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He narrows his eyes at me, then nods slowly. “Aye. You were.” He seems disturbed by that. He reaches inside his black leather jacket, takes out a package of Marlboros, and shakes one out, sticking it between his lips. Then he holds the pack out to me. “I don’t smoke.” He puts the cigarettes away, pulls a Zippo from the front pocket of his jeans, lights his smoke, then snaps the lighter shut with a flourish. He takes a long drag, then exhales and says, “All right. You got questions. Ask ’em. I’ll answer if I can.” That’s so unexpected I simply stare at him for a moment in surprise. He makes an impatient gesture with his hand. “For f**k’s sake, lass. Get on with it.” I scramble to think of the important stuff. “So Liam is Boston’s mafia boss?” Declan snorts. “Incorrect. Liam is head o
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