“I’m nobody,” he said and put his coffee down. “I’m a boy from the neighborhood. I’m like any number of men struggling on these streets.”
“But none of them are killers like you.”
“No, they aren’t.” He watched me carefully, and it felt like his eyes peeled me open and looked down deep into my core. “I’ll go get a shirt on then we’ll head to your place.”
“Right, yeah. You go get a shirt on.”
“Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”
“I think I’m good.”
He smiled tightly and disappeared upstairs. I watched him go, still trying to digest that story.
Nobody watched their father get murdered at twelve years old and managed to walk away unscathed. Nobody grew up in a mafia around the men that crumpled his world like a piece of trash and still managed to keep himself together.
And yet he managed to survive.
When I was twelve, I only cared about boy bands and learning how to wear makeup.
He was busy learning how to kill.
I couldn’t imagine what life must’ve been like for him afterwards. His whole existence was dedicated to that family—and yet he went against them to save my life.
He even murdered one of his own.
I didn’t understand it, but I wanted to.
* * *
He dropped me off a few blocks from work hours later. I had a suitcase packed full of anything I might need in the trunk of his car.
“I’ll be nearby,” he said through the window.
“You can take a break if you want.”
“And have someone come in here and kill you? No, I think I’ll hang around.” He rolled up the window and drove off.
I watched him go, not sure what to make of it.
At least work was quiet. I tended bar with my usual enthusiasm, which is to say, not a whole lot. A couple of the family’s cousins came through and I made a good show of smiling and saying hello and even put a round on my own tab. I figured, they’d go back to Cormac and all the others and say how Cousin Fiona was being a ‘very good girl’ or something stupid like that.
Meanwhile, I thought about Mack.
I didn’t understand why he’d seemingly sacrifice everything for me.
His family would come after him if they knew he was working to protect me. They’d rip him to pieces if they thought he was a traitor.
The mafia families didn’t mess around with loyalty.
And yet I needed him. Even if this whole thing might drag him down into the mud and destroy him, I couldn’t walk away.
My little brother was in danger and every day that I delayed was another day he spent in Lionetti custody.
Mack was my only chance at getting him back in one piece.
I wasn’t stupid. I understood what would happen when the Lionettis got tired of me. There was no way they’d ever send Connor home, not after keeping him captive for so long—that would only spark a horrible war. Cormac wouldn’t be able to keep the Doyle family out of it, and the whole city would be ripped into pieces. Bad enough the Lionettis were battling themselves, but it would be even worse if everyone were involved.
Maybe that was why the Morozovs wanted me dead. Maybe they somehow knew—
But no, if they knew, none of this would be happening.
My mind was in a thousand different places, but at least bartending helped keep me focused. It was a boring job but it forced me to concentrate and use my hands, and I couldn’t spend too much time lost in the dark, black labyrinth that was my brain.
The night ended and the regulars drifted out. Two in the morning felt so much later when you were sober.
“One for the road?” Tom asked, the other bartender working that night. He was a young guy, blond hair, bushy beard.
“I think I’m just heading out.” I closed my register and gathered my tips. I shoved them into my pocket.
“Yeah, all right.” He grinned at me. “Sneaking out the back again, I guess.”
“Don’t take it personally.” I threw him my best smile.
He only waved as I slipped out and headed down the back hallway. He’d finish closing without me—I knew Mack was out there waiting, and I didn’t want him sitting alone in that car all night.
I reached the back door and stepped out into the dark, dim alleyway. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and I spotted a person standing not far away.
For one second, I thought it was Mack.
Until he turned to me.
The door to the bar swung shut just as I turned to grab it. Too late—there was no handle on this side.
“What’s the matter, Fiona? You’re not happy to see me?” Renzo stepped closer, his foot landing in a puddle.
I didn’t look at him for a few beats of my heart. I willed myself to get it together—I had the information he wanted, so this wouldn’t be so far. I turned to him and let out a breath.