Yesterday, three of the brothers had stormed a compound and gone to war to liberate me and my sister.
Today was about comfort.
Today was about family.
I’d already been greeted by everyone, the brothers and the sisters-in-law like I was a soldier returning home from the battlefield, and even though I’d blushed, their acceptance had mattered more than their praise. Seeing Shay and Victoria being introduced had eased things for me too—teenagers could be cute when they were so awkward.
Unfortunately, the greetings were just the start of things. I’d hoped we’d get right into eating, but Lena had invited us into her kitchen, where she took a seat at the head of the kitchen table.
There, she’d declared, “Join me, Camille, Aoife, Aela, Inessa, and Victoria.”
The setting might have been homely and cozy, but her order was as regal as anything else.
I did as she asked, my sisters and new in-laws obeying too, and in the doorway, I saw Brennan looming, waiting for her to call him in.
She clucked her tongue at the sight of him, then waved him into the room.
He surprised me by moving to my chair, gesturing at me to get out of it, taking that seat, then dragging me onto his knee. Lena smiled a little mistily at the sight, while Inessa grinned, and Aoife and Aela shot each other surprised glances, Victoria simply rolled her eyes. Me? I felt a bit giddy at the possessive hold in front of the woman who mattered the most to him.
“Everyone around this table has gone through something that they shouldn’t have.
“Aoife, Aela, you know my heart bleeds for what you have both endured. So that’s why you’re here. Because we need to come together, at a moment like this, to know that we’re bound in ways that few families are.” She cast Victoria, Inessa and me a glance. “I know what it is to be held hostage, girls. I know what it is to be taken.” Inessa started to argue, but Lena raised a hand. “You got away, but you know the fear of being snatched. Of your life sinking to its knees around you as your routine is held against you and used as a means of getting close to you.” Inessa’s shoulders hunched. “Then, there’s my boy, Brennan. He’s steeped in guilt for something he didn’t do, for a duty that should have never been given to him in the first place, and that’s my fault. This, here, is a safe space. For us all.”
“Ma, that’s not fair to you. You never asked for that to happen,” he rasped.
“It’s dead fair. I should have told your father to give me a guard for the morning. That task should never have fallen to you. It changed you, Bren. You were my sweet-hearted lad, then you turned dark.” Her voice waned, but even as something flickered at the back of her eyes, something I’d seen in Brennan’s, she shot us a smile as she repeated, “This is a safe space. The safest in the world. Only Aela hasn’t lost her mother,” she whispered, shame flickering in her eyes, “and by no means have I been the best one. My boys will agree. I’ve let their da get away with too much, and I’ve done things I’m ashamed of. Even this week, I let them down.” She sucked in a breath. “But I can keep trying. That’s all we can do in this life—try. I’m here, and I’m what you’ve got, so I’ll do my best to do your mothers proud. Aela, whenever you need me, you know I’m here. For you and Shay.”
“I do, Lena. Thank you. I appreciate that.”
She shrugged. “If I can help, I will.”
I wasn’t sure if I could ever call on this woman who was more like an empress than a mere matriarch, but I whispered, “Thank you, Lena.” After Aoife, Victoria and Inessa murmured their thanks as well, I asked, “What happened?”
Brennan tensed beneath me. “Ma’s got a dress shop. One of my duties was to take her to her store and to wait for her guard to show up. This particular morning, I was in a rush. I didn’t go in. They were waiting on her inside. I didn’t know. I just dropped her off... They took her.”
Another person might have asked why, but I was born to the life.
Even Aoife, who I knew wasn’t like the rest of us, had to know.
Business.
Always fucking business.
“I’m sorry,” I said simply, and I reached over to place my hand on Lena’s. “Truly, I wish you hadn’t had to go through that.”
Her smile was half-hearted this time, and her expression wobbled, the strength she projected wavering as her mask dropped. It might have been years ago, but to Lena, it was as close to her as our attack was. “I wish so too.”
A booming laugh sounded over in the corridor, making me jump, Victoria as well. Lena’s mask reappeared within seconds, but when Aidan Sr. came wandering in, his boys around him, a grin on his face, I wasn’t sure if it was a mask, or her exasperation was real enough to jerk her out of the past.
“Must you make so much feckin’ noise, Aidan,” she complained, even as she raised her chin, tilting her head to the side for him to kiss her there. He didn’t obey, well, he did, only he didn’t leave it there. His mouth collided with hers—I saw a flash of tongue, which was definitely TMI—then he placed a hand on her shoulder and beamed a smile at me.
For a second, I felt like a rabbit frozen in headlights.
For a second, I wasn’t sure if that smile promised the same threat as Medusa’s glance—that I’d turn to stone.
Then, he cackled and, rubbing his hands together, asked, “Now then, girlie, what’s this I hear about you biting off that cunt’s cock?”
And as Lena chided, “Aidan, there are children present!”
I shared a look with Brennan and knew, somehow, ‘that cunt’s cock’ was why Aidan had accepted me. Us.
If I’d needed proof that he was insane, I had it.
Forty-Nine
Brennan
Sunday lunch had gone better than expected, so much so that most of us had stayed overnight.
Only Conor had fucked off back to the city, pretty much as soon as he’d finished dessert. I’d only had the chance to grab him by the arm as he was shrugging into his coat with one hand, hauling his massive laptop case in the other.
Kid looked like he was getting ready to leave for the airport he was in that much of a rush, but before he did, I managed to ask him, “Any news about that McKenna guy?”
He’d shot me a dead-eyed stare, which was unlike him. But everything about lunch had been unlike him.
Quiet, moody, taciturn when he did eventually speak. None of the wry humor, the jokes or the sarcasm we were all used to. Leaving early was unlike him too. Especially when there was a game on.
“He’s dead.”
I blinked at him. “He can’t be. Why the fuck would Coullson give me that name if the bastard’s dead?”
“I don’t know, Bren. You’ll have to ask Coullson that, won’t you?”
He’d pulled his arm out of my hold before he’d stormed off to kiss Ma farewell, then he’d left, speeding off down the drive in his Ferrari like he had ants in his goddamn pants.
His weird behavior didn’t appear to be noticed by anyone but me, so I let it go, and immersed myself in one of the few times we got together for a full day and night.
Holidays we gathered here and spent the night, but otherwise, we always went home. It was a day for drinking, though, and we all got a little hammered, Da included.
With every drop of single malt he supped—the Glenrothes Camille had bought him, I noted—he got louder and more boisterous, and would start cackling every now and then which we knew was related to how Camille had taken down Abramovicz.
I was glad the rest of them could get a laugh out of it. For me, I knew I’d be scarred for fucking life. Whether Camille would be or not was another matter entirely, but she seemed to find it amusing too. Only Victoria and me didn’t, whenever Da’s cackles grew loud, she’d hunch her shoulders and would disappear to the bathroom.
Da was definitely not to everyone’s taste.
Mostly, I was glad he got slushed simply because it meant I could avoid talking about business.
I knew Mark had to have been making waves a
bout his son, because Priestley must have been worried sick by now. I’d fucked up by killing the cunt, but learning he was behind the drive-by that had my eldest brother spiraling into addiction, that had almost killed Aoife, and that had triggered every single downfall that had befallen us recently—was it any wonder I’d broken?
I needed time.
Time to fix things, and Da getting pissed helped, especially when he talked about planning the funerals of the guards we’d lost yesterday, as the single malt stopped him from getting angry, and just made him weep instead.
I talked to Ma a little, watched the game with my brothers, shot the shit in general, but mostly, I kept an eye on Camille who seemed to fit in fine. She hung out with the other women, and they laughed and joked and cooed over Jake. Aoife and Aela didn’t drink, Shay, and Victoria either obviously, but the rest of us let our hair down.
It didn’t matter that Da had rejected Camille—yesterday had changed things.
The Russians had gone after an O’Donnelly, which meant his loyalties shifted.
I was glad for her sake, even if the end didn’t justify the means.
Sometime during the night, I pulled a Victoria and took a break from the rowdy noise that a big family gathering created. After I went to take a leak, I found myself in the hall staring at the photo Camille had mentioned.
My da with his favorite brother, Frank, in Coney Island.
Like it was fate, a laugh echoed down the hall, one I recognized as Finn’s thanks to the deep tenor of his voice.
Finn had been with us for so long that he was like blood now, and this kind of get-together would have been hollow without him, Aoife, and Jake, as much as we felt the lack of Conor today.
But Camille was right.
I’d just never noticed it before. Why would I?
This picture had followed us around every house we’d moved into. I’d seen it so often I didn’t even look at it anymore, but as I peered into the smoky image, the lack of focus typical of a photo from this era, there was no denying that he and Finn were alike.
Remarkably so.
A fact I could check as, right beside the photo of Frank, there was a new one of Aoife, Finn, and Jacob.
Twins… the similarities were remarkable.
Was he our cousin?
But wouldn’t Da have told us?
Scraping my hand over my chin, I backed away from the pictures. We had enough intrigue going on in our lives without me adding to it. But it definitely had a question mark popping into existence in my head.
I’d push it aside, for the moment, but one day, I’d ask. One day, I wanted to know the truth.
That following morning, we left early. I never slept well at my parents’ place, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to fuck Camille there, so we didn’t hang around for breakfast, I didn’t even wait for Da to wake up. Just kissed Ma the second she was awake and bustling in the kitchen, her favorite place, and shepherded a still yawning Camille out into the cold light of day.
As we drove back to the city, Camille dozed off, which I was glad about. I’d been awake since four, but I was still trying to formulate my plan of attack.
Visiting Coullson was at the top of today’s to-do list. But what I wanted from him was another problem. He’d given me that name under duress. He believed it mattered.
Had someone fed that to him?
Who?
I wanted nothing more when we got back to the apartment to climb into bed with Camille, but I hustled her between the sheets, pleased she was still slightly hungover—apparently, she and Inessa had vodka flowing through their veins because Ma, with sixty years of drinking behind her, got drunker a lot faster than they had.
A part of me wondered if I should wake her, seeing as she’d volunteered at the soup kitchen and it was a cause that mattered to her, but I needed to rush. This was a situation that was putting me on edge, had been ever since Conor had stormed out last night.
After I grabbed some clothes, I set an alarm for a half-hour’s time with the house computer so she had the choice of waking up or snoozing it, then got showered and changed in the bedroom I’d given her to use that first night.
When I was ready, I sent Forrest a text: Me: Where’s Coullson most likely to be at this time?
Forrest: City Hall. Why?
Me: Conor says McKenna is dead.
Forrest: Fuck.
Me: Yeah. Re. Coullson, it’s damn early. Are you sure he’s there?
Forrest: I’m fucking sure. Why ask if you don’t think I know my shit? We’ve been trailing him ever since Dunbar fed him to us.
Me: I’m just checking. Calm the hell down.
Forrest: Need me to come with?
I had a feeling something was going on today, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember. A quick glance at my calendar reminded me. He and his wife had been trying to get IVF through a certain clinic, and they’d been on the wait list for eight months.
Me: Ain’t that important. Go on, I know you two have been waiting for this appointment for a while.
Forrest: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, I’m fucking sure. Now who’s the nag?
Forrest: Lol. Sorry. I’m nervous. You know I hate this shit.
Me: Who could blame you? But don’t worry. At least today, you’ll get some answers. Let me know how you get on.
Forrest: Same goes. I wanna know why Coullson fed us the name of a corpse. See ya later.
Me: Speak later.
With that confirmed, I peered at the time, called Bagpipes and told him to meet me at City Hall.
The ride down to Lower Manhattan was surprisingly quiet thanks to the early hour, but as I approached City Hall Park, that was where it started to get busy.
Busier than usual.
I frowned as I drove around the park, heading toward City Hall itself, but as I did so, I realized why it was busy—there was a massive cluster of police cars, their blue lights flashing, doors left wide open as if there was an active threat underway.
I’d only ever seen such a response like this when there was a shooter situation.
Frowning, I pulled over beside one of the cop cars, where a uniform was speaking into his radio.
When he’d done, I hollered, “Hey.”
The cop twisted around to glare at me, but when he saw me, he gulped.
Nice to know my face was that recognizable to the boys in blue.
“Sir,” he muttered warily, “you need to move on. This is an ongoing crime scene.”
“What happened?” I asked, dismissing his words.
“There’s been a murder.”
“There has? Who’s been killed?” I peered over at City Hall, leaning onto my wheel to get a better angle, taking note of all the cop cars and registering it had to be someone powerful to trigger this response from the boys in blue.
It had better not be Coullson…
The cop tugged on his shirt collar, before he replied, “A guy sneaked into the Mayor’s office and...” His mouth worked, his cheeks turning pasty as he gulped. It was clear to me he’d seen the crime scene, and it was also clear to me that he wasn’t used to seeing dead bodies.
“And what, son?” I asked, feeling oddly paternal. Had I ever been this much of a fucking rookie?
Still he wasn’t that new that he didn’t recognize me, because he answered where he’d have told anyone else in the general public to fuck off. “Slit the Mayor’s throat,” the guy bit out.
My brows rose. “The Mayor’s dead?” I repeated, even though there wasn’t much inaccuracy in taking a knife to the throat.
Fuck.
Coullson was dead?
Jesus, what a waste of a resource. We’d only just turned the fucker and there he was, eliminated.
The thought resonated with me, and I knew that word was bang on—eliminated.
They knew he’d talked to us.
They knew.
The fuckers.
How did they know that?
Goddammit.
> Had he told them? Or had someone been listening in? He’d said at the gala they’d kill him for talking to us—seemed as if he’d been right.
Shit.
Barely refraining from slamming my fist into the wheel, instead, I gritted out, “The assailant is still in there?”
“He’s holed himself up inside the Mayor’s office.”
“Is it some nut job?” I rasped. “Some lunatic?”
He shook his head, then leaned into the window. “It was a cop.”
And just like that, everything turned in a circle in my head.
This was the reason Craig Lacey had gone missing.
“You guys have a name yet?” I rasped, even though I didn’t need to have it confirmed. I just fucking knew I was right.
The Sparrows were tying up loose ends.
The question was, what leverage had they pushed onto Lacey’s shoulders to break his back?
When the cop grimaced and affirmed my supposition, I told him, “Thanks for the info, officer.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” He bit his lip. “Please, don’t tell anyone I spoke of this with you.”
“I won’t.”
Driving off, I maneuvered away from the clusterfuck of traffic, asked Siri to send Bagpipes a message telling him we had a change of plans and to meet me at The Hole, and was about to call Da with this update when my cell buzzed.
Seeing Eoghan’s name flash up, I hit ‘accept,’ and muttered, “You won’t believe what’s just happened.”
“Neither will you.” He hissed out a breath. “You at home or on the road?”
“On the road.”
“You anywhere near my place? Can you bring Camille over?”
“Why? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“We just got in, and someone’s sent Victoria a gift. It’s gnarly.”
“What is it?” I repeated, confused.
“I don’t want to say over the phone.”
I winced because I hadn’t swept my car for bugs after I’d parked up in my garage, so my hands were fucking tied as well. Eoghan’s reminder might have spared us some shit down the line.
Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four Page 47
