“I see how it is,” I say, laughing.
“Brendan,” Brynn screeches, jumping up from the couch and into my arms.
“You okay, Cherry?” I ask, hugging her as though my life depends on it.
“I am now,” she says, kissing me.
“Good. We’ll get to the bottom of this,” I promise.
“I am just glad it wasn’t a bomb or something. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to your parents because of me.”
“Don’t worry about that, Brynn.”
“I think it’s time to tell us what’s going on, son,” my dad says, coming into the room. “We’ve not said anything about those guys coming to check on the house two and three times a day because you said it was necessary but now this. We need answers, now.”
Brynn looks at me and nods. “You are right, of course, James,” she says, sitting back down on the couch. I join her.
“Do we need Jameson?” he asks seriously. He’s always serious when it comes to the finest Irish whiskey available in the U.S.
“Probably,” I tell him, chuckling. He goes over to the bar in the corner and pours three glasses. After giving one to my mom, he hands me mine then sits on the loveseat next to mom.
“Okay. What I am about to say may come as a shock—or it may not, depending on if you read gossip rags—but the Vitalis are mafia,” Brynn says, taking a deep breath. I don’t know what kind of response she was expecting, but my mom bursting out laughing wasn’t it. “What?”
“Oh, honey, we kind of figured that. It goes without saying that we would never gossip about your family. They are our family now too. We are much more concerned with what kind of danger you are in.”
“Exactly. We’re old people from Ireland, dear. Mob mentality and IRA days notwithstanding, we’ve seen pretty much everything there is to see. Besides, you can’t call yourself a New Yorker and not know who the Vitalis are. Now tell us what’s happening.”
“I have a stalker, at least that’s what I am referring to him as. At first, I thought it was a joke, but then he threatened Bella. I ran away to Atlantic City for a while, and then I met Brendan. It’s gotten so much worse since I’ve been back. I have no idea who it is, but he wants me to get rid of Brendan and marry him. It’s escalating, and I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“Can the police help? Silly me, probably not,” Mom says, clutching her glass.
“No, Ma. They can’t. We have to do this the Vitali way. Bart has been using his hacking skills to try and find him, but to no avail.”
“I checked the security camera earlier. The package was delivered by Allied Messengers.”
“That’s really helpful, Pop. Thank you,” I say, pulling out my phone and shooting off a text to Bart, letting him know. His response is immediate. “Bart’s heading over there now. I am sure we’ll have some answers soon.”
“Oh, good. I made an Irish mutton stew and some of that soda bread you’ve been craving Brynn. You two will stay for dinner,” Mom says.
“Yum… soda bread,” Brynn says, rubbing her tummy. At her doctor’s appointment earlier today, I noticed her belly has popped out a little into the cutest baby bump.
“Sounds good, Ma. Thanks for inviting us.”
“Nonsense. My only son and favorite daughter-in-law are welcome here anytime. You know that.” Brynn giggles, and so does Mom.
“We know,” I say. “Pop, can I take a look at the tape?” I ask. I don’t really need to see it; I just want to talk to him privately.
“Sure, lad. Come on. It’s cued up in the study.”
“I’ll be right back, baby,” I tell her, kissing her before I get up.
“Sure thing,” she says. “I am gonna get that soda bread recipe from your ma. I need that bread like I need oxygen.”
“May the luck o’ the Irish be with ye then,” I say, chuckling. “I don’t think she’ll ever come off of that. It’s old. I think it’s from 1841.”
“It’s from 1836, and ye damn well know it,” Ma hollers as I leave the room.
Chuckling, I enter the study with my dad.
“What’s up?” he asks, already knowing I don’t want to watch the video. Sitting in one of the leather chairs by the fireplace, I bury my face in my hands.
“What am I going to do if something happens to her? Or the baby? She’s my whole fucking world,” I say.
“You can’t think like that, Brendan. You just can’t. It does no good to be worrying about a thing like that.”
“I can’t help it. I get why someone else would want her, but he can’t have her. She’s mine,” I say, pounding my fist on the table in front of me.
“I know, son. It’s hard. But it’s as you said. She’s yours. That girl in there loves you more than you know. She’s just as worried about this maniac doing something to you, something that can’t be taken back. It was written all over her face when she was talking about his demands.”