“I believe Colin was supposed to steal a hardware device that looks like a wallet. They typically contain bank accounts, cryptocurrency, or sensitive information valuable to the right buyer.” His voice was detached, relaying details with the cold efficiency of a man used to handling situations like this. “My guess? Lennon’s brother promised someone he’d get the device on behalf of his father, who’s currently in prison in Dublin. Now he can’t deliver.”

There was too much there to unpack. I didn’t know where to start. “You’re telling me Lennon’s father runs everything from behind bars?”

“That’s what we think, but we’re still digging into it.”

Geez, okay. “But if Colin didn’t have a chance to steal the wallet, why are they after him?”

“Because someone thinks he did.” Constantine leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “Jamie may have footage from the rave and used it to buy himself time, making it look like Colin has it. He’s hiding out at a hotel in Brooklyn for a reason, presumably from a pissed-off someone.”

The room was spinning. He’d been right to have me sit first. “What are you going to do?”

“Find out who those men in the garage work for. Talk to Jamie myself to get to the bottom of this. Once my brothers are in town, we’ll infiltrate the hotel and grab Jamie and his crew for questioning.”

“And if Jamie won’t talk?”

“He will.” His confidence was absolute, but I wasn’t as optimistic.

“But if he doesn’t? If you don’t get any leads from the guys in the garage, then what?”

A grim look darkened his face. “Then I go straight to the source.”

My stomach flipped. “Who’s the source?”

“The Sicilian mafia. I’ll ask their leader why they met with Jamie and Daniel in the first place, find out what this device is, and why it’s so valuable.”

“This is all so much worse than I . . .” No point in stating the obvious. I abandoned that thought and tried again. “And you’re not afraid to talk to the mafia?”

“No. But I’d prefer not to pull them back into this after telling them to stay away from Colin.”

“No chance they sent those men today?”

“Zero.” His answer was so emphatic that I didn’t question it. “My family is feared, particularly by the mafia. My last name holds weight with them. With a lot of criminals, actually. Almost everyone in this city, good or bad, knows not to fuck around with my family.”

He left off the or find out, but it hung in the air like a silent warning, louder than any threat he could have ever spoken.