“I’m aware, but I didn’t know you actually learned anything.”
I grimace, and the idea that he’s been watching me this whole time doesn’t feel good. But I push forward anyway. “Who is Queenie? Why was Megan blackmailing her?”
“Queenie is a girl. An Italian girl.” He looks at me, smiling slightly. “She was extraordinary. Smart, beautiful. The sort of girl that everyone fell for.”
“How did Megan know her?”
“Truthfully, I never worked that one out.”
“Did Queenie kill Megan?”
He slowly shakes his head. “No, I don’t think she did.”
“Who then? What happened to her? You know, don’t you?”
He chews on that and finishes his drink. He’s quiet for a long time, and I think he’s about to fall asleep when he slowly shakes his head.
“Queenie was a mistake,” he says softly, almost at a whisper. The gentle hum of the air conditioning in the vents almost blots out his words, and I have to strain to listen. His eyes are somewhere else, lost in memory. “She was a terrible mistake my oldest son made a long, long time ago.”
“Your oldest son? Aiden?”
“No, no, my oldest. Shane.”
I blink rapidly and have to sit back in my chair. Queenie is a mistake Shane made?
And then it hits me square in the face, like it’s been there the whole time, mocking me, inches away.
Q and S.
Queenie and Shane.
But Shane died way before Megan’s accident. This doesn’t make any sense.
“I don’t understand,” I say, practically begging him for the truth, for some hint that all this work is leading me somewhere and not into another deep, dark cavern filled with wrong turns.
“I’ll tell you the truth if you get my daughter back.” Fergal sits up straight and stares into my eyes. “Go find Daley and bring her home, and I’ll tell you everything I know about that ugly story. Everything I remember about Queenie, Megan, and Shane.”
Chapter 28
Daley
Anarbek, the massive guy that murdered my brother, presses a gun against my back. The steel is cold between my shoulder blades.
It touches bare skin where my wedding dress scoops down low.
I’m wrapped in lace and silk. A veil’s pulled down over my face, a gauzy and lightweight thing. The dress itself is white and relatively conservative, with a high neckline and long sleeves. The only skin it shows is my back, a scoop midway down. The skirt blossoms out and drags against the floor. Nobody seems to care enough to pick it up.
“Smile,” the big man grunts at me as I stare straight ahead.
I’m standing in what looks like an abandoned office. There are wires everywhere, hanging from the ceiling and the floor, and there are still unfinished walls creating rough frames for offices. Ahead, a sliding glass door leads out into a courtyard, or what looks like it’ll be a courtyard. Right now, it’s a tangle of weeds and construction equipment and piles of material scattered around a roughly built awning, painted white and draped with flowers.
Men stand in small groups, smoking. Emin’s there in the best man position behind Maceo. They’re wearing suits and nobody looks happy. More Turkish mafia members lounge on the leftover wood and tile that’s left stacked out in the sunlight. Most of them are wearing suits like this is an actual wedding. One carries a camera and clicks random pictures. Some of the men laugh and joke, but the vibe isn’t jovial. It feels more like a funeral. A priest stands beneath the awning, shifting foot to foot, looking nervous.
“Walk.” Anarbek jabs the gun into my back.
“Do you ever say more than a word at a time?” I try to joke and sound brave while inwardly all I want to do is scream and cry.
“Go.”
I sigh and step through the door and out into the cool late afternoon air.
I’ve been stuck in my cell since Maceo and Emin visited. I spent most of the night pacing around—or at least I think I did. Time moves weird without clocks. Eventually, I fell asleep again, which probably wasn’t a good idea. But I figured if I didn’t wake up, that wouldn’t be so bad. At least then I wouldn’t be alive in a world without Megan, where I watched Aiden get killed, and where I’m about to be forced at gunpoint to marry a man that hates me with a seething passion.
Unfortunately, my eyes snapped open when Maceo woke me up, threw the dress in my face, and told me I’d better put it on or he’d do it for me, and he wouldn’t be gentle.
Now I’m here, walking to my doom.
No music plays. Nobody speaks. Emin’s smiling. Maceo looks grim. I wonder if this is as much a death sentence for him as it is for me. Probably not.
“You look wonderful,” Emin comments when I’m in position. Anarbek keeps the gun jabbed against my back. If the priest minds it, he doesn’t say a word. I’m sure Emin paid him handsomely and made him aware that this would be a literal shotgun wedding.