by Holly Hart
Lucio sighs heavily. “We live in trying times, Sofia. Your brother isn’t a bad man; he has just lost his way. It is a shame that his enthusiasm was never tempered by the restraint you have shown.”
I fix the old man with a stare. “You think he can be brought back from the brink?”
Lucio shrugs. “You know him better than I do, Sofia. I can’t help but think that all men – and women, of course – ” he rushes hurriedly, “can be redeemed. Whether Michael will be, however, I cannot say.”
A long silence develops between us. “Thank you, Lucio. I’m afraid that you might be sick of my face by the time this is over.”
“Never,” the old man smiles gallantly.
“I’d shake your hand, but,” I smile regretfully, glancing at my hands, “you saw what just happened. I wouldn’t want you to catch something from me.”
Lucio takes that as his cue to leave. I walk on my own through the common, lost in thought. My boots crunch against the frosted blades of grass beneath them.
After what the old man just told me, I’m spinning. I feel like I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. I know – in my bones – what Mickey is doing is dangerous; so dangerous it might destroy the Morello family entirely. But I don’t know what I can do to stop him.
To act against my brother would be a betrayal all by itself. It’s a step I’m not sure I’m ready to take. I can hardly go to Kieran and ask for help – he’d either laugh in my face, or tell his brother.
I wouldn’t blame him for it, either. That’s just the way of the world: our world.
Mickey isn’t the only problem. I know in my heart that the nausea I just experienced isn’t just “nothing” – like I keep telling myself. I’m sick, I must be, but I don’t want to look that demon in the eye. So I just go on pretending like it doesn’t exist.
I chew my lip.
“You need to get a grip, Sofia,” I mutter. Thankfully, no one hears me, or stares at the crazy lady talking to herself in the park. I run my fingers through my hair, coming to a decision.
I’ll do the only thing I can – wait. Wait, and watch. The second I see Mickey crossing a line that shouldn’t be crossed, I’ll act.
I just don’t know how.
Now, how to handle the nausea? That’s another question entirely. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about that. Not yet.
Chapter Eleven
Kieran
“Ladies n’ gentlemen,” Declan roars, silencing the Dancing Jester, our family pub, “ye’ve got two minutes before I throw all o’ ye out on your arses. Ye best believe me when I tell you: me brother, Ridley here, ain’t gonna go easy on ye…”
Declan’s words are greeted by a rumble of stifled groans. He doesn’t look worried. My brothers – all of them except Liam – are scattered around the pub. They’ll deal with any trouble.
“Ye can’t be serious,” a retired fisherman grumbles. “It’s ha’ past nine on a Friday; where do you think I should be going? Because it sure ain’t home to my wife…”
“Wife!” An elderly man, one I don’t recognize, chortles. “Ye call that the wife, now, do ye; bag of bones, so she is. Never heard a man complain about a woman like that in all me life. Better off leaving her, but that’s all I got to say on t’matter…” The man says in a tone that makes it quite clear that he has plenty more to say on the topic.
There’s a clatter of wooden barstools as the two men jump angrily to their feet. I don’t bother turning around to watch. I’ve seen a hundred fights just like it, and most of them in this very bar. I know they’ll both stumble out of our joint in ten minutes with nothing worse than a bruised ego.
I thump my pint glass down on the wooden bar. I decide to let Declan deal with the masses. If you choose to get in the way of an Irishman and his beer, then you deserve every last second of punishment you’ve asked for.
“Get us another, will ye?” I grin.
“Sure can,” Dickie grins, “on one condition.”
I raise my eyebrows. “That’s the problem with ye English,” I chuckle. “Always gotta count yer fingers after ye shake hands, so ye do. Spit it out then, Dickie boy.”
Dickie fills my pint glass right up to the brim. “Will do, boss.” He jerks his head towards the fighting old men. “You clean that mess up. How’s that for a deal?”
“Ah, Dickie boy,” I grin, reaching out for my drink. “Ye drive a hard bargain now, so ye do. Here I was thinking ye were going to ask for a raise…”
Dickie’s face falls. “Wait – that was on the cards?”
I shrug, turning back to watch Ridley grab the two old men and haul them out of the pub by their collars. “I guess it’s too late for ye to find out…”
“You serious, boss?” Dickie groans. “Honest – I’ll pick up the chairs, and all that smashed glass besides. My girlfriend’s been on my case for weeks about asking –.”
I flick a grin in Dickie’s direction. “Too late: Offer’s off t’ table. Unless…”
I feel bad. It’s kind of like teasing a dog with a chunk of meat. Still, not bad enough to stop.
“Listen,” I grunt, “go give Rid a hand getting these punks out of my bar. I’ll talk to my brother about it. How’s that?”
Dickie nods his head so fast I start to wonder whether he’s mounted it on a jackhammer. He practically runs over to Ridley’s side, and starts shoving punters out of the bar faster than I can blink. Declan joins me, and leans himself against the bar.
“What got in ta Dickie?” He grunts, reaching over the bar to grab a pint glass.
“Told him I’d talk to ye, I did: about giving him a raise.”
Declan turns back, his forehead wrinkled. “Didn’t ye ask me about getting him a bit of a raise last week? He wants another?”
I grin, and sink a big gulp of ice-cold Guinness. “Nah, I jus’ didn’t tell him I’d already spoken to you yet. Thought it’d be funnier this way…”
Dickie’s the last to leave. I shoot him a surreptitious thumbs-up, and he leaves with a wide, puppyish grin on his face – but not before glancing anxiously at Declan.
“Look serious, will ye?” I mutter to my brother under my breath.
“You’re an arse.” Declan grins, while leaning against the bar. “Ye know that, don’t ye?”
“I’ve heard it said,” I grunt. “Not to me face, mind.”
Declan slaps his palm against the bar. “All right lads,” he bellows, “gather around, will ye?”
Ridley and Mac walk over to join us. Ridley wipes a droplet of blood off his knuckles.
I toast him with my pint. “That’s what we should call ye, brother,” I grin, “Knuckles. Ye like it?”
Mac jabs his twin in the ribs. “Lad’s too thick to know yer laughing at him,” he grunts, “knucklehead is more like it.”
Declan slaps his palm against the bar again. He catches Ridley right in the middle of pulling back his arm to punch his twin in the stomach. Truth is, Rid is the smartest of all of us. That doesn’t stop Mac from getting under his skin.
“Ye should have let ‘em fight, brother,” I chuckle. “Give me something interesting to watch on a Friday night, so it would.”
“Too right, brother,” Ridley says, shooting a murderous look in his twin’s direction. “So why have ye got us here, Dec?”
“I had a meeting with Mickey Morello,” Declan replies, his voice flat. The room goes silent. Even Rid and Mac stop their sniping. I almost choke on my pint. I’m still spluttering when Ridley starts speaking, all humor drained from his voice.
“Wha’ did that slippery twat want?” He growls. “If I see him, I swear I’ll –.”
Declan cuts him off. “I called the meeting, Ridley,” he says – his voice flat and emotionless. “He wants an alliance.”
This time I nearly drown in my pint. “Bullshit,” I growl. “Why the hell should we believe a word that rat bastard says?”
“Don’t trust him, Dec –.” Ridley warns.
“Enough!” De
clan growls. “Ye boys want to know why I believe him, or do ye wanna keep jabbering like babies?”
The Jester goes deadly silent. I knock the last half of my Guinness back in one, long gulp, and bang the now empty glass down on the bar. It feels appropriate.
“Why the hell not,” I groan. I might not know the specifics, but I’ve got a funny feeling I know exactly where this is heading. And I don’t like it. Not one goddamn bit.
“Because,” Declan says slowly, running his hand through his hair: he looks like a man who doesn’t want to say the words out loud for fear of what we – I – will say. Then again, Declan’s never been a man afraid of tweaking my tail. “He’s offering his sister’s hand in marriage.”
The room explodes with angered warnings. I don’t join in. It feels like my ears are ringing, like the floor is moving underneath me. My brothers don’t know it yet, but it’s got nothing to do with them.
“Shit,” I mutter, to myself rather than the room at large. My conversation with Declan a couple of days before is suddenly extremely vivid in my mind.
“Ye can’t be serious, Dec,” Ridley protests. “Who’s she gonna marry: one of the soldiers? Because she’ll walk all over him: you know she will…”
“Be. Quiet,” Declan grunts. Grudgingly, Ridley and Mac give in. Judging by the way both of their fists are balled, and white with tension, I guess they don’t like what they are hearing.
Slowly, ever so slowly – almost as if he’s trying to drag the reveal out like we’re on some kind of twisted game show – Declan’s eyes fall on me. It takes my other brothers a couple of seconds to realize, but their mouths fall open.
Ridley lets loose a burst of laughter. “You can’t be serious: Kieran? He wouldn’t last a second married to that bitch. They call her the Ice Queen, ye know… God help you if that’s who ye end up with, Kieran. Yer cock will shrivel up and fall off before ye get to fuck Sofia Morello.”
If only you knew, I think to myself. Still, I’m as shocked as Ridley is.
“I’m sorry, brother,” Declan grimaces, “but ye know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious.”
“You think it’s really that bad?” I grunt, massaging my closed eyelids. I know Declan and I have already had this conversation, but I need to speak my piece again. I don’t want to simply accept that this is my future without – well, not a fight – but …
… Something.
“Bullshit,” Ridley growls. “Declan, ye can’t be serious now, can ye? I’d rather go to war than trade Kieran off like a horse at market…”
Declan lets out a tired sigh. “Would ye?” He asks, peering at Ridley’s face. “Would ye really? Because when ye sit in my chair, with all our soldiers on the line, it’s easier said than done.”
Ridley wrings his hands. “Sure,” he protests, “but there must be another way: a better way. What says this Mickey guy ain’t gonna screw us?”
Fuck.
“Declan’s right,” I growl – surprising myself, and apparently, my brothers as well. Even Declan. “We need to buy some time. This family ain’t in any fit shape to fight a war. Not right now.”
I pause, thinking. I can’t tell if I’m taking Declan’s side because I want to get closer to Sofia or not. Because, if some misguided crush is the reason I’m agreeing to my brother’s crazy plan, then I’m a damn fool. But there’s another factor at play in my mind. The truth is I really don’t think that Sofia will go along with it. I might just have a get out of jail free card. I agree with Declan’s plan…
… But that doesn’t mean I like it.
“So, we can prepare,” Mac interjects, breaking his silence for the first time. “We build up our defenses: guns, money, soldiers – we get it all together, stockpile it.”
“We can’t have a war,” I growl, repeating myself. I wish they would just shut up.
“Why not!” Ridley and his twin shout in unison.
“Because –” Declan starts, but I hold up a finger to cut him off.
“Because,” I grunt, “the cops are sniffing around. Hell, they’re riding our arses hard, like. The second we start shooting, they flood this joint with blue jackets and handcuffs. If we get locked up, then Mickey takes the whole damn city without a fight.”
“There must be a better way,” Ridley groans, slumping against the bar.
“If ye can think of one,” Declan replies, sounding tired. “Then be my guest, will ye. But I thought long and hard about this. At least for now, it’s all we got.”
Mac shrugs. “I got an idea,” he grunts. Rid’s twin doesn’t speak much, so when he does, people listen.
“Shoot,” Declan says, gesturing out wide with his hands.
“Weddings don’t happen overnight, right? You gotta plan ‘em, find a venue, all that crap. Takes months…”
“And?” Ridley asks: face furrowed.
“And,” Mac replies, “we use the time to hunker down: to prepare fer the fight. Because it’s coming, no matter if Kieran walks the Ice Queen down the aisle…”
“Don’t call her that,” I growl, catching Mac’s eye. The reaction is excessive – I can tell that from the look of surprise on my brother’s face, but I don’t regret it.
Ridley hoots with laughter, breaking the tension. “Already got it baaad, yes he does. Mad about the girl. Hell, Kieran – can I be the best man? What say ye?”
“Gimme a break, Rid,” I grunt. But the smile on my face gives the lie to my temper. All four of us relax a touch.
“I’ll do it,” I mutter. “All the way, if that’s what it takes. That’s what family is for, right?”
“You’re a braver man than I,” Mac murmurs, shaking his head.
“But –,” I say, holding up a finger to cut Mac off. “But I don’t trust Mickey Morello. Not as far as I could throw the fat bastard. The way I see it, there’s a war coming no matter what we do. Maybe I can buy us some time…”
Declan grabs my shoulder and squeezes it. “Yer a good man, Kieran.” He grins. “Looks like I might have to write ye a speech sooner than I thought…”
“Hey –!” Ridley protests.
“Don’t push it, lads,” I warn.
I reach over the bar and pour myself another pint. A silence breaks out between the four of us. We are all lost in our own worlds. I know Declan wouldn’t ask me to do this if the situation with the cops wasn’t dire.
I still don’t like it.
I don’t know how Sofia is going to react. I’d guess not well. We’ve suddenly jumped from friends with benefits – hell, not even friends – to engaged without so much as a by your leave. If I’m spinning, then God only knows how Sofia is going to deal with this.
If I was her brother, I’d be very, very afraid.
Chapter Twelve
Sofia
I see Kieran walking towards me. He’s coming from the other end of the long, carpeted hallway that leads to number thirty-seven – the room we’ve shared so many times. He looks good. Well cut dark denim jeans hug his thick, powerful legs. A light brown, aged leather jacket is unzipped to his breastbone, revealing a trademark white tee caressing his chest. On any other day, I wouldn’t be able to resist throwing myself at him …
… but not today.
As we close outside the door, Kieran opens his mouth to speak. I don’t know why, but it irritates me. Ever since Mickey told me that he’s signing away my future – the fool – I’ve been simmering with rage. Kieran’s not the reason I’m angry – but that doesn’t mean I’m going to spare him the brunt of my rage.
Some of the anger bubbling inside me must show on my face. Kieran’s forehead wrinkles.
“Quiet,” I growl, making a zipping motion across my lips, “Until we’re inside.”
Kieran shrugs. He’s one of those guys who seems too chilled out to get angry. Inexplicably his relaxed calm ratchets my own irritation up another notch. I wave the key card next to the door. The mechanism inside clicks and a green light flashes. I kick it open.
“Leather sui
ts ye,” Kieran grins the second the door hisses shut behind us. “It’ll look better on the floor…”
My eyes flicker down. I threw on the outfit before I left home without paying attention to it. On second glance, I look like an assassin – knee length black suede boots over close-fitting leather trousers. Black, naturally. All topped with a – black – canvas jacket.
I stride up to Kieran. My boots leave white dents on the cream carpet floor, like footprints in freshly fallen snow. I prod him in the chest. “We’re not getting fucking married.”
Kieran frowns and chews his lower lip. He doesn’t say anything, which pisses me off. I want him to do something – anything. I wouldn’t even care if he picks me up and throws me onto the bed to knock the wind out of me.
But this silence is frustrating on so many levels.
“I couldn’t agree more…” Kieran finally growls, his eyes glittering dangerously. A different Sofia Morello, on any other day – a day when she hadn’t been betrayed by her brother – might have taken Kieran’s calm as a warning.
A different Sofia Morello might have realized that just because Kieran isn’t spitting with rage, that doesn’t mean there isn’t fury bubbling like lava just beneath the surface.
But there is not a different Sofia Morello today.
Kieran shrugs his leather jacket off his shoulders. The white cotton pools and wrinkles across his chest, and stretches around biceps that are almost too large to be believed. He tosses the jacket onto the bed, kicks off a pair of black Chelsea boots, and lies down. His eyes follow me as I pace back and forth.
“You heard, then?” I growl, striding towards the bathroom, and turning back towards Kieran the second I reach it. “You heard what that good for nothing, rat-faced, drunk, pathetic excuse for a human being, that I call my brother, did?”
Kieran nods.
Why isn’t he saying anything?
“You know he wants us to get married? Us! Married! My father was right; Mickey doesn’t have what it takes to lead this family. If he thinks he’s going to get away with this, I’ll –.”
