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A woman's intuition is a terrifying thing.
Right now, it only took one look and one sentence for Sofia and Audrey to silently declare war on each other.
Lawson, completely oblivious to the fact that he had just stepped onto an active minefield, pulled out a chair and sat down. Instantly, Audrey slid into the seat right next to him.
Wow. Coming on a little strong, aren't we?
Well, Americans rarely did "coy." If they liked something, they went for it.
Even Svafa, the Swede, operated the same way. Every woman Lawson had been with in this life had basically thrown themselves at him.
And honestly? It felt great. What guy wouldn't love gorgeous women practically begging for his attention?
"Mr. Lawson, how did you sleep last night?" Audrey asked, leaning in so close he could smell her shampoo. "It was my first night in the estate, and I tossed and turned for hours. Look at my dark circles!"
She tilted her flawless face toward him, batting her eyelashes.
Sitting next to him was one thing. Sofia could tolerate that. But this blatant, touchy-feely flirting? That crossed a line.
Sofia picked up her silver spoon and clinked it sharply against her crystal glass, shattering the moment. She shot Audrey a withering glare.
"Breakfast is served. Sit up straight."
Back in the day, Old Martin was the only one who announced the start of a meal. It was a subtle flex of the Boss's absolute authority.
Now, Sofia was getting comfortable in the big chair. She was starting to project that same quiet, heavy presence that demanded respect without having to shout.
Hearing Sofia's tone, Audrey pouted but sat back in her chair.
Lawson wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He had definitely felt Sofia's killing intent just now. As a result, his appetite completely vanished.
An authentic Italian breakfast was a heavy affair: smoked prosciutto, olive oil, crusty bread, and thick wedges of cheese.
There was even a plate of Chinese youtiao (fried dough sticks) and a bowl of hot soy milk sitting in front of Lawson. Sofia had clearly ordered the estate's chef to learn how to make it specifically for him.
But Lawson wasn't in the mood to appreciate the gesture. Right now, his only goal was to shovel food into his mouth and escape the kill zone.
"Alright, I'm stuffed. Catch you guys later!"
He barely got to his feet before he felt a tug on his jacket.
He looked down. Audrey was holding his hem, looking up at him with massive, pleading eyes.
"Mr. Lawson, I just got to LA and I don't know my way around at all. Could you take me out to see the city?"
Incoming missile. Lawson felt the temperature in the room plummet. If he said yes, someone was going to die today. Probably him.
"Ms. Horne, I've only been in LA a few months myself. I don't really know the good spots. If you want a tour, I can have one of the guards take you. I can't. I've got business to handle."
It was a polite, unambiguous rejection. But Audrey wasn't taking no for an answer.
"That's perfect! We can explore and learn the city together. Don't you think that sounds romantic?"
CRUNCH.
Everyone at the table turned their heads.
It was Eva. She had just taken a massive bite of the youtiao.
The Italian chef hadn't quite nailed the recipe. Instead of light and fluffy, it was fried rock-hard, like an oversized French fry. When Eva bit into it, the crunch echoed like a gunshot.
Eva had been happily enjoying the show, completely content to watch the drama unfold. She hadn't expected to suddenly become the center of attention.
"Hmm? Don't mind me," Eva mumbled around a mouthful of dough. "Keep going."
Lawson was sweating bullets, but everyone else in the room was clearly enjoying the spectacle. Even the maids hovering near the walls had picked up on the toxic energy crackling across the dining table.
Thankfully, a savior arrived. Rafferty, the old capo, walked into the dining room.
"Mr. Lawson, are you finished with breakfast?"
Because of the attack yesterday morning, Lawson had skipped the daily sit-downs with the capos. Since his schedule was clear today, Rafferty had come straight to the estate.
Lawson practically sprinted toward him.
"Rafferty! Perfect timing! Let's go. I'm ready to roll!"
Lawson tore his jacket out of Audrey's grip and hurried out with the old man.
The moment Lawson left, the tension in the dining room snapped, leaving a heavy, awkward silence in its wake. Both Sofia and Audrey had completely lost their appetites.
Audrey rested her chin in her hands, a dreamy smile playing on her lips, lost in her own little world.
Sofia took two more mechanical bites of her food, threw her napkin on the table, and walked out.
---
Lawson rode shotgun as Rafferty drove them into a neighborhood near Caltech.
"Rafferty, this is Bonanno turf too?"
"Yeah. This whole sector belongs to Antonio Costa."
Lawson remembered the incident in the alley behind the bar with Blake and Daisy.
"Rafferty, a few nights ago, I saw guys with thick Irish accents pushing product right around here."
"You sure? That doesn't make sense. The Irish run Long Beach. Why would they come all the way up to San Gabriel?" Rafferty frowned, looking highly skeptical.
"I'm positive. Ask the locals or the college kids. They see Irish guys slinging pills and powder outside Caltech all the time."
Rafferty chewed on that for a second, his frown deepening.
"Maybe just a couple of rogue micks trying to make a quick buck? The Irish have always been ballsy."
"Maybe. Or maybe someone on the inside gave them a hall pass?" Lawson offered casually.
The conversation hit a dead end.
Rafferty was an old-school street guy. He didn't sit at the big table, and he sure as hell didn't want to get caught in the crossfire of high-level mob politics.
Guys like Phil and Dennis had thought they could play the game, and look where that got them. Francis had played them like a fiddle.
Francis had been moving the family's assets for a while. He was the one who tipped Phil and Dennis off about the jewelry at Pacific Standard, forcing Old Martin to consolidate the family's wealth so Francis could steal it all at once.
Francis got the money. Phil and Dennis got prison sentences and a brutal beating.
Rafferty was too old and too tired to care about who sat in the big chair. He just wanted to collect his envelope and retire in one piece. So, he ignored Lawson's implication completely.
Lawson realized pushing the old man was pointless.
Right then, Lawson's burner phone buzzed. Unknown number.
"Yeah. Lawson."
"Lawson. It's Brian."
"Brian? Why are you calling from a new number?"
"It's... complicated. You got time? We need to talk face-to-face."
Lawson glanced at Rafferty.
"Alright. Give me the address. I'll be there."
Lawson hung up.
"Mr. Lawson, if you have business, I can drop you off," Rafferty offered quickly.
"Yeah. Catch you tomorrow, Rafferty."
---
Brian had picked a rundown, isolated movie theater in a dead part of town.
Half the neon letters on the marquee were burned out, and the parking lot was completely empty. Lawson had no idea how Brian had even found a place this depressing in Los Angeles. It was the movie capital of the world, and this place looked like it had been abandoned in the eighties.
Lawson bought a ticket at the booth.
Shithole theaters like this couldn't afford the reels for new releases, so they only played cheap B-movies and ancient classics. This was back when movies were still shipped on physical film reels, which cost a fortune.
Lawson threw on his hostility-tinted shades and walked into the pitch-black auditorium. It was practically empty.
The only people inside were a couple of young pairs huddled in the back corners, clearly not there for the movie.
Makes sense. Nobody actually comes here to watch a movie.
Lawson smirked, scanning the rows until he found a guy in a gray hoodie sitting dead center. He dropped into the seat next to him.
"Brian. What's with the cloak and dagger? We look like spies making a drop."
Brian pulled down the hood. He looked exhausted, but whatever sickness he'd had was gone. He hadn't checked in with Dom's crew in days, which was highly irregular.
"Lawson... they're transferring me."
Lawson raised an eyebrow.
Even though Brian had never officially admitted it, Lawson had known he was a cop from day one.
"Transferring you where? Back to a desk, or a new assignment?"
Returning to the force in uniform would be a solid win for Brian. A new assignment meant he was getting pulled from Dom's crew and dropped into a new undercover op.
Brian stared at the screen for a long time before answering.
"New assignment."
Figured. Being a rat is a miserable existence. Lawson easily connected the dots. During the Korean restaurant shootout, Brian had clearly favored Lawson and Dom. His handler probably saw that as a compromise and pulled the plug on his infiltration of the Toretto crew.
Brian hadn't been with Dom long anyway. LA County was massive; moving him to a new target wouldn't blow his cover.
But it was a brutal setback for Brian. Six months of grinding, building trust, and eating shit, only to get yanked right before it paid off. Having to start at zero with a new crew would break most guys.
"Where are they sending you?"
Brian hesitated, then sighed. "Long Beach."
"The Irish? You have Irish blood?"
Long Beach was strictly divided between the Irish Mob and the Black gangs. Brian was way too white to infiltrate a Black set. Unless his handler was completely brain-dead, he was going to the Irish.
The Irish were just as insular and racist as the Italians. In America, you stuck to your own kind. Black gangs ran with Black gangs, WASPs with WASPs, and Jewish crews with Jewish crews.
The only thing that crossed racial lines was money. In America, the rich were their own separate race.
"Yeah. I'm part Irish. O'Conner is an Irish name."
Ah. Right. A lot of Irish surnames start with "O'" or "Mac," which just means "son of." O'Conner is the son of Conner. O'Neal is the son of Neal.
"Brian, since you're heading to Long Beach, let me give you a free tip. The Irish cut a deal with Antonio Costa. I've seen Irish muscle moving weight around Caltech."
Brian whipped his head around, shocked.
"Are you serious? Lawson, is it safe for you to tell me that?"
"I'm pretty sure the local LAPD division already knows about it. They just aren't doing anything."
Brian, still clinging to his belief in the badge, tried to rationalize it.
"Maybe they're building a larger RICO case? Letting the small fish swim to catch the boss?"
"Maybe. But while they're 'building a case,' they're letting college kids get hooked and turning a blind eye to the violence."
Brian fell silent. He had taken the oath to protect and serve. He was an undercover cop, but he still believed in justice.
Lawson patted him on the shoulder.
"If you ever get jammed up out there, call me. I'll do what I can. The suits sitting in air-conditioned offices don't give a shit about guys like us on the edge. We have to look out for each other."
The words hit Brian right in the chest.
He was already bitter about his captain pulling him from Dom's crew. Hearing Lawson—a guy he saw as a fellow outsider—offer unconditional support moved him deeply.
Guys don't need speeches.
"Thanks, Lawson."
"Keep your head down."
"I will. And Lawson... if you ever need a favor, you call me. I've got your back."
Boom. That's what I wanted to hear. Through the hostility-tinted shades, Lawson watched the aura around Brian shift from a neutral gray to a solid, loyal blue. Brian considered him a brother now.
Tool number two acquired.
The movie was terrible, and the wet, sloppy sounds coming from the back row were making it extremely awkward for two grown men to sit there together.
Lawson and Brian left the theater a few minutes apart to avoid suspicion.
As Lawson pushed through the lobby doors, he almost bumped into a vicious-looking old man coming in. The old man didn't say a word, just shot Lawson a venomous glare before walking past.
The old man bought a ticket and walked straight into the auditorium, not caring that the movie was half over.
Ten minutes later, a young guy walked up to the ticket booth. The cashier rolled her eyes.
"What is it with single dudes coming to the movies today?"
The cashier knew exactly what kind of theater she ran. Couples came here to spend ten bucks for an hour of AC and a dark, private corner to hook up. It was cheaper than a motel.
The young guy caught the implication.
"A lot of single guys buying tickets today?"
"Yeah. You're the fourth one. The first two already left, though. Anyway, you want popcorn?"
The young guy narrowed his eyes, processing the information.
"Yeah. Give me a small."
Carrying the popcorn, he walked into the auditorium and found the vicious-looking old man sitting exactly where Lawson and Brian had been. The young man sat down next to him.
The old man didn't take his eyes off the screen.
"Did you make it out clean?"