by Joanna Shupe
Whatever happened, she hoped he remained safe.
Florence tossed a handful of popcorn in her mouth while staring through the window. Justine frowned. “I cannot believe you are eating that. You have no idea where it came from.”
“Of course I do. Try it.” She nudged Justine with her elbow. “It’s safe, I promise.”
Justine tentatively tasted a piece. It was fresh. “None of this makes any sense.”
“It will soon enough. Just relax and enjoy being out of the house for once.”
Sakes alive, her sister was annoying. Justine ate the popcorn and watched the traffic along the street. “I’ve only been inside the house for a few days.”
“Try a week, Tina.”
“Some days I wish I’d been an only child.” What must it be like to live without meddling sisters?
“Liar.” Florence dropped her head on Justine’s shoulder affectionately. “You love us.”
She sighed and rested her head atop Florence’s. “Yes, I do. Mostly.”
Two men walking down the street caught Justine’s eye. One of them was . . . Detective Ellison. That was certainly a coincidence. The man next to Ellison looked authoritative, with the bearing of a policeman or perhaps a government official. “What is Detective Ellison doing here, I wonder.”
“Hmm.” Florence angled closer to the window and tossed another piece of popcorn in her mouth. “I wonder.”
“You are annoying,” she said. “You know what is happening and you refuse to tell me.”
“Because I won’t ruin the surprise. Just watch.”
Ellison and the other man disappeared inside Broome Street Hall. O’Shaughnessy’s headquarters. Strange. Ellison hadn’t been in any hurry to come down here the other day, when O’Shaughnessy had kidnapped Jack. She’d practically begged the officers to intervene. Now they were here of their own free will?
Were they in league with O’Shaughnessy?
The possibility sickened her, even as it made sense. Ellison hadn’t been all that shocked at the ransom note. Most policemen, she’d learned, were on someone’s payroll. O’Shaughnessy was no fool, likely amassing power as they sat here. Poor Jack.
Out of the side of her eye, Justine caught movement on the neighboring street. A large police wagon was coming ever so slowly down Bowery, toward Broome. Tens of men in dark suits hovered near the wagon, uniformed officers there, as well. She sat up, leaning in. “Do you see that? Over there on Bowery?”
“Here we go!” Florence sounded positively giddy.
The group on Bowery halted, waiting. For what? She turned her attention back to O’Shaughnessy’s saloon. Minutes later, Ellison and the other man burst through the saloon doors. They each held one of Trevor O’Shaughnessy’s arms, the leader’s wrists shackled with handcuffs.
She shot to her feet, popcorn forgotten. “Oh, my heavens.”
They were arresting O’Shaughnessy.
Ellison put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. The legion of men around the corner started racing for Broome Street, then converged on the saloon like a swarm of locusts. The wagon followed quickly behind. Justine couldn’t hear what was being said but O’Shaughnessy looked to be complaining—loudly. He struggled against the men, his face red and angry.
It didn’t do any good, however. They loaded him—and several of his men—into the police wagon.
“I cannot believe it,” she whispered. Days late, but the police had finally managed to apprehend O’Shaughnessy. Her resentment toward Ellison and the police department eased ever so slightly.
“Believe it,” Florence said. “That was Trevor O’Shaughnessy being arrested by the US Secret Service. Along with help from our own police, of course.”
“The Secret Service? But, why? They handle counterfeiting cases.”
A knock sounded on the door. Justine froze, on guard. Who knew they were here? Florence didn’t bat an eye, as if she’d expected the interruption.
“Don’t answer that,” Justine hissed. “You have no idea who it is.”
Ignoring her, Florence called, “Come in!”
The knob turned and the door slid open. Jack Mulligan stood in the doorway.
Justine’s jaw fell. How . . . ? Why . . . ? Then she remembered the bags of popcorn. Of course. Jack had known this was going to happen, had asked Florence to bring Justine down.
For what? To taunt her with all she’d never have because he would soon return as king of New York’s underworld?
That was even more depressing.
She said nothing, merely folded her hands. She could survive this. Whatever he wanted to say, she would listen and then she would leave. Just a few more minutes and she could escape.
Clayton Madden strolled in behind Jack, his focus solely on Florence. “What did you think, love?”
Her sister ran to her partner and threw her arms around his neck. “It was fantastic. Beyond exciting.” She whispered in his ear and Clay’s expression turned positively predatory.
Clay shot Jack a glance and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “We’re going to make ourselves scarce in the adjoining room.”
Jack nodded once, not paying them any attention. He thrust his hands in his pockets and continued staring at Justine. If she didn’t know better, she would say he looked nervous.
The door closed and silence settled in the small room. She didn’t know what to say and he seemed in no hurry to speak, either. Her heart gave a twinge of longing and regret at the sight of him. He looked tired but slightly more put together than the last time she’d seen him. That was good. At least one of them was on the mend. Soon he’d return to his charming ways, overseeing the criminal empire he refused to give up.
Good, good.
Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Why am I here, Jack?”
He nodded toward the window. “Did you like the show?”
“You must be very happy that your archenemy is now out of the way. Congratulations.”
“I am thrilled beyond measure, but that isn’t why you are here.”
“No? I assumed you wanted to gloat.”
“Gloat?” He approached where she stood at the windows. “What on earth for?”
“That it has all worked out for you, exactly as you wanted.”
“Except that it hasn’t.”
“Well, I haven’t a clue as to what else you need. O’Shaughnessy is gone, and you’re able to return to your throne. You may continue overseeing your kingdom.”
“I still don’t have the one thing I need, though. Have you not guessed what that is by now?”
The intensity of his stare was beginning to rattle her. She had never seen him so serious, so focused. “No.”
“You, mon ange. I need you.”
Disappointment crashed through her at the same time that her heart leapt in delight. “You said I was better off without you.”
“That’s still undoubtedly true, but I can’t give you up.”
“Too late. You already gave me up.”
“That was a mistake.”
“I cannot do this again.” She rubbed her brow tiredly. “We are still circling round and round when we’ve both made our feelings clear. It’s exhausting.”
“No more circles, no more confusion. It’s very simple. I’ve given away my kingdom with no intention of reclaiming it. Furthermore, I have just removed the only obstacle to a future with the woman I love.”
“Love?” She blinked at him, struggling to comprehend. Had he really said love?
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes, frankly. You walked away from me so easily that night at your house. You told me whatever was between us needed to end.”
“You did the same to me once, if you’ll recall.”
True. “And that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Justine, nothing about that night was easy for me. I miss you with a ferocity that frightens me. I’ve been worthless for days. Only until I decided on this plan for O’Sh
aughnessy have I been able to function.”
“Plan? You mean . . .”
The side of his mouth hitched in the most adorable way. “You don’t believe the Secret Service just stumbled upon counterfeit bills in O’Shaughnessy’s possession, do you?”
She glanced down to the street, where policemen and agents were gathered in front of the saloon. They were carrying out safes and lockboxes, ledgers and papers, loading all of it into a wagon. Ellison and the Secret Service agent were there, directing the operation. “You planted the bills?”
“Well now, that would be wrong.” He moved next to her and crossed his arms over his chest, his attention on Ellison and the others. “However, it turns out the Secret Service takes counterfeiting quite seriously.”
That was a nonanswer and they both knew it.
“Jack . . .” His name came out on a long, frustrated sigh. “Tell me what is going on.”
Taking her shoulders, he gently brought her around to face him. His hands were warm and strong, and the simple touch sent tiny shock waves all through her. “I wanted a future with you, but I had to deal with O’Shaughnessy first. Unless I moved to another city and changed my name, I would always be at risk.”
“Except you pushed me away.”
“Because I couldn’t see a way out. I assumed I would need to wage a war against O’Shaughnessy to get rid of him. At the very least, I thought I’d have to kill him. Instead, I found a way to have him put away for a long, long time.”
She tried to feel outrage over Jack’s machinations . . . but O’Shaughnessy deserved it. He had tried to kill Jack and threatened to assault her. If given the chance, he likely would have followed through on both. “And you didn’t kill him.”
His expression softened, tenderness blazing in his bright blue eyes. “You asked me not to.”
“So, all of this”—she gestured to the scene below—“was about proving something to me?”
“I want you in my life, by my side. You are more important to me than anything else in the world and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you.”
The pressure around her heart eased as happiness took root there. She’d never expected him to say such things or for this incredible man to put her first. It almost seemed too good to be true. “What of your empire of vice and sin?”
“I traded it for a different kind of empire, one of love and laughter. Know any angels who might be interested?”
“I might. Let’s hear more about how you love me.”
Grinning, he bent until his mouth hovered over hers. Everything in her strained to get closer, to meld to his body like a wet piece of cloth. His hands slid to cup her face in his palms. “I love you, Justine. I am sorry it took me so long to tell you. Please, say you forgive me and that you’ll stay—”
She pushed up on her toes and covered his mouth with hers. The kiss was sweet and familiar, their mouths hot and eager. For so long she feared she’d never experience this ever again . . . so she held on tight and let their problems fall away for this one moment. Lips, teeth and tongues collided, their hands grasping and clawing as the kiss wore on.
A knock on the door interrupted them. They broke apart, though Jack didn’t release her as they stood trying to collect their breath. The knock came again, so Justine called, “Yes?”
Florence poked her head into the room. Justine couldn’t help but notice that her sister looked adorably disheveled. Florence smirked as she looked them over. “I assume from the silence and swollen lips that you two have made up, so Clay and I are going home. But”—she pointed at Jack—“if you ever hurt my sister, I will bury you where they’ll never find the pieces.”
“Florence!” Justine gaped at her older sister. “Stop threatening him.”
Florence lifted a shoulder. “Daddy said it to Clay a few years ago and properly scared him. Figured it was worth a try here. Seriously, Mulligan. Do not cross the Greene sisters or we will end you.”
He gave her a nod. “Noted.”
“Good night, you two.”
After the door shut, Jack asked softly, “Have we made up, cara?”
Justine bit her lip and stared at his chin. She’d always believed in redemption. That everyone deserved a second chance. How could she deny him forgiveness when he’d done all this for her? When he’d confessed his true feelings?
She looked up. “It seems we have. You love me, after all.”
“And you still love me?”
“I still love you.” That earned her a quick kiss on the mouth. She leaned back to meet his eyes. “Are you certain you won’t miss being the most fearsome man in New York City?”
He gathered her close and held her tight to his chest. “Absolutely not. And while I cannot promise I won’t attempt any favors or bribes, I do promise to limit them strictly to our bedroom.”
“Such a devious mind you have,” she said, unable to hold back a broad smile.
“Yes, but only for you from now on.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Broome Street Settlement
March 1894
The corner of Bowery and Broome was packed with dignitaries, politicians, society’s elite and residents of the neighborhood. All had braved the cold air this morning to hear Miss Justine Greene, founder of the Broome Street Settlement, speak at the settlement’s dedication ceremony.
Grinning, Jack watched from his place in the crowd. He was so damn proud of her.
Somehow, she’d convinced her father to turn over her trust fund early and used the money to open this settlement house, which would provide education, resources and assistance for the neighborhood residents. They had a staff of six and many more volunteers, mostly young women who had just graduated from college. Jack loved that O’Shaughnessy’s former saloon had been converted for such a noble purpose. O’Shaughnessy would fucking hate it.
“Our goal,” she said to the crowd, “is to improve the community from within. We will work for the neighborhood by working with the neighborhood. No one will be turned away based on ethnicity, education level or religion. Our model will remain similar to that of Jane Addams’s Hull House in Chicago.”
Many in the crowd nodded, familiar with the name. Jack knew of Hull House and Jane Addams only because Justine had introduced him during a trip there this past October, when he’d researched potential brewery sites in Chicago. They hadn’t settled on a location yet, but having Justine to himself for three weeks had been glorious.
The speech soon concluded and applause broke out. The mayor went to shake Justine’s hand, the flash of photography nearby sending smoke into the air. It would be several minutes before she could break away so he watched the crowd.
“Don’t look now,” Clayton muttered at Jack’s side. “Here comes your soon-to-be father-in-law.”
Sure enough, Duncan Greene was glad-handing his way through the crowd, straight toward Jack and Clayton. Jack straightened off the lamppost he’d been propped against. “Shit.”
“Smile. You’ll want to make a good first impression.”
“Fuck off.”
To date, every member of the Greene family had welcomed Jack . . . except Duncan. Even Justine’s grandmother had invited him for tea, where they conversed the whole time in French. He’d won her over with humorous stories from his days in Lower Manhattan. By the end of the visit, she’d hugged him and invited him to Newport for Christmas with the family.
Duncan, on the other hand, pretended as if Jack didn’t exist. He told Justine he wasn’t ready to welcome another former criminal into the fold. Jack didn’t care whether Duncan approved of him or not. The only person who mattered to Jack was Justine, and she assured him her father would come around. Eventually.
Clayton chuckled. “The good news is that you make me look like a saint.”
“Stop grinning,” Jack said. “You’ll scare the small children.”
An out-of-breath Florence slid in next to Clayton. “I’m here. Sorry. I saw him working his way over and so I ran.”
“Still, I must protect Mulligan, seeing as how Justine is preoccupied.” She turned just as Duncan stepped up. “Oh, hello, Daddy.”
“Florence.” Her father leaned in and kissed her cheek. “You are looking well. Good morning, Clayton.” The two men shook hands.
Jack said nothing, merely waited for the cut direct. Oh, the horror.
“Daddy, have you met Mr. Mulligan?” Florence gestured toward Jack.
Duncan grimaced but turned. “Mulligan,” he said and stretched out a hand.
Hiding his surprise, Jack shook the other man’s hand. “Mr. Greene. A pleasure.”
“My wife and my mother have both informed me that I may not hold on to this grudge any longer. I suppose that means we must meet to discuss the terms of your marriage.”
Jack hadn’t yet proposed, but no use splitting hairs with her father. He would marry Justine when she was ready, not when others pressured them. “No need. I want nothing but your daughter.”
“Call me skeptical, but I do not believe that.”
“I always say what I mean. And, I have plenty of money.”
“Yes, ill-gotten gains, no doubt,” the other man muttered. “What about property?”
“I have a home on Bond Street.” Justine would soon be moving in, a day he looked forward to with unholy anticipation. He planned to fuck her in every room of that house.
“Oh, so you are not interested in an old factory in Chicago that could easily be converted into a brewery?”
Jack’s brows shot up. The crafty old devil. “I might be, if it’s the right size. We’ve been looking for a space there.”
“I heard as much from Julius Hatcher. He seems quite relieved that you’ve given up your former pursuits.”
Hatcher had eagerly come on board to the national brewery corporation once Jack had relinquished his criminal empire to Rye and Cooper. The refrigerated train cars were now in production and they were in negotiations to purchase a railroad.
