Dirty Liar: An Irish Mafia Romance

by KB Winters

  Flynn pressed his lips to mine. It was a soft, chaste kiss, but one that conveyed a deep emotion.

  “I love you, Ava,” he said.

  “I love you, too, Flynn.”

  “So this is it, eh? We’re really going to do this?” He smiled brighter than I’d ever seen him smile before.

  “Looks like it,” I said with a laugh.

  “Good. Start thinking about where you’d like to run off to, sweetheart. Dream big, because we’re going to make it happen.”

  All I could do was shake my head. It all felt like a dream, and I was just waiting to wake up from it. As Flynn pulled back out onto the road and started driving again, his brow was furrowed and his jaw was clenched. I could tell he was deep in thought.

  “What is it?” I asked, stroking his hand. “What’s on your mind?”

  He glanced over at me and smiled. “Nothing much,” he said. “It’s a lot to process, and I’m just trying to figure it out. You want to see my father before we leave, and you keep mentioning you went undercover to find answers. I’m trying to make sense of it all. But I can’t make heads nor tails of any of it. I just don’t have the answers.”

  Sighing, I looked out the window at the long, dark highway around us. Soon enough, we’d be in Chicago, and I’d get to ask Donal O’Brien the questions I’ve always had for him. Flynn would be there. So, he was going to hear what I had to say. And as I thought about it, I asked myself—was this the way I wanted him to find out?

  “Flynn, there’s something you should know. About your father and my family.” I bit my lip, trying to find the words. Finally, I settled on just blurting it out. “Remember how I mentioned my father was killed at a young age, and I witnessed it?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know who did it. I saw the man and knew him well.”

  Flynn was quiet and as I watched his face, I thought that he was starting to put things together. But I couldn’t be sure.

  “Flynn, your dad killed my father. My father was part of the syndicate.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Ava

  Flynn didn’t say anything for a few moments, he just stared straight ahead at the road beyond the windshield. The silence went on so long, I thought perhaps he hadn’t heard me. But I didn’t want to say those words again, so I just sat there, staring out the window as if the conversation wasn’t even happening.

  After going a few more miles down the road, Flynn asked, “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did my old man do it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s what I’m hoping to find out.”

  I turned to Flynn and watched as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. He flexed his jaw as tightly as his grip on the wheel. It was as if he was letting all of his emotions go through his jaw and hands. He stared straight ahead and said nothing for a long time. The air inside the car was thick and seemed like the atmosphere just before a nasty storm breaks. It was unsettling to say the least.

  “Okay, Ava,” he said at last. “I’ll take you to him. You deserve some answers.”

  Relief swept through me so powerfully, it caused my hands to shake. I’d finally get to face the man who murdered my dad and ask the questions I’d been dying to ask my entire life. The questions that had haunted me since I was a kid.

  “Thank you,” I said. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  He merely nodded and avoided my eyes. I don’t think he was sure what to say. Not that I blamed him. I’d just let the cat out of the bag on something so huge, he couldn’t have seen it coming. Something he’d never given thought to and something that, because he cared so much for me, had to have hit him like a punch in the gut.

  “I just need you to know—to be prepared for the possibility—that he might not be able to provide you with the answers you’re seeking,” he said. “He’s been in and out of it for weeks now. He may not even wake up or be lucid when we visit.”

  My heart broke as I listened to him. I hadn’t even considered the ideas that Flynn pointed out. All these years—since I was a kid—I’d wanted to confront this man. And now, I finally had my chance, and it would be just my luck that he wouldn’t be awake to talk to me. He probably wouldn’t even recognize me. And hell, he might not even have the faintest idea who my father was. It was so long ago that even if he were awake, he might not recall specifics. Even though I thought the two men had been close, the possibility existed that maybe I’d been wrong. After all, who killed their best friend?

  I looked over at Flynn and realized that it had only been a few hours ago that he made the very same choice. Of course, the situation was much different. There was an entirely different context to it all, I was sure. He’d saved me. Had saved my life. My father died for no reason at all, as far as I was aware. Certainly, nothing quite like what had happened earlier.

  The reason I thought my father was killed was that he’d talked to the police. Maybe. That wasn’t certain. Though he’d been rumored to be a snitch, there was no proof to back it up. And I’d looked. For years. But after seeing what happened with Flynn and Colin, it made me think that perhaps they were wrong. My father was a loyal man. A good man. And I couldn’t see him turning on his brothers like that.

  “I understand,” I said, steeling myself for massive disappointment. “We’ll see what happens, I guess.”

  That was the best we could do. I couldn’t go back in time, I had to work with what we had. It was worth a shot. Maybe we’d catch Donal O’Brien on a good day. And maybe he’d be able to give me the answers I’d been seeking for so many years.

  Maybe I’d finally have the closure and the peace I’d sought for so long.

  Or maybe I wouldn’t.

  But I had to try.

  ***

  “This is my father’s private estate,” Flynn said. “He kept it a secret from everyone but immediate family. And because of his fragile state since his health has declined, we felt it was better to keep him hidden away from the public eye. Let him spend his final days in peace, just in case some old enemy came around looking to settle an old score when my old man was too weak to fight back.”

  Flynn shot me a look and smiled.

  “What?” I asked. “Are you saying I’m an old enemy?”

  “Maybe?” he replied. “You’re not planning on killing my dear old da’, are ya?”

  The thought had crossed my mind a lot over the years, but I wasn’t that type of person. I wasn’t revengeful. Nor was I a cold-blooded killer. Knowing that Donal O’Brien was near the end of his life was enough. Of course, I didn’t want to let him shuffle off this mortal coil without giving me the goddamn answers I needed.

  “Of course not. Do I look like a killer to you?”

  “Well—”

  I slapped Flynn playfully on the arm. “I was saving your life, asshole,” I said. “Would you have rather that I left him alive?”

  Flynn leaned forward and kissed me, silencing my laughter. “Alright, but don’t get your hopes up,” he said. “He’s a dying old man, after all.”

  “I know, I know,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll just have to make the best of it.”

  I followed Flynn inside the house and did my best to keep from gaping. It was a large estate, much fancier than I’d expected—considering where I grew up—and the home I remembered Donal O’Brien living in many years ago.

  “Looks like he did well for himself,” I said, admiring the grand entryway.

  “Very well. The syndicate was kind to him,” Flynn said. “And me. Until recently, of course.”

  His face darkened as he mentioned the brotherhood. No doubt still stung by what had happened. But as I looked around, I marveled. To think, my father could have lived a life like this, dying of old age in a giant house outside the heart of Chicago. Private, secluded and gated. Flynn nodded at the men at the door—large men who were obviously armed. Looked like he’d meant it when he said his dear old dad was worried about enemi
es popping up.

  “He gets around the clock care here,” Flynn said. “We’ve pretty much set his bedroom up like a hospital room. He had no desire to spend the last months of his life in an assisted care facility. Not that I blame him. I think that’d be miserable.”

  I couldn’t blame him either, especially since he obviously had more than enough money to pay for all of this.

  We walked past a magnificent grand staircase, the wood carved so beautifully it almost took my breath away. Wall-to-wall marble floors were covered with runners that looked like they just came from the middle east. Beautiful artwork adorned the walls. The home exuded the aroma of money and class. It was gorgeous. And to think this could have been my life.

  My heart ached for what could’ve been, but I ached more knowing the blood that was shed that afforded the O’Brien’s to live in such luxury.

  My father’s blood.

  Flynn spoke, taking me out of my musings. “His room used to be up there,” he said, pointing up the staircase. “But we moved everything down to the main level to make it easier on him. Not that he gets out of bed anymore, but at one time—”

  Flynn’s eyes were tearing up and his voice thickened with emotion as he talked about his father. It was hard to reconcile the fact that he was talking about the man who’d killed my father. And yet, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. No one wanted to watch their parents die, no matter what kind of monster they might have been to others. To Flynn, he was his da’ and always would be. And I knew I’d have to be okay with that if I wanted to build a life with this man.

  Build a life with him. I shook my head and chuckled to myself at the mere thought of it. I couldn’t believe this was really happening. I was actually thinking about building a life with Flynn. A man I wanted to put behind bars for the rest of his life. Life could be funny sometimes, that was for sure.

  Flynn nodded at the nurse as she stepped out of a room, a mild expression of surprise on her face. But she nodded and smiled softly at him.

  “Flynn, it’s nice to see you. We weren’t expecting you this evening,” she said, smiling but giving me a strange look, as if she was trying to figure out who I was without being impolite.

  “I know, Sheila,” he said softly. “But something has come up, and I may be leaving town for a little while. I just wanted to say goodbye to my da’. Just in case I’m not able to get back to him before—”

  “Yes, yes, I understand,” she said. “Your father was awake a moment ago, but I gave him his meds for the night, so he might fall asleep on you. But it might please you to know that he was lucid this evening.”

  “That’s fine,” Flynn said. “I just want a chance to say goodbye, that’s all.”

  I gripped Flynn’s hand tightly. The original reason we were there was for me. But now I realized how important it was for Flynn to see his father as well. I could hear him choking up while talking to the nurse. I wondered what it would be like when he was face to face with him. As the nurse stepped away, Flynn stood there, staring at the door, unmoving. It was as if he was only just realizing the finality of stepping through the door.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked him, stroking his back gently.

  “I haven’t visited in months,” he said. “I was always so busy. But in truth, I guess I just didn’t want to see him this way. But now—”

  Did I really want to intrude on such a special moment for the man I loved? By going inside and talking to Donal O’Brien, I might get the answers I needed, but I might also ruin the last memory Flynn had of his own dad. I was torn and that lance of guilt was driving deep into my heart once more.

  “Would you like to go in alone?” My voice was low, as I couldn’t trust myself to say the words. I knew in my heart it was the right thing to do. But deep down, it killed me to say it only because it was a moment I’d longed for since I was a child.

  “No,” Flynn said, to my relief. “I can’t. I need you there by my side or I’ll never walk through that door.”

  Flynn sighed, slowly reaching for the door knob, and every muscle in my body tensed up as I watched him. I anticipated the door swinging inward. This was the moment I’d waited my entire life for. The conversation I wanted to have with the man was ingrained in my head. I’d rehearsed it over and over again for years, and I knew exactly what I wanted to say to Donal O’Brien.

  Now, if only I had the balls to actually go through with it. And looking at Flynn’s face, I wasn’t sure if I could. I wasn’t sure I could mar what might be the last meeting between father and son.

  Yeah, life could be funny—but it could also be a real son of a bitch.

  Thirty

  Flynn

  The man in the hospital bed looked nothing like my father. A least, nothing like the man I remembered. Sure, his eyes were the same—deep set and dark—but his face was pale and sunken in. I thought maybe he was sleeping, but as we entered, he spoke, his voice surprisingly strong and clear.

  “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me, Da’,” I said, walking toward him. And just in case he didn’t remember me—his memory was blotchy these days—I added, “Your son, Flynn.”

  “Flynn?”

  I feared the worst. I feared he wouldn’t remember who I was, and that meant my last moments with him would be useless—both for him and Ava, who had questions of her own. And as important as my moments with him were, hers were that much more important.

  “Yes, Da’,” I said. “And I brought a friend with me.”

  He squinted, as if he was trying to see us but was having trouble seeing anything at all. With Ava’s hand still in mine, I stepped closer to the bed and into the light. My father looked at me and smiled.

  “It is you, son,” he said, reaching for my hand. A hacking cough made his body shake and he withdrew his hand to cover his mouth until the fit subsided. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.”

  I dropped to my knees at his side, taking both of his hands in mine. Germs be damned, I needed to comfort him, needed to hold him one last time. He needed to know I was there for him and that no matter what happened, I still loved him.

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I was selfish. I didn’t want to see you like this,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut tight.

  “It’s fine, son. I don’t want you to remember me like this either. I’d rather you remember me as I was,” he said softly. “Who’s the friend you brought? A girlfriend?”

  I nodded, tears forming in my eyes. This was it. As painful and awkward as it was going to be, I’d have to listen as the woman I loved questioned my father about murdering her father. If things could get any worse, I wasn’t sure how.

  “Yes, Da’. She’s my girlfriend,” I said. I felt Ava gripping my shoulder tightly, reassuring me with her presence and her touch. “Her name is Ava.”

  Ava spoke up from behind me. “Ava Finley,” she said.

  “Finley...” me da’ said, his voice thoughtful. “The name sounds familiar. Are you from around here?”

  Ava nodded. “I am.”

  “Irish name... slight Irish accent...” My father was putting it all together, even in his ragged state and failing mental condition, I could see him trying to remember. “Did I know your father?”

  Ava let out a small sound, a gasp mixed with a sob, and I looked back at her to see that tears were running down her soft, smooth cheeks.

  “Yes, sir. You did,” she said. “His name was Michael Finley.”

  “Ava, Ava... Oh God, Ava,” my father said, his coughing growing worse.

  His entire body shook from the coughing fit, and he sounded like he was choking, having trouble breathing. Ava and I stood by, unsure of what to do and feeling helpless to do anything about it. Eventually, the fit subsided and he leaned back against his pillows, his face seeming to be paler and more sunken in than before.

  “So, you remember me?” she asked, once the coughing stopped. “You remember who I am?”

  “I do,” my father said softly. “And I’m so
sorry. So very sorry.”

  Thirty-One

  Ava

  The apology hit me hard, coming to me as a surprise. For some reason, I’d expected a fight from the old man. Part of me thought he’d never remember my father, let alone me. I never imagined he’d lived his entire life remembering—let alone feeling guilty—for the lives he’d taken. I could only imagine that would have been a miserable, tortured existence, and it didn’t appear that Donal O’Brien had led a miserable, tortured life.

  I gritted my teeth and bit my tongue. Everything I wanted to say had been planned around a confrontation, not an apology. And not from a man on his death bed with his son by his side. The entire situation was going sideways, and my entire pre-planned, rehearsed soliloquy of outrage seemed headed straight out the window. In the face of what seemed to be genuine and heartfelt remorse, I was nearly speechless.

  But if I wanted answers, I was going to have to salvage something. And quickly.

  “Why my dad?” I finally managed to ask, my voice coming out cracked and broken. “Why? I thought you two were friends, I thought of you as family—”

  “Ava, you don’t understand,” he said. “There’s so much you don’t know. Couldn’t possibly know.”

  “What don’t I know? I saw it with my own eyes, you shot my dad and left him for dead,” I cried. “I saw it happen.”

  Donal looked over at his son, and a pained look crossed over his face. It was an expression of genuine anguish that touched his face and for some reason, I felt guilty for bringing it upon him. But I wasn’t sure if it was the knowledge that Flynn was in love with a woman whose father he’d killed or what it might be, but something had upset the old man. And upset him deeply.

  “Michael Finley was my good friend, but he was also a traitor,” Donal said, his voice strained. “He’s the one who turned us over to the cops. I regret what I had to do more than you know. But it had to be done to protect the greater good.”