The Resurrection (Unlawful Men)

Exposed.

“Can you hear that?” she asks, pulling us to a stop.

“What?”

“Listen.” Her finger comes to her mouth, hushing me. And I hear it.

“Is that Zinnea?”

Beau laughs, pointing up the beach to a nearby bar. “It’s her first performance. She got a weekly gig every Saturday night.”

“God help St. Lucia,” I mumble, Zinnea’s voice getting louder until we’re passing the bar. She’s on stage, flaunting every color imaginable in some form or another—dress, makeup, wig.

“Darlings!” she calls over the mic in between verses of Tom Jones’s She’s a Lady, making me wince and Beau wave. “My niece, everyone. And her dangerously handsome fellow, James.” Her grin is impish, my head shake weary. “I’ll join you soon, my darlings,” she croons, before launching into the chorus.

I see the entrance for the pathway up ahead and, thankfully, by the time we make it there, Zinnea’s singing has faded out completely, being swallowed up by the sound of the ocean.

“Here they are,” Esther says, getting up from the table when she spots us. “I was just going to call.”

I release Beau’s hand and let her go to the girls, all kissing her cheek and showing her where to sit.

“Okay?” Danny asks, clicking his fingers for a waiter, who soon arrives with a bottle of vodka.

“Good.” I pull out Beau’s chair for her and take the one next to it. “Where’s Daniel?”

Rose points to the ocean, and there he is, zooming across the water on his jet ski, two others in fast pursuit. Tank and Fury, who have been reassigned. I’m not sure yet if they’re happy about that. “Wine?” Rose asks Beau, the bottle hovering over her glass.

“Not tonight.” She helps herself to some water, and I smile to myself.

“Something you’re not telling us?” Danny asks, winning my attention.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Brad mutters. “Don’t tell me you two are pregnant too or I’ll quit mafia life.”

“We all just quit mafia life.” Ringo laughs, necking a bottle of beer like it could be a shot.

“What did I miss?” Otto asks, approaching the table, looking dapper. I cock an interested brow as he takes the chair beside Esther, feeling the instant chill from the man a few seats away. I glance at Danny. He looks like he’s preparing for a kill. Jesus, Otto, of all the women in this world, you choose The Brit’s mother?

Esther pours him a wine, and he thanks her with a knowing smile. He’s also trimmed his beard. And I can smell his cologne from here.

“Who are you trying to impress?” Goldie asks, making Otto still, his glass at his lips. She’s a fine one to talk, sitting there with . . . lipstick on? She walked out of that container two weeks ago with not one mark on her. She emerged a different woman.

“Yes, who?” Danny asks.

“Danny,” Esther says lowly, and everyone bats their eyes from mother to son, waiting for what comes next. Knife? Fist? Gun? There have been many occasions since we all arrived a few weeks back when Esther has been missing at the same time as Otto. Many times. Everyone, bar Danny, has played ignorant. Danny, however, has called Otto’s phone persistently each time he’s been missing. “Leave it, please.” Esther gives her son a warning look, and his nostrils flare as Rose reaches for his hand, squeezing.

“Drink up,” she orders, pushing his Scotch toward him as the waiter slides some dishes of olives onto the table. “So who popped in to see Zinnea?” Rose chirps, trying to divert her husband’s foul mood away from Esther and Otto.

“We just walked past,” Beau says, plucking an olive from the bowl. “She’s got quite an audience.”

“We’ll have to go in and see her after dinner,” Esther says, passing the menus around the table. “Let’s order, I’m starving.”

“That’s because you missed breakfast,” Danny mutters, shoving his face in his menu. “And lunch.”

“Danny,” Rose breathes, and I smile, watching the stone-cold killer sulk like a child, flicking his eyes and a curled lip at his wife.

“Should we have a little chat?” Otto speaks up, and the whole table falls silent, all eyes jumping between them.

“Oh fuck,” Brad whispers, as Danny casually turns the knife at his setting. “Otto, I can answer that for you.”

“Yes,” Danny says, standing abruptly, sending his chair shooting back. “Let’s have a chat.”

“Danny,” Esther gasps, jumping up. “No. No chatting.”

“It’s okay,” Otto says, calm as can be, reaching for her arm and gently urging her back to the seat, his eyes never moving from Danny. Rose is suddenly up too, her face up close to Danny’s, words being spoken urgently.

“We’re good,” Danny says, placating her, encouraging her to sit. “Aren’t we, Otto?”

“Good,” he agrees, standing. “Walk and talk?”

Danny’s smile is the smile of a killer, and I shake my head. But I know Otto too. Not as callous or fucked up, but a killer nevertheless.