Page 47 of Shadow Of Sin

Cillian puts a hand on my shoulder. “Wolfe?”

“Yeah.”

“Eat some real food, yeah?”

If he only knew the kind of food I’ve been eating because my mind is wrapped so tight around Eva that I want to be around Rosario’s because it makes me feel closer to her.

I walk outside and squeeze the back of my neck.

Shit. Is that really why?

I drive back across town with Sabbath on because my brain needs something louder than the shit filling it.

Vincent Renaldi. I confirmed the guy’s identity last night, before Lochlan mentioned anything. He manages operations for a DiMicheli property group. Adriana’s people. His calendar tells Dmitri exactly when specific locations are vulnerable. When security rotates. When nobody’s watching.

Eva is about to hand Dmitri a blueprint for hitting my sister-in-law’s operation. And she has no idea.

I can’t let Eva deliver that calendar without telling her what she’s delivering. And I can’t tell her what she’s delivering without telling her who I am.

My fist hovers in the air for a long minute before I finally knock on Eva’s door. Her feet pad across the floor, and another thirty seconds pass before she opens the door with wet hair and furrowed brows.

“It’s Wednesday,” she says. “I don’t have anything for you yet.”

“I’m not here about the job.”

Her eyes narrow. “What do you want, then?”

“Can I come in?”

She twists her hair around her finger and steps back to let me in.

I walk into the apartment, same as the day we met. It’s small and clean, with the desk pushed against the wall.

The knife is on the counter, too. I wonder if she pulled it out before she saw it was me behind the peephole.

I sit at the kitchen table. She stays standing.

“What happened?” she asks, biting her lower lip.

“I need to tell you something.”

“That’s never good.” She backs against the kitchen counter. “Is Sal okay?”

“Yeah, everything is fine with Sal,” I say. “Listen, Eva. I’m here because I need to tell you that my last name is Molloy.”

She doesn’t react, at least, not right away. She just stands there, arms hanging at her sides, face completely still.

“Molloy,” she says.

“Yeah.”

“As in the Molloys.”

“Yeah.”

“The South Boston Molloys. The ones who⁠—”

“Yeah.”