This Life II

by Dee, Cara

  Emilia sensed something was wrong. More than that, she sensed my directive brooked no argument, so she backed down and handed over the gun to me. Then she went to the closet where Autumn sat with her headphones on. Fear and hope mingled in the little one’s eyes, the question unspoken. Are we okay? Emilia smiled carefully and helped her out.

  “Finn!” Autumn’s eyes welled up, and the biggest smile stretched across her face. She didn’t even register the motherfuckers on the floor.

  “Soon, sweetie. We’ll catch up soon. Come on.” Emilia ushered Autumn toward the door. They exchanged a few whispers on the way, and I avoided their looks.

  I could breathe once the door was closed.

  I never wanted to show Emilia this side of me.

  “Everything good?” Liam asked quietly.

  I shook my head minutely and eyed Gio. He was watching me warily, tension visible in his posture. Shoulders stiff, jaw set.

  “It’s over, though,” I murmured and cleared my throat.

  Liam knew what that meant, and his expression shuttered. “Who…?”

  Who did we lose?

  I coughed as the locked box rattled in my head. To distract myself, I slipped my knife out of its sheath at the side of my leg, and I just barely managed to utter my brother’s name.

  Liam cursed, and in a fit of rage, he planted a boot across Gio’s back and kicked him forward.

  Elena yelped and jumped, then started crying.

  “You’re both fucking dead,” Liam growled at them. Unfortunately, his injured state demanded he sit down again quickly. He swayed and slumped down, and he pulled a basket closer. Looked like a wastebasket from the bathroom, and I figured out he must’ve used it to handle his nausea. “Shite.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Emilia told me some interesting things. First of all, me old man is held here—down in the garage.”

  I lifted a brow and positioned myself behind Elena. That was…definitely interesting. “Alive?”

  Liam inclined his head and cleared his throat. “Second. She’s part of it.” He pointed briefly to Elena. “She denies it, of course. Bitch started wailing when Emilia shared some fun facts about something called the Sisters of Omertà.”

  I’d read about that. Frankly, I’d thought they were a myth. Or special cases under special circumstances.

  “I know what they are,” I replied quietly. Wrapping Elena’s hair around my fist, I tugged her head back and stared down at her. “I wonder. That why you were suddenly so eager to have Emilia in your life? Huh? You thought you could recruit her?”

  “No!” she wept. “She is my daughter! I love her!”

  “Oh, shut the fuck up.” I faced Gio instead. “It’s definitely why you were eager to call Emilia family, though. Innit? You got desperate and wanted to surround yourself with backup and potential successors.”

  “You shoulda heard Emilia, cousin,” Liam murmured. There was pride mingling with all the bad shit. “These cunts were pleading with her, telling her she was misguided and that they were her true family. Then—Christ. Em legit pistol-whipped her. Said she would never be a Sister of Omertà because, and I quote, ‘I’m a Daughter of fucking Munster.’”

  I mustered a faint smile.

  I didn’t deserve the wife’s faith—the faith she had in us, in me, in our love.

  I’d spend the rest of my life trying, though.

  I met Gio’s angry gaze. He wasn’t begging, and that was fine. He knew he was past that. There was no hope.

  “One more thing,” Liam said. “He’s got two sons hidden away.”

  Oh, really…

  Gio gnashed his teeth and glared murderously.

  “Don’t worry,” I told him calmly, “I’ll kill them too.”

  Elena let out a shrill cry.

  “If they’re of age…or when they are…” I shrugged and tugged back Elena’s head again. “They’ll join you in hell.” I felt Elena’s hitched breath more than heard it when I carefully slid the knife over her throat. “I want you to watch this, Gio. I’ve waited for this for—fuck, almost a year now.” I let the blade ghost across her skin. She began shaking, and Gio had to be held back by Liam. “I’m not an unreasonable man,” I told him. “If anyone understands a grudge against John, it’s me. But you had to take it too far. You had to go after all of us.”

  He swallowed hard and licked his lips, and I could practically see his mind spinning. He was searching once more, wondering, wishing, hoping, that maybe something could save his sister from this fate—or himself.

  There wasn’t.

  “Gio,” Elena sobbed. “Do something.”

  “Spare her,” Gio rasped.

  I shook my head slowly. “You didn’t spare anyone in my family. You’ve killed brothers, sons, husbands. You kidnapped my wife and a fucking child.”

  “They thought Em was still on their side when they came in here,” Liam told me. “They were gonna run and bring Emilia and Autumn.”

  Made sense. They’d gotten past Liam on the third floor and come straight here. But then…

  I narrowed my eyes at Gio. “Nah. That’s just what you told Emilia. Wasn’t it? You barged in here and…” I remembered the dumbbell on the floor—it was still there—and of course, the side of Elena’s face was a bloodied mess. Emilia had knocked them down as soon as they’d tried to enter. She’d hit Gio with the weight, and Elena had gotten a taste of that glove. It made perfect sense that they’d switched tactics once they came to and were facing the barrel of Emilia’s gun. But I knew the truth. “You were just gonna use her to trade for your lives.”

  Before Gio could say anything, I growled out “Watch” and slit Elena’s throat.

  “No!” Gio roared.

  She choked on some garbled nonsense, blood poured out of her throat and mouth, and she fell to the floor with a thump.

  He was next. I dropped my knife on the floor, unholstered my piece, and stepped forward to press the barrel against his forehead.

  I bent down a bit and grabbed him by his throat. “My mother and my brother are dead because of you,” I whispered. “The day you went after the Sons of Munster, you signed a death warrant for anyone named Avellino.”

  I pulled the trigger.

  And, well… Fuck. Nothing happened.

  “My bad.” I straightened and released the empty clip. In the meantime, Liam let out a snort of amusement, and Gio choked on a sob. Oh, and he pissed himself. “That wasn’t part of the plan, I swear,” I admitted. I attached the new clip and grabbed him again. The gun hit his forehead, and I slid it down between his eyes. “Say bye-bye.”

  The shot blasted through the room, and Gio went down much like his sister had.

  To the sound of the ringing in my ears, I stood there and stared unseeingly at the bodies around my feet.

  It was over.

  It was over.

  I sucked in a shaky breath and peered down at my hands. They trembled a bit. Covered in drying blood. It was completely black underneath my fingernails. I swiped a thumb over my wedding band, wiping away the most of the blood from the metal.

  I didn’t know how we were going to recover.

  We weren’t the same syndicate anymore.

  One thing was for certain, though. Somehow, we were going to rise, stronger than ever, and our family would keep the memory of those we’d lost alive for generations to come.

  Liam and I helped Sullivan down to the first floor where Kellan, Joel, and Pop had set up a medical station in the living room for those injured.

  Eric was resting on a couch, in evident pain, and he had Autumn next to him. She’d plastered herself to his good side, and she cried silently as Pop dressed his wound.

  My father had shut down, I could tell.

  Colm and Joel hurried over to take Sullivan from us, and Pop told them to sit him down on the other couch.

  A beat later, Emilia flew into my arms and nearly knocked the air out of my lungs. I hadn’t seen her in the room.

  She cracked my heart wide
open all over again, and I hugged the ever-loving shit outta her. I screwed my eyes shut and buried my face in her hair. Holy shit, it was indescribable. The grief washed over me at the same time as her need for me worked to stitch me back together. She was finally back in my arms.

  “I’m never letting you out of my sight,” I said hoarsely.

  She sobbed through a soft laugh and hugged me as hard as she could. I felt her stomach between us, the bump noticeably bigger than the last time I’d held her, and I fucking hated that I’d missed out on two months.

  “Boss.” Adam approached cautiously. “We have a German couple in the other room who cooked for the Avellinos.”

  I rested my chin on top of Emilia’s head and gave him a subtle nod. We were leaving no evidence behind.

  He nodded in return and walked out.

  Liam gathered a couple men to, I assumed, get Uncle John from the garage.

  Emilia sniffled and peered up at me. “I’m so sorry about Patrick.”

  The pain slashed through me all over again, and I wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Me too.”

  “Listen up, everyone,” Pop said and stood up. He’d just finished with Eric’s stomach. “I need two of you to get cleaned up and run out for supplies. I need gauze, antiseptic cream, and bandages. Stat.”

  I let out a whistle and jerked my chin at Joel and Mack. No place was open at this hour, so they’d have to get creative.

  Despite how tired we were, not to mentioned banged-up pretty badly, we had to be out of here soon. We were gonna drench the estate in gasoline and torch it, once we’d removed the evidence that could survive a fire, and then we were gone.

  I decided to put Liam and Colm in charge of whatever we’d bring from here. Gio’s garage was filled with cars we couldn’t sell—though, we could sell parts—and the first and second floors had art worth millions.

  “How long until we can get these boys some actual hospital care?” Dad asked me. “I don’t think I can do much for them outside of temporary dressings. Eric needs to see a doctor within twenty-four hours.”

  I could work with twenty-four hours, and I was about to tell him my plan when Liam returned with a man I barely recognized. Motherfucking hell, it was Uncle John. He could barely stand on his own two feet. He’d lost an insane amount of weight and was dressed in clothes much too big for him. Was that the suit he’d been kidnapped in? It’d been a goddamn year.

  Everyone went silent when they saw him.

  Disheveled didn’t come close to describing his state. His cheeks were sunken in, he had dark shadows under his eyes, he was squinting, and he had to lean on Liam for support.

  “My God, John.” Pop stared. Eyes displaying shock, jaw clenched.

  “He was held in a cell in the basement.” Liam cleared his throat, uncomfortable, and gestured to a spot next to Sullivan. “Sit down, old man.”

  John looked to be close to tears. He didn’t say anything. More than anything else, he was confused.

  The man had been tortured.

  Someone had done a poor job of shaving him, and his hair was a matted mess.

  I felt Emilia’s finger slip up my cheek, and I peered down at her.

  Her gaze was warm and soft and brimming with unshed tears. “Unite the family, Whistler,” she whispered. “End the war.”

  I swallowed hard and nodded with a dip of my chin.

  I didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.

  It took another few hours before I got some alone time with John.

  We were almost ready to leave, and he was seated alone in the back of one of our SUVs. A couple of our men had driven them out of the woods, and our vehicles were now parked along the narrow road leading up to the estate.

  John had the door open, and his foot stuck out a bit to keep from closing the door.

  I obstructed the view of the red sky and rested an arm on the top of the car.

  He squinted at me, his reactions slow as fuck, and clasped his shaky hands in his lap. Or not shaky. Twitchy. He was jumpy yet distracted, still confused and frazzled.

  The words didn’t come to me right away. He hadn’t talked much, except for when he’d heard the rest of us discuss our route to Ireland. He’d leaned close to Liam and offered his help—anything he could do, he’d expressed. And an hour later, with Liam’s assistance, we’d secured safe passage from Denmark straight to Kerry, the airport closest to Killarney.

  We’d be able to get off the road and fly all the way. Only three would stay back—Liam, Adam, and Mack. They were driving three vans filled with valuables to the port in Rotterdam, where the goods would be shipped to our warehouse in Brazil.

  John lowered his gaze and fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt. He’d showered and cleaned up—like we all had—and now he was uncomfortable in clothes that didn’t belong to him but fit better. He’d legit spent nearly a year in the same suit. It’d been washed every now and then, but that was it. One meal a day, an empty cell with a thin mattress, a rope, a hook in the ceiling, a razor, and a single lightbulb.

  Oh, and a broken wooden stool.

  “Did you try to kill yourself?” I asked.

  He looked up again and shook his head once.

  “Good.” I retrieved my smokes and lit one up.

  Perhaps he’d broken the stool so he wouldn’t try.

  Truth be told, I couldn’t imagine what he’d gone through. He wasn’t merely a shell of his former self; he was utterly shattered and lost.

  “I’m sorry about Pat,” he said hoarsely. “And my sister—God rest her sweet soul.” He made the Sign of the Cross, genuinely distraught. “I’m sorry about everything.”

  It was crazy how deflated and defeated he was. There wasn’t an ounce of hope left in him. No arrogance, no pompousness. I didn’t know this man.

  “We’re not gonna kill you,” I said.

  He frowned at me. “Why? The things I’ve done…”

  “It’s my syndicate now, John.” I exhaled some smoke. “I won’t run it the way you did. There won’t be another war. This year…” I shook my head and flicked away excess ashes. “This year almost broke us, and we’re not the same men we used to be. That said—” I paused and took a quick drag “—you can thank Emilia that you’re still breathing. She’s the one who made me see you’re more useful alive.”

  He blew out a breath and ran a tired hand over his face. “I’m not sure she’s right, lad. In that cell—the only thing that kept me alive was the thought of my children. I have regrets—I’m one big regret myself. And I—I don’t have anything else. I’m of no use. I’m done.”

  “You’re gonna help me unite our families one last time,” I said. “There will be no more bad blood between the O’Sheas and the Murrays. I’m sick of it.” I stubbed out the smoke under my boot before pocketing it. “One day, I hope Alec will take over from me. After that—maybe a son of mine. But no matter what, they will consider one another family. The way we were intended to view one another. We were never supposed to be enemies. That’s how rats like Avellino move in.”

  He nodded and stared down at his lap. “Whatever I can do.”

  Good.

  “Then cheer the fuck up,” I said. “You have a set of twins who can’t wait to see you again.”

  My lame attempt at lightening the tension failed miserably when John became emotional and covered his mouth with his hands.

  37

  Emilia O’Shea

  Three days later, we lowered Patrick into the ground in Killarney.

  The early summer rain poured down on us, and I gripped Finnegan’s hand tightly as the priest shared a last prayer.

  Patrick’s final resting place was with Grace. Shan had moved her here before spring, and it provided the smallest of comforts that they were buried together. A family in life and after.

  We’d kept it intimate, with only some of our closest here, since several couldn’t make the journey, and Eric was still in the hospital. Liam was on his way from Rotterdam. Next weekend, we’d do
a memorial for everyone we’d lost this past year. Father O’Malley was coming.

  “Amen,” echoed quietly around the gravesite.

  I hugged Finnegan’s bicep.

  He pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

  Every now and then, the emotions won out and surged forward. God—Patrick, of all guys. His whole personality, how he and Finnegan would be at each other’s throats, the cocky grins and sharp digs, the…everything. A big oaf, a man-child, a mobster with a genuine heart, a freaking teddy bear. I was gonna miss him so much.

  Finnegan cleared his throat and wiped at his cheek quickly.

  I sniffled and reached for my tissues to wipe my nose.

  And poor Shannon, he was a mess. It pained me to watch him.

  When it was over, Finnegan excused himself to shake hands with the priest, and I gave him some privacy to be with his father. In the meantime, I encouraged everyone to get back inside the church. The rain was coming down heavier, and our next stop was a quick walk away.

  Killarney was a gorgeous little town, old and rural, consisting of low buildings, each with character of their own, and this church was in the middle of everything. Finnegan’s house was five minutes away from here, and the pub where we had decided to eat after the funeral was just down the street.

  Most of all, it was a peaceful place, and I’d instantly fallen in love with it. It made it easy to understand the times Finnegan joked about retiring here one day. It wasn’t a joke. I could see it.

  Once back inside the old church, I shuddered a breath and peered down the aisle. Behind me, Luna, Kellan, Viv, Thomas, Liam, and the kids talked quietly among themselves. All I saw was the photo of Patrick by the altar.

  Twenty-seven years old. Just gone.

  I mourned his death a hell of a lot more than I could ever mourn the death of Sarah.

  I’d been told I wasn’t supposed to know yet, but Shannon had accidentally mentioned it when we’d rushed to plan Pat’s funeral. Kellan had been there too. I’d forced them to spill the beans, and the pain was certainly there—even now. The betrayal burned, to learn she’d talked to the “police” or whatever, and it mingled with the sadness, with the grief for the friend she’d once been. There was a sliver of understanding, too, since I’d fallen for the same goddamn trick she had.