whisky and sputtered, “Twenty-five?”
Paddy exhaled. “That’s…”
“A lot of money,” Francis murmured.
“It is,” Liam said.
“So we just…” Peter glanced at the others, then at Danny. “We just steal booze and play games with the Coast Guard? Don’t have to kill no one?”
“He’d prefer we didn’t kill no one. That kind of thing attracts the cops and the Coast Guard.” With a shrug, Danny added, “He says that ain’t good for business.”
The men eyed him, but then—apart from Bernard—they laughed, and Danny joined in, feeling truly relieved now as the crew didn’t just resign themselves, they really seemed to be getting enthusiastic about the idea. As everyone began to exchange mischievous grins, his heart raced. They were in. He could feel it.
Even Bernard finally sighed and nodded. “All right. All right.” He brought his teacup to his lips and muttered, “My mother will be pleased to see me going to confession more often.”
The lads chuckled, and a few nodded. Danny understood. He’d probably be spending more time at confession himself.
Forgive us, Lord, as we go forth and sin…
There were a lot of things Danny didn’t like about returning to Carmine’s underground office. The hood, for one. The dizzying, meandering walk through tunnels. The feeling that he really was a little closer to hell every time he came down here.
But what he disliked most of all was what happened every time he was in the same room as the man everyone knew as the Venetian. Even that first time, when he’d walked into this office with no idea why Carmine had summoned him, when fear and hatred had dominated his thoughts, there’d been an inkling of something else. Something he hadn’t wanted—and still didn’t want—to acknowledge at all.
Right now, his third time in Carmine’s presence, it was that something else which dominated his thoughts. Yes, he was still afraid of Carmine and wary of being involved with gangsters, but those feelings were calmer now. Quieter. Leaving him free to notice instead the fit of Carmine’s suit on his broad shoulders narrow hips, and to reluctantly admire the thick curve of Carmine’s lips. Or to admit how difficult it was to fully concentrate on Carmine’s instructions when he was gazing at Danny with such thick-lashed and near-black eyes or when—
“Danny?”
Danny shook himself and looked down at the set of keys Carmine had handed him. Clearing his throat, he lifted his gaze to Carmine’s. Bloody hell, those eyes. So unfair that such pretty eyes belonged to a gangster.
Keys, Danny. Concentrate on the keys.
He gestured with them. “Um. So these are…”
“For the trucks and the speedboat.” Carmine cocked his head. “You’re sure one of your boys can pilot it?”
The trucks. And the speedboat. Right. “Oh. Of course, of course.” Danny laughed with sudden nerves as he pocketed the keys. “There ain’t a craft on the water my crew can’t drive. Aside from the one of the cargo ships, I suppose.”
That brought a low chuckle out of Carmine, which didn’t help Danny hold on to his tenuous concentration. Oblivious to Danny’s mind winding itself into knots, Carmine said, “I’ll give you an address where you’ll find the trucks, and the other keys will get you into the marina. The boat’s in the eighth slip.” He reached behind the desk and opened a drawer, from which he produced two sets of binoculars and a couple of envelopes. He put the binoculars on the desk and handed over one of the envelopes. “Those are forged papers in case you’re hassled by the Coast Guard.”
Danny thumbed through them, grateful for something to focus on besides Carmine. Everything looked legitimate, including a bill of sale confirming that Danny—or rather, one Daniel Sullivan of an address that had to be in the Upper West Side—had purchased the speedboat in November from someone named Philip Raymond. Danny had no idea if Philip Raymond was a real person or if he, like Daniel Sullivan, was a ghost existing only in ink and paper. He didn’t ask.
“How’s a man go about getting papers like these?” Danny smirked and held up the envelope. “Might be handy if we steal other boats in the future.”
Carmine grinned, making the room sway as if they were on the deck of a boat instead of tucked into a concrete hole in the ground. Then he reached into another desk drawer and produced a small stack of forms which turned out to be blank bills of sale. “Most of the time, they won’t even ask unless they’re bored.”
“Well, then.” Danny returned