“Is that right?” Conor says, staring at me.
Patton nudges me again. I want to tell him no, it’s not fucking right. He’s a worm who doesn’t deserve to breathe.
But then I think of my men, of a third war and all the pain it would cause.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s right. I was speaking generally. I’d never rub your face in that.”
Nobody believes it, but that’s the mafia life sometimes. A statement like that can’t be allowed to stand.
Conor nods, choosing to pretend, and the energy in the room deflates.
“I’m sorry this couldn’t work out,” he says a moment later. “But I promise you, Luca, she’ll get what she deserves. You don’t have to worry about that.”
He turns and walks away, his second trailing after him.
I watch him go, fighting every compulsion in my body and mind, fighting every single piece of me.
Kill him. Save Lena. Don’t let him have her.
I leave by the other door, taking wide strides, vomit feeling like it will surge up my throat.
Outside, I lean against the wall, hands on my knees as I suck in deep breaths.
Saying all of that about Lena, about my woman, feels like it’s poisoned me.
“Cousin,” Patton says, his voice sounding far away. “Are you good?”
“I can’t let him have her,” I growl, forcing myself to stand despite the churning sickness, the boiling rage.
He frowns. “We made an offer. He refused. What else can we do?”
“I don’t know,” I snap. “But he can’t have her. He can’t hurt her. He…he just fucking can’t, Patton.”
“We can’t start a war over this,” he says softly. “Think of the lives….”
“I know.”
It’s the truth, I know. But I don’t feel it.
All I feel is the drumming from deep within, telling me I have to do whatever it takes to free her, give her wings, and help her fly out of this wretched life.
Two futures open before me.
One is peace, the status quo, where the Irish and Italian mob keeps making money, and things continue as usual.
The other is bloodshed, pain, and fighting….
Fighting for Lena, fighting for the time we shared in my office, fighting for the first moment I saw her when I knew I had to have her.
“Cousin, are we going?” Patton says, gesturing toward the car.
I nod gruffly and walk over to the car. Our men do the same. At least twenty of them look ready for war, bloodshed, and pain if it came down to it.
I know they’d fight the Irish if they had to. I know a lot of them disagree with the way Conor and his men behave.
But how long would that last when Conor turns nasty, targeting wives and families?
Slumping in the backseat of the car, I close my eyes as the driver guides us away from the docks.
My heart is thudding harder than I can ever remember, harder even than at my parents’ funeral. It’s smashing into my ribs as I think of Conor and Lena, a combination that should never exist.
My insides whelm with what we shared in my office at my tattoo studio.
I wonder what she’s doing now, where she is, and how terrified she must be for her upcoming marriage.
Can I save her?
Can I risk it all?
CHAPTER
TEN
Lena
I weep into Jackson’s fur. I know it’s not fair to let my sadness flare so easily on the little guy, but I can’t stop thinking about what Luca said in the warehouse.
My Family was working with the Irish.
My Family helped to kill Luca’s parents.
He hates me. He wants to use me, to hurt me, and that’s the only reason he made the offer.
It’s nothing to do with the lust we shared, the heat….Even that’s a lie.
He was probably secretly laughing as he went down between my legs, some warped form of punishment, of power. It’s not what I thought it was.
He wants to take his pound of flesh, whatever the heck that means.
I thought he was going to save me from a monster.
But it turns out he is the monster.
I’m in a hotel room, a guard on the door and another one standing at the first-story window. Conor doesn’t want any chance I’m going to slip away before the so-called big day.
The thought of it makes me want to puke, thinking of it in those terms, big day, as though there’s any love or affection in this whatsoever.
It's all pain. It’s all sick crap.
But there’s no savior. The bird in flight is a lie.
I was never going to get out of here.
The tears get fiercer and Jackson whines, snuggling closer to me. I try to stop, if only for my dog’s sake, but the tears push through my eyes like hot acid and slide over my face.
I remember what Conor said.
I did it, pulled the trigger myself.
He didn’t just order my parents’ death. He did it.
“I’m sorry, boy,” I whisper, sitting up and stroking him in my lap. “I have to be strong. I get that. I just…It’s all so wrong, all so unfair. I thought we shared something real and….”