Page 78 of Shadow Of Sin

“Yeah.” His eyes drop to my mouth and his lips lift into a lazy grin that makes my heart flip. “But you keep kissing me anyway.”

We go back to the desk and keep working shoulder to shoulder. His hand finds my knee under the table and stays there while we work.

By four in the morning, we have the full picture. Dmitri’s financial pipeline mapped from end to end. The Albanian partnership exposed. The lending network that targeted Sal’s neighborhood. The construction and import companies that laundered the money.

All of it is connected and traceable. And all of it was built on the back of a bartender who borrowed money to save his sister, and a sister who said yes to save her brother.

We lean back in our chairs, our shoulders still touching.

“We got it,” I say.

“Yeah.”

“Now we burn it down.”

I lean my head on his shoulder. He puts his other hand over mine.

Yeah, Dmitri will find another hacker. But bringing someone into a system I built takes weeks. We only need days. By the time anyone spots Wolfe’s fingerprints in there, the whole thing will already be in ashes.

What I said earlier is true…I am a weapon.

He just aimed me at the wrong people.

CHAPTER 18

WOLFE

I need to hit something.

It’s been three days since the Albanian breakthrough. Three days of mapping Dmitri’s network with Ronan breathing down my neck, Lochlan running security scenarios, and Eva sitting across from me at the conference room table being brilliant and focused and completely walled off.

I need to hit something, or my brain is going to eat itself alive.

Cillian texts me at six in the morning.

Gym. One hour. No excuses.

I don’t make any.

I need to hit something that badly.

The MMA gym is a converted warehouse in Dorchester that smells like sweat, rubber, and old leather. There’s no sign out front. No website. You get in because someone brings you, and the someone who first brought me and my brothers here was our Uncle Patrick, who trained Golden Gloves fighters in the eighties and believed that every man should know how to take a punch before he learns how to throw one.

Uncle Patrick’s been dead for six years. We still come here every week.

Cillian’s already warming up when I walk in. Doing crazy shit with a jump rope. He’s fast with it, too. Way faster than he should be for a guy who owns a bar and drinks his own inventory. He sees me and grins, whipping it around like Rocky Balboa.

“Look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Cillian says, dropping the jump rope. “You look different. Rested. Almost human. It’s freaking me out.”

“I slept.”

“You don’t sleep. You stare at screens until your eyes bleed, and then eat Cheerios at four in the morning. Something changed.” He walks toward me with narrowed eyes. “Fuck me. You’re getting laid.”

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

“Holy shit. You are getting laid. Look at your face. You have a face right now. You never have a face.”

“Everyone has a face, Cillian.”