This Life II

by Dee, Cara

  “We should act quickly, then,” he said.

  “Aye, if it’s possible, I wanna go tomorrow.”

  He nodded pensively and pinched his bottom lip, probably thinking about the same thing I was. We were dog-fucking-tired. Could we push our men further?

  On the flip side, this was the end. We’d reached the top guy. Gio was next in line.

  “How many do we need in each location?” he asked.

  “Just two, and one team can cover both the villas around Rome. It’s only a couple hours between them.” We actually didn’t need more than one guy to do the job, but a backup was always a good idea. The explosives were already in place. “That’s six guys going to Italy. They can sleep in shifts on the way. By tomorrow night, they should be there—give or take a few hours.” The villa in the north would be quicker to reach, although it was situated in the mountains between two towns, and the roads weren’t ideal.

  “It’s doable,” Pat said with a firm nod. “I think the prospect of going home when this is over will motivate them to push through it.” He walked over to the side of the bed and grabbed the notepad from the nightstand. Then he sat down and picked up the pen too. “Give me the duos we should send to Italy.”

  I puffed out my cheeks and blew out a slow breath. “Given that you, Kellan, and Liam have been there and know the areas around the villas better, it’s the smartest choice. I don’t care who goes with who, but youse can take Pop and… Who’s coming in from Philly?” I checked my watch. The plane had landed a while ago. Christ, how had I forgotten who we’d called?

  “Joel, Adam, and Mack.”

  Now I remembered. Adam had practically demanded it and played the guilt card because we’d left him out initially. What could I say? Even I had limits on how hotheaded a person could be before they posed a risk. But he’d sworn up and down to follow orders, which, admittedly, he’d never had any issues doing in the past. We just happened to know he wanted both Gio’s and John’s blood on his hands more than many others did.

  It was insane, and still true, that I didn’t even care about Uncle John anymore. For a goddamn decade, I’d carried this grudge, and at this point… Whatever.

  “Leave Mack with me,” I said. “He works well with Sullivan.”

  “Got it,” Patrick answered, jotting shit down. “I take it you’ll lead the way to Lubeck with the others?”

  I inclined my head. “We’ll scope it out and set shit up. According to the maps, the estate is in the middle of nowhere, but there’s a forest we can use to get pretty close to the property.”

  Patrick nodded as he listed my crew. Me, Sullivan, Mack, Eric, and Colm.

  He hesitated and glanced up at me. “What about Luna?”

  “She’s out,” I said right away. “At her latest appointment, the doctor said her iron levels or something were low. I want her on the next plane to Dublin. Have one of our associates escort her to Killarney. She can rest up with Aunt Viv and the twins.”

  There was a knock on the door before Colm poked his head in. “Most of the lads have arrived. Oh, and we’re on the morning news.”

  I chuckled quietly. “Did another nightclub burn to the ground, by any chance?”

  “How’d’ju know?” He smirked tiredly. “Anyway. Nine casualties, but only people who worked there.”

  I nodded in thanks for the report. Once the club had closed, we’d started the fire for a reason. “We’ll be right out. Cheers, man.”

  Half an hour later, everyone had arrived.

  And everyone except Adam was exhausted.

  Adam—fucking bless—was feeling pumped.

  Pop was staring at me, searching for signs of shit I wouldn’t discuss at the moment. He was worried.

  The couches and chairs filled up, and Liam and Pat came to stand next to me in front of the flat screen.

  I dropped the seven different newspapers on the table. “I guess I can say good morning. You’ve all seen the headlines we’re making.” I paused as the men shared quick murmurs of pride. Jokes and wisecracks were best during grim times, and we were certainly there now. Kellan called us artists, and that was a good place to pick up the topic again. “Then let’s turn this last gig into our masterpiece,” I said. “Ten months ago, we were on the run. Gio struck wherever he could—he found us in Boston, he hit us hard on our own turf. But we fought back, and we’ve spent the past several months draining him dry. He doesn’t have the manpower he once had. There’s no more backup. We’ve taken clients from him, we’ve destroyed over three dozen of his properties, we’ve started local turf wars between him and smaller outfits, and we’ve made a great profit. Now we go for the head.”

  There was a shift in the atmosphere, and some of the guys seemed to gain energy from my speech. They sat forward and nodded, Colm cracked his knuckles absently, and Sullivan muttered about wanting more notches on his rifle.

  “I’ll be leading a crew going straight to Gio’s residence outside of Lubeck tomorrow,” I went on. “We think that’s where he’s heading soon. Eric, Sullivan, Mack, and Colm—you’re with me. The rest of you will listen to Pat and Liam.” I cleared my throat and felt a twinge of discomfort at admitting my own weakness, even if it was only for the moment. “I’ve given them the command for an operation across Italy, seeing as I’m a bit of a wreck without the missus next to me. It’s better I put all my focus on a plan for us to finish this shit once and for all.”

  “Hear, hear,” Mack said.

  Colm inclined his head. “We have all faith in you, boss. And we’ll get Emilia and Autumn back.”

  We fucking better. There was no other option.

  I dipped my chin in acknowledgment, then clapped Pat on his shoulder. He could take it from here.

  “All right.” Patrick took a step forward and rubbed his hands together, trying to keep spirits up. “If Finn didn’t call your name, you’re going to Italy tomorrow. It’s time to watch Gio’s homes go up in flames.”

  33

  Emilia O’Shea

  “Then we have these women,” the guy in the documentary continued. “There are a couple reports of similar cases in the Sicilian mafia, but the organized crime hailing from Calabria and Naples turned it into well-established structures. The Sisters of Omertà were not only involved in the crimes, they often planned them and were born into high ranks. Wives, sisters, daughters, and mothers of local bosses were prepared to take over if their men went to prison or were killed.”

  I raised a brow to myself and started on the next braid in Autumn’s hair. She sat in front of me on the bed, humming and playing games on her tablet, while I inhaled the documentary I’d found on an Italian streaming site. Luca had smirked and eyed me cockily when I’d given him the list of documentaries I wanted to rent. But at least he hadn’t said no.

  I was thrilled it was in English, and the Italian subtitles were easy enough to ignore.

  “This is partly how Italy has achieved its culture of strong matriarchs,” the man on the TV said. “Most commonly, the wife or the mother would be sworn in as soon as the boss was arrested—if there was no one better to step in, such as a son—and it was a way for the bosses to keep the control in the family. If the seat went to a capo or another male, the boss risked a war when he was released from jail or prison, because once you have the power, you don’t want to give it back. So they groomed their women throughout their lives. They weren’t thrown into a position, oblivious to what their men had been doing—they were well aware and highly trained. We have multiple cases of women who’ve ruled mafia families for decades.”

  I wasn’t fooled by Elena’s comforting demeanor. She tried so fucking hard to come off all innocent, warm, motherly, and kind. But I’d paid attention. I’d seen her give orders and heard how she spoke to Luca and the other goons.

  I had every reason to suspect Elena was one of those Sisters or whatever.

  I believed it was why Gio kept her so close. She was the next in rank. She wasn’t merely his sister; she was an emergency solu
tion if he lost his freedom. Or his life.

  Elena had once told me she’d been forced to return to Italy because she’d been neglecting her responsibilities. Something told me she wasn’t talking about wifely duties. She wasn’t even married. She hadn’t spoken a word of remarrying or dating.

  “How do they fucking know?” Gio yelled furiously.

  I grinned and held a finger in front of my mouth, silently telling Autumn to remain quiet.

  She sat on our bed and giggled behind her hand.

  Gio had completely lost it the past two days, although tonight was the first time I’d heard him express his rage in English. He went back and forth, and Luca and Elena were his silent sounding boards. I kept our door ajar so I could hear Gio throw a fit in his office on the second floor.

  I wished I knew what exactly it was Finnegan and the others had done to make Gio this mad. More than that, I hoped they continued.

  Elena would try to calm Gio down every now and then, but it only worked for a few minutes. Maybe that was what she’d done now. It was quiet at the moment.

  “Is it safe to go out now?” Autumn asked.

  I shook my head. “Not yet.”

  Safe wasn’t the right word. We hadn’t been banished to our room or anything. I’d just opted to stay out of Gio’s way because then he let down his guard. When Autumn and I were up here, he spoke more openly on the first and second floors, resulting in me gaining more information.

  I was pretty sure we were leaving Italy within the next day or two. Gio was unhinged, and he didn’t understand how the Sons of Munster could know of so many Avellino holdings.

  God, I hoped Finnegan was giving them hell.

  I jumped slightly when I heard footsteps on the stairs, and I silently closed the door before I hurried over to the bed.

  Shortly after, there were two quiet knocks on the door. Elena poked her head in with a careful smile. “Hi, girls. Dinner is ready.”

  “Okay.” I squeezed Autumn’s hand and slid off the bed. These days, I wasn’t as graceful as I wanted to be. My stomach was growing quickly, and my back hurt sometimes.

  Two more months, and I’d only get bigger. Yay.

  “I want to apologize if you heard anything,” Elena said as we walked down the stairs. “I suspect you have. You’ve been spending more time in your room lately.”

  “Kinda hard to miss Gio’s rage fits,” I replied. “I’d rather not have Autumn around that.”

  Chagrin and an unspoken apology flitted across Elena’s features.

  She was a good actress, I’d give her that.

  I was just better, and I was beginning to wonder if it was time for me to get my hands dirty. At this point, I genuinely didn’t believe Autumn and I were in any direct danger, and I was sitting on a wealth of information. Either I could fuck with Gio’s head, or I could use it against him. Having been around Finnegan and the boys for so long, I knew they had questions too. They wanted to know about John and about the boy pictured in Cerveteri, for instance. Surely, there was some intel I could give out—that didn’t matter anymore—in exchange for answers.

  Gio and Luca were standing out on the terrace when we stepped outside, and so was an older man I hadn’t seen before. And still, I knew instantly who he was. An older version of Alessandro Bianchi, the guy who’d once stopped me on my way from the compound in Finnegan’s car.

  This had to be Alessandro’s father.

  If I remembered correctly, Finnegan had mentioned Alessandro had climbed the ranks quickly because his dad worked closely with Gio.

  When Gio spotted us, he gestured for everyone to sit down at the table. “Emilia, this is Antonio Bianchi.”

  “I know,” I said instinctively and took my seat.

  My response earned me an impressive set of raised eyebrows, and I decided right then and there to take back some control.

  “And how is it that you know Antonio, Emilia?” Gio asked.

  Since no one seemed interested in the food on the table, I reached for the pasta dish first. “I know a lot of things. I married an Irish mobster, remember? It’s not my fault you guys never ask me for any information.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, it looked like Elena was gauging Gio’s mood, waiting for his reaction. I pretended to be casual, and for once, it wasn’t very difficult. Gio seemed to be processing, perhaps even rethinking his earlier approach to me. Fuck if I knew. This chicken looked great, though.

  “Don’t forget your vegetables.” I winked at Autumn.

  She grinned ruefully and helped herself to the salad too.

  The others at the table were still watching one another—or watching Gio and me—so I rolled my eyes and said, “It’s not some elaborate story. Finnegan told me about Antonio, and his son was a prick to me once. That’s all.”

  Gio frowned. “A prick?”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t know he stopped me in the middle of the road outside the O’Shea property in Pennsylvania.”

  “Ah.” He smoothed out his napkin over his lap. “An unfortunate accident. We were trying to contact Finnegan.”

  Unfortunate, my ass.

  “Is my son alive?” Antonio asked in broken English. His expression was grim.

  I turned to Autumn and touched her pretty braids. “Sweetheart, could you go get your tablet?”

  “I can play games while I eat?” She became hopeful and got out of her seat.

  I nodded. “Just this once. Get your headphones too, please.”

  “Yessss.” She darted inside right away.

  I turned back to Antonio. “I don’t know if Alessandro is alive.” That was a lie. “I heard Finnegan and Liam discussing whether or not to use him to trade for John.” Another lie. “Speaking of, is he alive?” I faced Gio.

  He observed me for a moment, debating internally, and filled his plate with food. “He is,” he replied eventually. “I made him a promise.”

  “What promise?”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled. He wasn’t going to tell me.

  I had to give him something. And truth be told, what promise Gio had given John was irrelevant. I needed to know his location first and foremost.

  “I heard you earlier,” I admitted. “When you were angry. You wondered how Finnegan had found…something. If you tell me what you meant, maybe I can let you know.”

  He cleared his throat and cut into his chicken. I couldn’t read his expression very well anymore, making me wonder if he was going to indulge me—or rather, take the chance at playing this game with me. Was he weighing the options? Was he calculating how trustworthy I was or how reliable my answers would be?

  He knew the basic facts: I’d married Finnegan, and I was pregnant with his child. But Gio, of all people, knew that didn’t mean squat in their lifestyle. Having children was simply what was expected of someone who’d entered a marriage of convenience, which would fit the fictional image of my marriage I’d made sure to show Gio. That there was no love between my husband and me, that I wanted to get out, that I wanted to get away from all of it. The only question for Gio was, could he trust me?

  Could he trust that I looked happy in my wedding pictures because I’d been saved from abuse and poverty, and not because I was ridiculously in love with Finnegan?

  “There’ve been break-ins at two of my houses now,” Gio stated. “What you heard—I was wondering how they know where my personal properties are. They are not listed publicly.”

  Here we go.

  “They are, though,” I argued lightly. Come on, play with me. I had to draw him in. “Your name and addresses might not show up in searches, but if you do your homework and know where to look, it’s not difficult to find. For instance—” I forked up some chicken and dragged it through the sauce from the pasta dish “—your villas. The final bids are listed in the archives with local real estate agencies. As is the name of the business if you purchase a property through a holding company.”

  Gio clenched his jaw and exchanged a glance with Elena.
>
  If he asked me how Finnegan had known the name of the company, I wouldn’t know. I assumed it was information passed through from Shannon or something Eric had hacked his way to gain. Either way, if one knew where to look…

  Luca said something in Italian to Gio, phrased like a question. I only caught “How many.”

  Gio responded in Italian too, and I translated it to, “The other four.”

  Four, what? He had five private homes in Italy. Was that what they referred to? The other ones? Maybe Luca asked how many Finnegan could know of using the tactic I’d told them about.

  When Gio spoke again, it was too rapid for me to understand. Whatever it was, it made Antonio stand up and offer a firm nod before he left.

  Autumn returned at the same time and gave Antonio a wide berth. She went back to her seat next to me, pleased as punch, and tuned us out with her headphones and tablet.

  “How did the O’Sheas know about my location in Barcelona?” Gio asked.

  Oh, I wasn’t touching that one. Besides, it was my turn.

  “Who are the two boys in the pictures upstairs?” I shot back.

  He chuckled darkly and reached for his wine. “You want tit for tat, yes? Fine.”

  “Gio,” Elena said in a hushed voice.

  He waved her off. “Calm yourself, sister. There is one thing we can trust about Emilia. She doesn’t like any of us, including the Sons. The difference is we can earn her respect and loyalty over time. She’ll know sooner or later anyway.” When he was done talking shit, he faced me and continued. “They are my sons.”

  I swallowed hard.

  Fuck.

  How was that possible? Finnegan had searched…

  “A man in my position has to secure his future with heirs,” he went on. “Michael is twenty-two and belongs at my side.” That had to be the eldest. “Unfortunately, he was arrested two years ago. He is in prison.”