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Chapter thirty-three

He’s Talking to Dairo

Eoghan

“ W hat’s eating you, cousin?” Dairo said, his finger lightly tracing the rim of his martini glass.

I ignored his question, downing my absinthe, as we both smoked cigarettes, facing the open window. We were holed up in my office, smoking and drinking. Hiding from everyone else on a sleepless night.

His twins were asleep upstairs with Rose, and my own son was in bed, curled into my wife’s side.

We’d both come out of our rooms within minutes of each other, and didn’t exchange a single word, as we quietly walked down the steps to my office, shutting the door behind us as we brought out our drinks.

“What’s eating you, cousin?” I said back.

Dairo let out an aggrieved sigh.

“I can’t make Rose happy.” What more could be said after that?

I nodded, unsure of how the two of us came to be in this situation. What in the world had happened to lead us down such similar paths? And why was the world intent on shattering us into two?

“I can’t make Kira happy.”

All I could see was the terrified little girl under the desk. Little Giovanna Morelli Durante. I imagined Cillian in her place, and wanted to stab myself in the heart.

This was no life for a child. I had forgotten that when I brought my wife home.

I had selfishly just needed her in my house, chasing away the ghosts of the past, bringing her light into my hollow world.

It could have easily been my son, terrified, hiding under a table, as armed men threatened to slaughter him like a Romanov heir.

I had forgotten that this was no life for children, because Dairo, Shiny, and I had ceased to be children long ago. We’d had to grow up too fast, and become adults too soon. The stakes were too high, and they damaged us irreparably.

Dairo snorted and let out a sad, humorless laugh before he finished his glass, then made himself another.

“I think she’ll ask me for a divorce,” Dairo said, resuming his seat and staring out into the darkness outside. It was cold, and clouds threatened the pleasantness of rain, already the petrichor wafting in, flavoring the sweet smoke of my Dunhill cigarette.

“Will you grant it?” We were Greens, after all. If he didn’t want a divorce, he would not have one. That was a simple fact. “Without a fight?”

“If she–” He straightened, as if he was ready to fight, before he slumped back in his chair in defeat. “If it will make her happy, then what choice do I have?”

What choice indeed?

“Hell, I’d settle for anything less than the abject misery she’s in when I enter the room.”

Three years ago, I would have said that if he wanted to keep her, he should. He should hold on with both hands, and trap her by any means necessary: money, vices, sex, or hell, he could get her pregnant again! Anything to keep her from slipping from his grasp.

That was what a husband was meant to do! But now, I wasn’t so sure.

“I think Kira will be better off far, far away from me,” I admitted.

If he gave something, it was only polite that I give something back in return, after all.

“That surprises me,” Dairo said with a sigh. “Then again, nothing should anymore.”

He and I sat in companionable silence for several seconds, simply staring out as the thunder began to gather electricity, flashing light amongst the distant gray clouds.

“Tell me, Dairo,” I said quietly, “What would I need to do to hire Caledonia Security to look after my wife and child? From a distance, you see? If… I let them go.”

Everything came out like a question. No wonder, because I was questioning everything I knew to be right, and good, and reasonable in this world.

I had always had my eyes on us—on Green Fields Enterprises, and the people within its periphery.

Mafia, Bratva, criminals, traffickers, spies.

Most weren’t worth a tombstone, since no one would mourn their passing.

Not really. Not unless mourning was a power play.

My view of life was that it was fleeting, dangerous, and brutish.

Family, loyalty, and love were obsessions.

They were wild horses that had to be tamed and broken, and brought to heel.

I had lived inside this world too long, and anything that resembled normal would be as alien to me as a green, bug-eyed martian.

God forbid, my son grew up the same way I did. That would be a tragedy. That would be my failure as a father.

“What about the betrothal?” Dairo had been brought up to speed on the agreement with Cosima Durante and the Mafia.

Kira was brilliant. It was a masterful stroke of genius that bought us at least sixteen years of peace. Sixteen years until Cillian and Giovanna turned eighteen years old, and would be dragged to an altar.

We had doomed our poor heirs.

“I don’t know.” If I backed out now, it would give the Italians every right to reignite the war.

In truth, I suspected that we could find a way out of the bargain before our kids grew up. If not, we could delay it. Or maybe they’d go to college, and we’d naturally delay until they graduated.

Maybe I could keep Cillian in school forever…

“I didn’t like seeing Kira with a gun in her hand, blood on her face,” I continued my self-pity, “I did that to her. Me. She was like that because of me.”

“I didn’t like seeing my wife bloodied in the octagon either,” Dairo let out a long sigh.

“Don’t get me wrong, watching her fight, and seeing her in her strength is incredible.

Delicious, even. But I can’t stand seeing her hurt.

I can’t stand seeing someone hurt her. How can I watch as she goes back into the ring?

How can I stand idly by as someone hits my wife? ”

Dairo shook his head, taking one of my cigarettes and lighting up.

He had quit smoking decades ago, when he’d left this house, and gone back to England to be with his mum’s family. My father had driven him away, and he’d flourished far, far away from this haunted mansion.

“Is that what all the fuss is about?” I asked, registering his words. “She wants to go back to her career, and you don’t want her to?”

Dairo sighed. “That’s one thing, I suppose. But there are so many other reasons.”

He shook his head.

“I pushed her too far, too fast.” He looked into the distance, his eyes unfocused.

“I remember.” I chuckled, sadly, because I knew what he meant. “You dragged me into a war against the Bratva, just for the chance to ask her to marry you.”

Ah, yes, I had seen myself in him when he’d done it. I supported him because I knew how he felt and what he wanted. I was keenly aware of that desire. The rush to get them down to the altar and pledged.

“You handfasted, though,” I said quietly.

Dairo shrugged. “So?”

He looked down at the scars on his palm. Scars that resembled my own, except one.

It wasn’t manly, I thought, to let a wife go. Especially with scars on your hand that forbid you from ever taking another. Our vows were sacred, even if we released our wives to forget us. To move on. To find another to warm their bed…

And I knew there was no question we would keep our vows. Dairo and I were alike in that respect. I would not bed a woman I did not love, and all my love was taken by the woman who held my son.

“So will you answer my question?” I tried to wind us back to my old purpose. “How do I hire Caledonia Security to watch my family in my absence?”

“You don’t have to ask, cousin,” Dairo said, letting out a long sigh. “If you and I become pathetic, celibate, loveless bachelors, pining for our women, consider it done.”

“At least we’ll be together, eh?” I was trying to cheer us up, but my tone missed the mark. It seemed that I was incapable of even joking.

“We’d be rotten company, old friend.”

That we would.