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“What’s a bodach mòr?” Mick asked, squinting.

Madelaine’s shrug was almost casual. “Literally, it means ‘old man’ or lout. But usually it’s used for someone rough, thuggish. Fits him perfectly.” Her voice dipped, dry with bitterness. “Besides, nothing would enrage my father more than being called dead when he’s still very much alive.”

Paulo’s lips twitched, though his expression remained guarded.

Madelaine wasn’t finished. She walked toward the stairs, her mind moving faster than her tongue as she kept layering the plan. “And if you phrase it so that anyone who doesn’t show up looks like a coward? Then they’ll trip over themselves to be there. Gangsters live for their reputation. No one will risk looking weak. Especially not him.”

She paused at the doorway, tapping her finger against the wooden frame thoughtfully. “Also—if you imply that he died in the arms of a woman because his heart, or some other body part, gave out? That bit of information will spread like wildfire. He’s too vain to ignore it. The humiliation alone would drag him out of hiding.” She tilted her head, considering. “Get it on the newscasts too. Play it up as if law enforcement is covering the funeral and reception. Make sure he hears it while he’s holed up in some hotel room, sipping whiskey in the evening. His ego won’t let him rest until he proves everyone wrong.”

Her gaze returned to the monitor, where an image of Ronan lingered, caught skulking near Paulo’s house. “Just like that. Just like how he’s taunting you now.”

Without waiting for their response, she turned and climbed the stairs, the confidence of her idea buoying her steps. At the top, she hesitated, fumbling along the smooth wall. Just as a flicker of doubt crossed her face, the hidden doorway clicked open. She slipped through, shutting it firmly behind her, her shoulders squaring again as though she’d sealed herself away from that world below.

Chapter 26

Paulo watched the feed from the security cameras carefully. Madelaine had returned to the sunroom, curling up on the sofa with her printer paper and pen and bits of stuff she’d previously gathered from the garden. He watched as she carefully arranged the twigs, pebbles, and remaining leaves she’d collected, sketching faint outlines as though building a map only she could read. Her concentration was total, until it wasn’t. She paused, sighed, then leaned her forehead against the window, her gaze going distant and sad.

Without thinking, Paulo reached for his phone and hit speed dial. “Jordan,” he said when his assistant answered. “I need you to go to every damn craft store in the city and buy up all the dried and pressed flowers you can find. As many as they’ve got. Have them delivered here. And while you’re at it, get canvases, glue, sketch pads, anything that looks like it belongs in an art studio. Canvases in every size.”

There was a stunned silence on the other end, but Jordan had been with him long enough not to question the boss’s orders. “Yes, sir. I’ll start right away.”

Paulo ended the call and turned his attention back to the screen. Madelaine hadn’t moved. She was still staring out the window, her profile etched in sunlight. She looked lost, but not fragile. Determined, yet still searching.

His jaw tightened as he watched her. She wasn’t bait anymore. She was his.

Finally, he turned back to the table, thinking about her suggestion.

A wake! Damn, that was a brilliant idea. It was used in the movies all the time to lure people out. He’d never heard of anyone doing it in real life, but it should work.

“Who knows of a makeup artist that can fix up a cadaver or mannequin to look like Ronan Keane?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard above the noise.

Several hands shot up. He pointed to all of them. “Get together and give me a plan for how to get someone or something to resemble Keane. It has to be real enough to fool people who see dead bodies all the time.” Then he turned to Mick. “We need an Irish bar.”

Mick grinned. “We own several Irish pubs around town. Several of them hold high-stakes poker games regularly, so we can get the word out through those channels as well.”

Paulo shook his head. “No, it can’t be one we own. Keane still has enough people on his payroll to look into the ownership of any pub.” He rubbed his chin, realizing that he hadn’t shaved in several days. Hell, he hadn’t slept either. Without Madelaine in his arms, he hadn’t been able to sleep, so he’d just pulled on some clothes and came back down here to come up with a plan. He’d come up with several, but then he realized that this way would be a perfect way to get Madelaine back.

“You know me better than that,” Mick scoffed. “Several of our holdings are registered in ways that can’t be traced back to you or our organization.”

Paulo nodded, tired but fighting the urge to go upstairs and just sit with Madelaine. “Sorry about that.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to ease the ache. “So yeah, pick one that will work. Then set up the details.”

He thought through the other problems. Then he and Mick discussed issues and obstacles so that they had backup plans and backup plans to those plans. There was no way that Keane was going to slip through their fingers this time.

“You know Madelaine is going to have to be at this thing too, right?”

Paulo shook his head. “No way. First of all, I won’t put her in danger. I told you several weeks ago that she’s no longer part of the plan.”

“Yeah, but she’s his daughter.”

“Exactly. And they’ve hated each other for years. So, even if I was willing to let Madelaine get close, her presence there would prove that the event is fake. Keane knows that, if he were ever declared dead, then she would most likely be celebrating in Las Vegas. Not attending his wake.”

“That’s a good point.”

“Madelaine will stay here where Keane can’t get to her.”

And with that, he walked up the stairs to speak to her.

Chapter 27