Broken Hearts (Hearts 2)

“Then why don’t they want me dead or alive?” Ronan asked.

“Because they think she knows something.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You.”

“What do they think I know? Because I don’t know anything. I swear to God—”

“Look, honey, I believe you. But you were married to the senator and the senator worked for the Morellis.”

“No,” I said, “he worked for Caroline.”

“He worked for both of them?” Ronan asked and Eden put her finger on her nose.

“Ding-ding, give that boy a prize.”

“That explains the alive part but not the dead part,” Ronan said, and I was really getting tired of being talked about this way.

Eden shrugged. “What they think she knows, they don’t want anyone else knowing.”

“I swear,” I said. “I don’t know anything.”

“Well, lucky for you, I know how to get you out of this little jam you’re in.”

“Little jam.” That was one way of putting it.

“Okay. How—how do I get out?”

“You need to come back,” she said.

“To New York?”

“Nope.” Ronan shook his head. “No way—”

“Yep. To New York. With him.” Eden said, pointing at Ronan.

We all blinked at each other.

“Why me?” he asked. “I’m no one.”

“Yeah.” Eden pursed her very full lips. “Actually. You are someone. You’re kind of a big-deal someone. And I think for the rest of this conversation, I’d feel a whole lot better if you weren’t holding that gun.”

“Too bad,” he said, staring her down.

She reached over, grabbed his teacup of whiskey, and drank it down. “Your mother died just after giving birth to you—”

“What the fuck?” he snapped. “How do you know that?”

“Please, just . . . listen.” Eden actually looked nervous, which made me nervous. “Your parents never married. They, from what I understand, barely knew each other. Do you know where they met?”

“Da never talked about her.”

“Your mother worked at a pub in East London, near where your father worked as a food packer. Your mom had just gotten to London and got the job through a friend of hers. A girl she’d gone to boarding school with in the States.”

“Boarding school?” Ronan asked, like he didn’t understand the words. But I knew that what he was really struggling with was that boarding school meant money. And he grew up poor.

“Knowing things is how I’ve managed to survive the Morelli family, though that’s currently being tested. But it’s also not the point. Yet. I think there’s a good chance your father might not have known any of this either.”

“And that’s why he didn’t talk about her?” Ronan asked.

“She was in London for six months and then ended up pregnant. Your father attempted to do the right thing, but she wouldn’t marry him. Apparently, she thought she’d go back to the States at some point, and a baby was okay, but she didn’t want to encumber herself with a cranky Irishman with a drinking problem.”

Ronan leveled the gun at Eden’s face. “I’m going to ask you one more time; how do you know all of this?”

“I wasn’t born a Morelli. I married Maxim, Bryant’s oldest brother. He was three times my age and richer than God with one foot in the grave when I met him—my kind of dreamboat. He kept himself out of the Constantine–Morelli drama that his brother was knee-deep in. He thought it was all a little pedestrian.”

“Sounds like a real gem. What the fuck does that have to do with me?”

“I’m getting there,” she said with her hands up. Ronan had advanced across the room. He looked like a killer, and Eden, for the first time, had the good sense to be scared. “His youngest sister was the white sheep in a black sheep family, you know? She was above the money and not interested in the crime. She wanted to travel and see the world and find her own way. She was told if she left, she’d be disowned, and being disowned is a thing the Morelli family does not play around with. When you’re out, you’re dead to them. But the second she could, she left anyway. First stop: London.”

For an instant, it was like my entire body was tied to Ronan’s. Like when we were in bed together. I knew how he felt, what he was thinking, because I was feeling and thinking the same things. The sudden blast of shock made my entire body numb.

“What are you saying?” Ronan asked.

“Her name was Gwen. Gwen Morelli.”

“You’re fucking lying!” Ronan yelled and I stood, finding a place between Ronan and Eden.

“Ronan,” I whispered, my eye on that gun. I was only a little convinced he would not shoot me. “Please—”

“My mother was not a Morelli,” he said. “I’m not a fucking Morelli.”

From the pocket of her fur coat, Eden pulled out a piece of paper that had been folded into a small square. She unfolded it and spread it flat. Ronan reached forward and grabbed it. “What the fuck is this?”