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Seamus opens a drawer and takes out a folder.

“Declan's still on it.” Seamus taps the folder square on the desk. “Here's what's had me sat here an hour, brother. Every man on that list is over sixty-five. Every one of them has grown sons. And not one of those sons has come near this.”

“You'd expect otherwise.”

“I'd expect a lad of thirty doing the driving and the lifting for his father. That's how it's done at home, and that's how it's done there.” He sits back. “So either the old men have shut their own out of it, or the sons are keeping their hands clean while it's messy and will step in afterward.”

“And we won't know which until we've killed the fathers.”

“Aye.”

“Fine.” I lean forward, elbows on the desk. “The Espositos showed up here to collect her and acted surprised to find an imposter. You allowed them to take Shannon with them, but there’s no proof they punished her.”

Seamus nods.

“And I want to know what Valentina noticed while she was inside. She would've been watching everything. Faces, routines, locations. She could give us more than anything we've managed to dig up on our own.”

“Aye,” he agrees. “The night at the gala was Boston PD, not federal. Declan found the report. Somebody who had your name and rang police.”

I’m guessing whoever it was believed I’d taken her.

I blow out a breath. “Noted. There's something else I need to say.”

He waits. “Go on.”

I sit with the folder a moment.

“Cavin,” I say.

Seamus looks up.

“Cavin went in and came out married. I went in and stayed in. Who's left unmarried in this family, Seamus? Who was left standing when Cavin went inside?”

He doesn't answer because he doesn't need to.

“It was never about her,” I say. “It was about which of us was in a position to form an alliance. They've been picking off the ones who could marry.”

Seamus sits still, mulling. “A good theory.”

I look away. “And there’s something else you should know.”

He lifts a brow, frowning.

“I hurt her.” I scrub a hand down my face. “Tackled her on the stairs last night. Thought she was an intruder. Bruised her ribs.” I look at the desk. “And removing the tracker was no party, even though it had to be done.”

He raises an eyebrow, listening without expression.

“And before that,” I say, then stop.

Seamus waits.

“I put her over my knee.” I say it evenly. There’s no apology in it because the apology isn't what's relevant. “Twice. She was pushing past a line I'd set, and she knew it. I handled it the way I handle things, which is the problem.” I meet his eyes. “She's a woman who spent weeks being held by men who thought they could do whatever they liked with her. And I'm sitting here telling you I've already hurt her three times in the space of a few weeks.”

Seamus is quiet for a moment before he speaks. “Did she like it?”

I look at him. “What?”

“The spanking,” he says with a shrug. “Did she like it?”