Burn Baby Byrne: A Secret Baby Romance (Byrne Brothers Book 2)

by Holly Hart

  “You’re ready?” Matteo asks.

  “Born that way,” I agree.

  The Old Italian mobster clenches his fist. His forearm bulges like a squashed balloon, veins popping with dark, angry blood. He telegraphs the punch from a mile off – though I guess I’m looking because I know exactly what’s about to happen. His knuckles impact just under my chin, and send me staggering back. For all that the old man has two decades on me; he still packs one hell of a punch.

  I shake my head to clear away the stars, and run my tongue across my gums. “Ack, come on now. Ye can do better than that, can’t ye?”

  Matteo grimaces. “I never hit a man who didn’t deserve it before,” he mutters. “It just doesn’t feel right.”

  I glance around the small crowd of men surrounding us. The guilt of effectively throwing Sofia to the wolves raises its ugly head again. I think of her, about where she could be: terrified; perhaps tied up; perhaps wondering if she’ll ever see my face again; perhaps hoping not to.

  I think of my child in her belly.

  “Maybe I do deserve it, Matteo,” I say. “Hit me like I do.”

  I don’t see the next strike coming. This time, Matteo puts everything he has into the punch. I rock backwards. I stand up straight to present Matteo a bigger target, even though my head is ringing, vision jangling like an old alarm bell’s hammer is striking my skull. He hits me again, and again, until I feel blood flowing in thick rivulets from my forehead. It feels like thick, warm paint, or pancake batter. only warmer. Matteo strikes me until he’s out of breath, and the crowd around us is groaning. I don’t know why. I’m the one he’s punching…

  “Enough!” Matteo growls, chest heaving. I can’t see him probably: not through the stars in my eyes and the blood congealing on my eyelids. “You look like crap.”

  I double over, holding my knees for support. I spit a thick, stringy globule of blood out onto the asphalt. I stand up and grin at the old gangster. God knows what I must look like. If the metallic taste on my tongue is any guide, then there’s blood flowing from my gums as well. “That,” I agree merrily, “was the general idea…”

  I wipe the back of my arm across my face and I can see probably. Matteo is standing a foot away from me, his knuckles bruised and bloodied. “Ye should have someone look at that,” I grin. “Wouldn’t want it to get infected, now; not at yer age…”

  I take a step forward, towards Matteo. Neither he nor his boys react. I flex my biceps, and smash a punch into the side of Lorenzi’s face. He drops to the ground, spluttering. His boys rush towards me, but I take a step back holding my hands above my head. The hostile grimaces surrounding me leave me under no false impression about my safety. If Matteo gives the order, I’m a dead man. He climbs to his feet, wiping a thin trickle of blood from his mouth.

  “Why did you do that?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. His tone is steady, and much more reasonable than mine would’ve been if our positions were reversed.

  I grin. “It can’t look like I went down without a fight, now. I got a reputation to protect, so I do.”

  Matteo shakes his head. His boys relax when they realize that the old man doesn’t seem too upset. “You’re one crazy bastard, Kieran. I’m glad you’re on my side.”

  I clap my hand on Lorenzi’s upper shoulder. “Same for me, buddy. Now let’s go get our gal.”

  24

  Sofia

  I’m cold: really goddamn cold. So cold my teeth chatter together like the sound of a key grinding into a lock.

  The van screeches to a halt. My wrists are tied firmly behind my back, wrenching my shoulders back. Stabs of pain shoot randomly in strength and intensity throughout my body as though something’s crawling on me, digging its claws into me. I feel like I’m malfunctioning. I can’t stop myself, so my body flies into the metal wall. Someone’s boots crunch on the gravel parking lot outside, and then the sliding door squeals open.

  “Someone give the bitch some clothes before we move,” my brother growls over the sound of my chattering teeth. “I want to be the one who puts a bullet in her head. Don’t disappoint me by letting her freeze to death.”

  Detective Mackey fishes my jacket from the back of the van and pulls it over my body. There’s a faint hint of apology in his eyes. With my wrists tied behind me, I’ve just become a walking hotdog, with no control of my own balance. Mackey grabs an empty sleeve where my arm should be, and leads me forward. His support is as reassuring as it is sickening.

  It takes my eyes a couple of seconds to adjust to the darkness. It’s vast and empty. The blackness is punctuated by pinpricks of light hovering over the ground, like fireflies in the blackness of a desert. Lamps, marking paths: it’s Boston Common.

  “What am I doing here, Michael?” I yelp as the detective pulls me along. I’m stumbling over the frozen ground. We’re moving too fast for me to trust my footing.

  My brother spins on his heel to look at me. His face is as black as storm clouds at night. It’s hard to pick it out of the darkness. “Shut your mouth,” he growls, “or I’ll shut it for you.”

  He gestures with the pistol in his hand. His meaning is clear. If I say another word, he’ll put a bullet in my skull. Mickey – Michael – starts walking forward again. I glance up into the detective’s eyes. His head is bowed, eyes misty. I need to focus on him. He’s my only chance of getting out of here.

  We only walk about thirty paces from the parking lot. It’s still in sight, but we’re shrouded in darkness.

  “You came,” a familiar voice calls out of the darkness. I look around, a jolt of adrenaline coursing through me. I can’t see anyone. I let my eyes adjust, and half a dozen faces appear. Matteo.

  “All right,” Michael yells into the darkness, not bothering to make any pretense of subtlety. “I brought the bitch. Now what do you want?”

  My body stiffens when I hear the way Michael’s talking about me. At any other time, on any other day I would slap him in his face. Unfortunately, that’s going to be difficult to do with my hands tied behind my back. But now I need to concentrate. I don’t understand what is going on anymore. I thought that I had convinced Matteo Lorenzi to take my side in this fight.

  I guess I’m not as convincing as I thought.

  My brother walks forward, brandishing his pistol; looking in every respect like a bandit from the old West. Tony follows a pace behind, but the detective hangs back, holding my arm. My brother is acting erratically, like he hasn’t thought this far ahead. I guess some things don’t change.

  I would be the first to admit that Michael’s plan – up to this point – has worked like a charm. But a leopard can’t change its spots, and neither can my brother. I don’t understand how he can’t see that he’s throwing himself headlong into danger. Matteo has the manpower, and the advantage. If the old gangster wants to, he could kill us all and take control of the family. My blood runs cold, though not as cold as it will feel trickling down my skin. Now that I think about it, Matteo turning on us is exactly what I expect will happen.

  I need to manufacture my own way out.

  “Think about what you’re doing, Detective,” I whisper, low enough that there’s no way my brother can hear. “Is this worth dying for; worth losing sleep over for the rest of your life?”

  I look to my right, to where the detective is standing. He’s shaking: the coward.

  “What the hell do you expect me to do about it?” Mackey hisses. “I’m fucked, you’re fucked: we’re both going to die.”

  I bite my tongue. The pain that surges through my body shakes loose the last stores of adrenaline left in my brain. Think. I need to think.

  Headlights swing through the darkness like searchlights as a car squeals into the parking lot. The sound of stones crunching and ricocheting off each other fills the air as gravel flies out from underneath the tires.

  “Who, the fuck, is that?” Mickey shouts at Matteo. His pistol waves from side to side, but Lorenzi doesn’t blink an eye. He just stands there, face im
passive. He looks as uncaring as a stone gargoyle: weathered by the elements, staring down from his tower year after year.

  Matteo shrugs. “How the hell should I know?”

  We all turn and watch. A car door slams. A figure comes running out of the darkness. I blink with astonishment; it’s an old man. He’s dressed in an overcoat and the black pistol in his hand looks as out of place as a pacifier on a catwalk model.

  “Lucio…” I whisper. My head is spinning. This development doesn’t make sense. If Lucio tries to save me,he’ll die.

  “Michael,” Lucio pants, holding his chest, “Thank God. I heard that you were here. I came to help.”

  My head sinks to my chest. If I had thought that I was alone before, now I know it’s true. If Lucio has turned on me … I can’t believe it. I won’t. I don’t.

  My brother turns his weapon on the old caporegime. “Tony,” he barks, “cover Matteo.” He leers at Lucio, who is trembling with exertion. “What the hell are you doing here, old man?”

  Lucio smooths his overcoat. “I serve the Family,” he says primly. He glances at me with wrinkled distaste. “Even when I disapprove of your actions, Michael, your wishes are my only concern.”

  “Mickey,” Matteo shouts out of the darkness. “I don’t have time for a Family reunion. Are you ready to deal?”

  My brother seems caught between two minds. He turns toward Matteo; then back to Lucio, face twisted with indecision. He looks back and forth, again and again – a pet choosing between two treats. I can almost sense the battle that’s going on in his brain.

  “Clock’s ticking,” Matteo grunts out of the darkness. “You want your man, or not?”

  I glance up. It almost feels …

  … like Matteo’s playing him. My eyes narrow. I realize it’s true. Matteo knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s applying pressure, twisting the knife, squeezing the vice. Whatever your metaphor, Matteo’s putting it into action. He’s closing off all Mickey’s avenues of escape, one by one. The wily old mobster is pushing my brother in the direction he wants him to take.

  Lucio walks forward. “Looks like you could use all the help you can get, Michael,” he says. His voice is calming and familiar, like warm socks on a cold winter’s morning.

  Mickey grimaces. “You need to just back off, old man. If you die, it’s no business of mine.”

  “Very well,” Lucio smiles, stepping back and out of Mickey’s eye line. As the old man moves, he turns his head, and I swear I see him wink. Something’s happening. I know it. It’s now or never, and if I’m going to escape this mess, then I need to add my weight to the scales.

  “I can make you a hero, Detective,” I whisper to Mackey. This time, the detective’s eyes light up. It makes me sick to have to talk to him like this, but I finally see the detective for exactly the type of man he is. He’s a coward, and a fraud, but he’s also greedy. Not for money, but fame and recognition. There are things like that which can turn a man’s head as easily as a greased palm.

  “What do you mean?” Mackey growls back.

  “In about thirty seconds,” I guess, “things are going to get very hairy. When that happens, you’re going to have to pick a side. Choose carefully, Detective,” I say, sounding a whole lot more confident than I am inside, “because if you make the wrong decision, it’ll be your funeral. You understand?”

  Matteo clicks his fingers. “Bring him out!” He grunts. My eyes are drawn to the sound of a body being dragged through dead leaves and grass in the darkness. My stomach plunges when I see Kieran for the first time. He’s a dead weight, held up by a man either side. His head swings freely, and it’s been pounded black and blue. I feel sick just seeing it. He looks on the verge of death. I start to wonder if I’ve got all of this wrong.

  I let out a strangled cry of horror. My brother’s neck cracks around. His face twists with disgust at my weakness. I don’t care. Kieran means more to me than a hundred of my brother: a thousand.

  Matteo’s boys drag Kieran until he’s only a couple of feet from Michael. I can’t see my brother’s eyes, but he looks entranced. He can’t take his eyes away from Kieran’s bloody face. It’s like he’s a victorious general, desperate to show the world his success.

  “Wake him up,” he orders, gesturing with his pistol.

  “That,” Matteo says, “might be a bit tricky.”

  Michael takes a step forward. His weapon is loose by his side. He’s relaxed, almost jovial. I can tell that he thinks he’s won. I see Kieran’s body flinch, then still.

  “He’s no use to me dead,” Michael growls. “Show me he’s still breathing.”

  Matteo beckons at Kieran’s hanging body. “See for yourself.”

  Mickey leans forward, until his head is only a couple of inches from Kieran’s. Then, everything starts to happen very, very quickly.

  Kieran explodes into action, surging forward faster than I would have believed possible for a person in his condition. The blood starts to race in my veins. I feel more alive than I ever have. I need to do something; I need to help.

  “Now, Detective,” I yell. “Pick a side.” I tear myself free of Mackey’s grasp. I put one unsteady foot in front of the other, and run into the darkness of the Common. I know that as long as I’m in my brother’s clutches, I’m leverage. The whole picture starts to become clear in my head. Matteo, Kieran and Lucio, they are all working together. The best and only thing I can do to help, with my hands tied behind my back, is to take my piece off the playing board: to hide.

  Hide – and avoid getting shot.

  I duck behind a low bush and throw myself to the ground. It’s freezing cold, but I barely notice it. My attention is split between Kieran, who’s grappling with Michael on the ground, and the melee of action going on around him.

  I see a blur, and look back where I came from. Mackey’s gun hand rises. He takes a hurried aim and pulls the trigger.

  The crack of a bullet echoes across the empty common. For a second, everyone and everything seems to stop.

  Tony Bianchi topples over. In the commotion, somehow everyone had missed him. His gun is aimed directly at Kieran’s back.

  The detective trembles and drops his weapon. Lucio stands over him – an unlikely hero – brandishing his own pistol. He looks alive with excitement – and younger than he has in decades. “Get on your knees,” the old man growls. Mackey does as he is ordered, clasping his fingers behind his head.

  The only people left fighting are Michael and Kieran. I struggle to my feet, and walk towards them as if in a daze.

  Lucio calls my name, but I ignore him.

  “Go to hell, Irishman,” my brother screams into the inky darkness, struggling underneath Kieran’s weight. His weapon comes skittering out along the ground and stops by my feet. There’s no way I can pick it up with my arms trussed behind me. I’m a helpless observer. Michael is like a banshee underneath Kieran, struggling, scratching, punching and biting whatever and wherever he can, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  “Just chill the hell out, will ye,” Kieran grunts. As usual, he doesn’t even sound ruffled, despite being in the midst all this violence. “I’m not going to kill ye –”

  “I won’t let you!” Michael howls. I see a flash – the park lighting reflects off of polished stainless steel – from whatever Michael’s wielding in his hands. My stomach clenches, and somehow I shout a warning.

  A second gunshot echoes around the park. I fall to my knees, my eyes blotted by tears. I don’t know who was shot. I don’t want to, just in case … I blink, shaking the tears away, and look up.

  Matteo is standing over my brother’s bleeding corpse, gun held in both hands. “I’m sorry, Sofia,” he says, voice soft and apologetic, “I had to do it. He was going to –.”

  I shake my head, cutting the old lieutenant off. “You did what you had to,” I sob. “Don’t apologize.”

  I feel hands on me. It’s Lucio. He cuts me free, but I hardly realize it in the midst of the waves of reli
ef and shock alternately sweeping over me. He pulls me up and swaddles me in his arms. I weep into his shoulder.

  “You’ll be okay,” he whispers to me.

  I sniff, trying to pull myself together. “I know,” I say, my voice coming out forced from the tightness of my chest, “I’m not crying for Michael: not for the man he became.” I pause to collect myself. I need to work out how to phrase something that is so simple in my head, but so hard to say. “I’m crying for the kid I knew.”

  That’s it. That’s all. I don’t know why my brother turned into a monster. I don’t know what switch flipped in his head and made him choose that path. But I don’t have to remember the animal in him, just the good.

  I weep into Lucio’s shoulder. He’s warm, and comforting, but he’s not what I need right now. I look up at his lined, weathered face.

  “Thank you, old friend,” I say, so quietly he has to lean in to hear me. “Do you mind? There’s someone I need to see.”

  25

  Kieran

  I walk towards Sofia. Even in the dim half-light cast by the lamps on Boston Common, I can see the redness on her cheek, and the blood underneath her fingernails. I’m so glad that she is alive, and mostly unharmed. But I feel like crap for putting her in danger in the first place. There’s no hiding from this. Every last bit of pain and terror Sofia was forced to endure … it was all my fault.

  My boots crunch in the snow. As far as I’m concerned, everything else that is going on around us is just a circus. Matteo’s men are swarming: securing bodies; making sure no passers-by see what’s going on. We don’t need witnesses, not tonight.

  Sofia doesn’t take her eyes off me as I approach her. The sadness on her face, the snow on the ground and my love for her; it all makes this feel like a screwed up nativity scene. The weight of her stare makes the journey feel a dozen times longer. It’s impossible to read her face.

  Sofia takes a step towards me. I can’t tell whether she plans to kiss me, or tell me she never wants to see me again. She chooses option three; she slaps me in the face. The force knocks me aside. I bring my hand up to meet my cheek. Matteo’s men give us a wide berth. I don’t blame them. Nor do I blame Sofia. I understand why she did it.