed into my jaw before I have a chance to finish. The force knocks me back, nearly shooting me right off my chair. Brennan shouts next to my ear, but he's cut off just as swiftly. Then they each take their turn, swinging their fists and sending our blood flying onto the floor. It's nothing I've never taken before, nothing I've never felt before, and I know, just as well as Brennan does, that this is one fight we won't win. At least not today. Because if we fight back, if we so much as clench a fist in their direction, our asses will be in jail faster than you can say how do you like being Moretti's bitch?

  And even if we wanted to, there will be no reports made on the brutality we're facing right now. They'll just get lost in the shuffle, just like Rae's statement right after her attack. It's like that old saying: if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound? If a punk from Southie gets beaten to a pulp and no one gives a shit...

  They leave us hunched over in our chairs, but not before one cop murmurs, "This was your one warning. Remember that."

  Brennan spits out some blood and shoots me a mangled grin. "Wasn't expectin' them to roll out the red carpet for us like that."

  "I don't know about you, bro, but I was expectin' to be wooed a little more."

  Despite the blood and the black eye, Brennan still smiles through the pain. "Wooed, Jack? Really? What, you been spendin' time with some wicked smart girl I don't know about? She the one teachin' yah all these fancy words?"

  Something hesitates in me for just a second, but I brush it off just as quickly.

  "Nah," I laugh, even though it hurts and even though it feels a little bit like a lie. "But you know what I mean, right? Wined and dined before they screw us—"

  The door flies open again and another, much younger and greener cop appears in the door. He swallows hard when he sees us sitting there with our matching cuts, bruises, and black eyes and his face loses a little bit of its color. Good. Let him see what he's about to become. Let him see what they'll make him do.

  "Your, uh," he stammers a little as he gestures toward the open doorway. "Your bail came through. You're all good to go now."

  "Sure," Brennan laughs and hauls up to his feet before reaching down to help pull me up. I don't need the help, but I take it from my brother anyway.

  Our parents wait for us out in the holding area, where they'd fingerprinted and booked us, and my mom is pacing the hallway with her hands tearing through her hair. My dad stills when he sees us.

  From the short distance, he looks more haggard than I've ever seen him. His eyes are bloodshot, his skin is pale and blotchy, and the lines around his eyes and his mouth are more defined somehow, deep and painful. His Adam's apple bobs up and down a few times, but as he takes a few steps toward us, he freezes right in his tracks.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see exactly what's wrong.

  Moretti's in the hallway.

  They stare each other down, like fighters stepping into a cage match. Sizing each other up. Weighing the other's strengths and weaknesses. Luckily for the rest of us, they manage to remember they're in public and like always, there are eyes everywhere.

  Moretti cocks an eyebrow at him and raises his coffee mug up in a mocking toast. My dad doesn't flinch. Doesn't even move a muscle. I guess I have to give him credit for that. Instead, his lips curl up ever-so-slightly into a hidden snarl. Something changes in a flash. Is it recognition? Understanding? There isn't any time to figure it out because Moretti's lips draw into a thin line and his shoulders drop for ju
st a second.

  If I'd blinked I would've missed it, but it happened. Moretti actually backed down in this silent Mexican stand-off. I know exactly what he has on my dad. The cheating. The lying. The illegitimate daughter he abandoned. The dead mistress. I know all of that already. And it's all the more reason for Moretti to send his stormtroopers in to put a stop to the illegal betting that happens at our bar and shut it down once and for all.

  But he doesn't. Every single Friday and Saturday, everyone in Boston knows what goes down in Na Soilse and every single Friday and Saturday, it's business as usual without so much as a sniff from Moretti.

  So the question is, what does Roark Callahan have on Val Moretti?

  "I DON'T CARE, Jack," my mom shakes her head and folds her arms over her chest. "I'm officially putting my foot down. You're not doing it."

  And here I thought she'd missed the part where I'm a 30-year-old man perfectly capable of making my own decisions. I need my mom telling me what to do like I need a hole in the head.

  "She's right, son," my dad's grim eyes meet mine from across the office in the bar. "It's just not a good idea. You're not 100 percent right now and you won't be in time for the fight tonight or tomorrow. We have to cancel."

  "Bullshit, we're canceling," I snap back and knock my head back into the wall. I might as well just start pounding my head against the wall with the way they're ganging up on me. "I don't lose."

  My mom's face twists in remorse. "Jack, it's not losing if you—"

  "It's the same thing," I cut in roughly. My eyes land on Brennan, who nods in support. "If we cancel, it's no different than me going down in the ring, which isn't happening."

  What I can't say out loud is that I need this tonight. I need to let that beast inside me free for a little while because if I don't...I'm not going to let myself think about what could happen if I don't. Besides, the sight of the two of them standing here, telling me what to do, judging me for my decisions—the hypocrisy in this room reeks.