by K. Ryan
"I didn't make you do anything, Raena," he sneers. "I simply told you what you needed to hear so you would name the correct person. I couldn't have you giving the police conflicting stories and creating doubt that anyone other than Callahan's son was responsible for what happened to you. Besides, the way everything ended up working out was much better than what I'd had planned."
Now we were getting somewhere.
"But I told the cops...I remember giving a statement saying I saw two men. One before and one after the attack. I wasn't sure who I saw, I just knew I saw two."
"Yeah, Daddy," Lucy adds softly. "I remember her saying that at the hospital. How could—"
"Do you really think I'd allow that first statement to exist?" he shakes his head, like he can't believe how he managed to raise such a thick, dim-witted daughter. "I had it erased. That's all you need to know."
Yep, I think smugly. That really is all I need to know.
I used to be so afraid of this man. I used to live in fear that he would walk right past me without even a glance, without any emotion or reaction. I used to sit in my bed and sift through everything I thought he didn't like about me, everything that wasn't what he wanted in a daughter, and I used to try to come up with ways to remedy that so he'd figure out how to love me the way he loves Lucy.
That's nothing but fuel now.
Use your instinct and your intuition to anticipate his next move before he even knows what it is himself.
"I know how much you hate Roark Callahan," I push forward. "But Sean...and Brennan. God, what did they ever do to you? Why did you have to—"
"The Callahans are a cancer in this city," he snaps. "They've done nothing but cause trouble and unrest and they've stirred up their neighborhood into falsely believing they can incite any kind of change. They think they can stop what's happening, but they can't. No amount of protesting, picketing, or anything else they cook up will be enough. I'll dismantle the entire neighborhood brick by brick if I have to, but they won't stop me."
"You didn't have to frame Sean."
He just lifts a shoulder. "As I recall, the fool admitted to the crime. He brought it on himself. I didn't even have to do much to usher the process along—just a few calls and he was in prison."
I can feel my blood boiling—he's admitted everything so freely it's disgusting. Like playing with people's lives, framing them, ruining them, murdering them...it's all just in a day's work for him.
"You've never let it go, have you?" I'm poking and prodding right now, but I need to see how much he'll give me, how deep he's willing to go. "All these years and you still can't get over the fact that she chose him instead of you. She would've dropped you like a bad habit if she thought he would've left his wife for her. I guess I can't blame you—you really loved her, didn't you?"
The mayor remains silent in front of me, stoic and stiff, and I know I've hit a nerve.
"You loved her, but she didn't love you back. And you blame Roark Callahan for her death just as much as he blames himself."
His eyebrows lift a little at that admission and I jump to explain.
"He came to see us last night after everything..." my voice trails off at the memory and I squeeze my eyes shut for just a moment to gather some more strength.
"Roark Callahan is nothing," the mayor bites out. "He's a fraud. A real man would take responsibility for his actions. A real man wouldn't hide behind his sons for the rest of his life."
Fair enough. At least that was something we agreed on.
"You know, I've always wondered why you never tried to shut Na Soilse down," I throw out casually. It's more like Jack's really the one who's always wondered, but the mayor doesn't need to know that. "You'd think that would be the first thing you'd do—it's not like you don't have the power. Taking away his business, his livelihood, hitting him below the belt...seems like something you'd want to do."
"It was never of interest to me."
"Sure," I shrug, ready to goad him as much as I need to. "It has nothing to do with the fact that you tried to have Roark Callahan killed there, but you accidentally killed Shane Flynn instead?"
I'm close to the fire. Close enough to get burned, that's for sure. But I can't stop now.
Instead of raging back at me for my insolence, he grins in amusement. "Callahan told you that? I can't say I'm surprised. He'll do just about anything to paint himself as the victim, I suppose."
"I wouldn't exactly call him a victim."
"You're correct about at least that," he muses smugly, his lips curving into a grin I don't like. "He's hardly innocent in all this. Getting rid of him seemed like the easiest way to end it. Jillian would've had no reason to leave and any further temptation would've been eliminated."
"But then Shane Flynn got into the ring that night instead of him."
"Well," he shrugs. Like it's nothing. Like killing Jack's dad was no big deal. "It was an unfortunate mistake. I wasn't aware of the mix-up until after the fact so there was nothing I could do."
"But you've hated him ever since."
The mayor's lips curl back into a snarl through his laugh. "The man is like a child, wanting everything and nothing. Always wanting what he can't have and then when he actually has it, when it's his, he doesn't want it anymore. There isn't anyone on this planet I loathe more than that man. He deserves everything that's come his way and then some."
"You didn't have to—"
"Callahan started the war the moment he touted his golden boy as the second coming. What did he really expect? That I would just accept a Callahan in City Hall? That I would ever allow his son to sit on city council and influence decisions that could get in my way?"
"It didn't matter if Brennan was elected or not," I whisper. I'd always known this was his aim from the beginning—to stop Brennan from getting inside City Hall at any cost for a multitude of reasons—I'd just never expected him to actually admit it out loud. "He was never going to actually get there."
"No," the mayor shakes his head ruefully. "He wasn't. I warned them. I gave them the opportunity to back off and save themselves, but they didn't take it. I had no other choice but to eliminate the problem before it started."
"Jack winning the fight last night...that was what you wanted. You wanted an excuse to get to Brennan."
He jabs a finger at me, no longer cognizant of anything—not even my sister's presence—other than setting the record straight. Good.
"I warned the both of them—him and Flynn's son—that if they got in my way again, I would make them regret it. When Flynn won that fight last night, he made me lose the deed to one of my new acquisitions. That, to me, was the two of them violating my plans, refusing to listen to reason, and giving me no other choice. They had a chance, but they didn't take it."
And instead, they'd walked headfirst into the mayor's trap.
"I have plans for this city," he continues, his cheeks flushing and his eyes going black. "Plans to get rid of the filth and make way for progress and prosperity. You don't understand what it takes to affect change. The end always justifies the means, Raena. There's no other way you can operate while you're in office."
The way he says that, the way his eyes just about bulge out of his head, the passion in his voice, he must really believe all that. He's convinced himself he's on the right side of this, that getting your hands dirty is a necessary evil when you have goals, when you plans, when you have land to conquer and people to destroy.
It doesn't matter that he hasn't given me any more details. It doesn't matter that we don't have the blood-soaked deed for that mall property. I already have everything I need.
"I understand," I tell him with a tight nod. Lucy does the same. "Thank you for being honest with me for once. I understand, too, why our relationship has been...well, why it's been the way it was. If I were you, I probably would've done the same thing. When I started all this, all I wanted was to do the right thing and set the record straight about Sean. I never meant to find everything else—I swear I
wasn't looking for it."
"And while I don't appreciate being lied to," he levels a hard glare at my sister just for good measure, but we all know she has nothing to worry about. "I can appreciate the clever method you used to bring me here as well as your resourcefulness these last few weeks, even if it was never going to get you anywhere." He holds out his hand for the flash drive and I hand it over. "I'll keep this as your insurance policy."
"Nothing happens to Jack," I reiterate firmly. "Nothing happens to Sean or Benn. And nothing happens to me. I don't have anything I could possibly use against you anymore because you've taken it all."
Little does he know, of course, that Bennett wisely made a copy of every single file on his own computer.
"I suppose that's fair," he sighs. "Just as long as you hold up your end of the deal, we have no problem."
In his mind, why else would I give him this flash drive if I wasn't telling the truth? If I didn't honestly need to insure the safety of my loved ones? He's erased my hard drive, my phone, and killed my brother right in front of me. As far as he's concerned, I really have nothing left to do but run.
He heads for the door and turns his head just enough to glance at his daughter, his actual daughter, one more time. "I understand you'll some time before you're ready to speak to me again. I'm here when you're ready, Luciana."
"Okay, Daddy," she whispers and really hits it out of the park when she rushes to meet him at the door to throw her arms around his neck. He embraces her for a long moment, relishing in his victory, delighting in the knowledge that even after all this, he still hasn't lost anything worth losing.
When the door closes behind him, we all wait long enough to hear his Maserati pull away from Lucy's apartment and head down the street. Then Lucy reaches underneath the table to pull out her phone. She grins at me as she punches the button to end the recording.
"Well," she shrugs. "That went better than I thought it would."
"You're telling me," Bennett calls out from the hallway with Jack right on his heels. "I still think you're crazy, Clamato, but hey, geniuses are rarely sane."
Jack stops right in front of me, his chest heaving—from relief, fear, or adrenaline, I'm not sure—and I press my hand against it to steady him. His eyes glint like steel and finally, his lips crack apart in a crooked grin. He brushes his mouth against mine for a brief moment before getting to work, moving across Lucy's apartment to reach up to the top of her cabinet for the other two recording devices we put up there.
There are all kind of laws and stipulations in Massachusetts about recording a conversation: who must consent and so forth. According to the law we'd read last night, all parties must consent to the recording in order for it to be legal. However, that's really only if there's a certain expectation of privacy involved. If we'd met in the mayor's office, in his domain, everything we'd just recorded would be inadmissible by a landslide. But Lucy hitting the record button in her own home? That's a grey area we can run with.
From here, the rest of our plan will go off without a hitch.
We make quick work of transferring the recording from Lucy's phone to Bennett, just in case, and Bennett smugly starts to play it back.
"Bitches gots to learn," he winks at me when he hits stop and slides his phone into his back pocket. "And bitches gots to pay."
Lucy hugs me tightly and whispers in my ear, "I'll see you soon, Rae. Love you."
"Love you, too," I whisper back.
And so we part ways, just for now. Jack and I head out behind Lucy's apartment complex to get to his truck, parked a safe distance away. Bennett and Lucy jump in his little Prius, which we'd hidden in her garage, and take off to fulfill the rest of our plan.
As we drive toward Mass Ave, temporarily leaving the city in case we're being followed, Jack reaches across his truck and closes his hand over my fingers, squeezing tight as he brings them up to his lips.
I don't know how we made it here. Somewhere in between all the noise, all the secrets, and all the animosity, we'd stepped through the darkness and found some light. This man was willing to forfeit his life because he hadn't wanted to leave me, because he loved me enough to stay.
And all this time, I thought that precipice I was heading for had more to do with Sean and the truth than it did anything else. Maybe that's true, but I never would've gotten here if Jack hadn't been there, opening doors and driving me crazy from the start. I don't know how I've made it this far in life without him.
At this moment, Lucy and Bennett are well on their way to the first of their stops, dropping off a copy of the recording and every file we have on the mayor to Boston's FBI headquarters. Their next stop, the Boston Globe, will take them across the channel and closer to Southie, but it's just as necessary a stop as the first.
It's over now.
We survived.
We won.
And he never saw it coming.
EPILOGUE
Some Years Later
He sees them coming from down the road. Every Sunday afternoon, this is where they are. This is where they meet. And this is where he watches them from a safe distance, where he won't be discovered. Where he won't intrude on their happiness.
Three figures come around the side of the building and he recognizes his son first, then his daughter. His son hoists their little boy up on his shoulders, his auburn hair blazing in the sun just as brightly as his mother's, and he feels his heart clench in his chest. His daughter reaches up to clutch her son's tiny hand—his grandson's tiny hand—and the boy laughs sweetly, happily at the attention.
"Mommy," he can hear the boy call to her even from across the street. "I'm hungry. Where's Uncle Sean? He told me I could get pancakes today if I was good during mass."
"Okay, sweetie," she tells him. "Just hold on. I think we got here before everyone else—"
She doesn't need to finish because the rest of their party appears from around the corner. His youngest son is laughing and smiling and happy again—it's been this way every Sunday—and he has his arm around the dark-haired girl as he holds her close.
"Uncle Sean!"
"There he is," Sean grins widely. "Get over here, Brennan!"
Jack lifts his son off his shoulders and the little boy leaps into his uncle's arms, giggling the way little boys do before they get themselves into trouble with their uncles, and he watches as his daughter wraps her arms around her sister to pull her in for a tight hug before doing the same for her brother.
He learned, through their now renamed store's website—that they'd decided to close Chic Chateau on Sundays, primarily so this family time could be the focus of their day and by all accounts, that seems like a sound decision. His sons, after all, run the bar the same way—family first—and there hasn't been a fight inside those doors since they took the reins.
"Hi Auntie Lucy," Brennan waves shyly to the dark-haired girl, even as his uncle blows a raspberry on his stomach. "I was good, right, Uncle Sean?"
"You were so good, buddy," Sean laughs. "Quiet as a mouse."
"I'm gonna have to remember that," Jack shakes his head and ruffles his son's auburn hair. "Pancakes is all it takes, I guess."
As the party moves inside the same restaurant they patron every Sunday at this time, they meet the rest of their party at their table. His daughter's best friend and his husband are already there and waiting for everyone else to join them. More laughter and hugs follow. More love and food is shared. They all sit around their table as a family unit, passing their phones around to show off pictures and videos and by the end, his grandson has sat on everyone's lap at least once throughout the meal.
There's love at that table. Family. Devotion. Dedication. It takes all of those things to preserve the tight-knit group he sees from the window across the street. His son wraps his arm around his daughter and kisses her hair, his other son sits with his grandson in his lap and whispers something in his ear that makes the little boy dissolve into a fit of laughter—everything he's ever wanted for them is
here at this table.
He just doesn't get to be a part of it.
So he pays for his coffee and heads out onto the street. It's not quite mid-afternoon yet and the sun warms his shoulders through the clouds, guiding his way and lighting his path as he sets out to conquer the rest of his own Sunday tradition. That path takes him all the way to Castle Island, where he finds a solitary bench and takes a worn, yellowed letter out from his wallet.
In the years that have passed, he's watched his family blossom and grow. Witnessed his son's release from prison after finally getting his day in court. Signed divorce papers that were a long time coming. Observed his son and his daughter's wedding from a distance. Watched the man he loathed more than anything in this world sentenced to life in prison after all his sins came to light in the press and after the FBI descended—he's nothing but a disgraced and defiled man now. Most of it has given him pleasure. Most of it has also brought him great pain. Perhaps it is no less than he deserves.
He unfolds the letter and glances up at the water, the glint and glow reflecting from the sunlight. When his eyes find those aging, familiar words again, it's all he really has left of them. His daughter sent this to him just a few months after he'd given it to her. Whether or not she read it is between her, God, and probably her mother too. But it's the only real contact he's ever had with her and he shouldn't have been surprised when it didn't have a return address.
This is all he has left. Just memories. Just regrets. Just pain.
His eyes skim the letter:
My dearest Roark,
I know you won't understand why I've done this, but there was nothing else I could do. I can't live in a world without you in it. I've tried. For six years, I tried. I failed. I could try again and live the rest of my life brokenhearted, but I just don't have the will this time. Maybe this world was just never where we were meant to be. Maybe we're meant to be together somewhere else. I'm going there now. Will you meet me? We can dance in the rain and love each other freely again. We can be happy again.
