Page 31 of Soulmate of the Mafia King (Kings of Philly #8)
PAIGE
B efore the first hour of the flight passed, Tom fell asleep.
Between the last bit of pain medication the doctor had given him before we left and his injuries, I was honestly surprised it took him that long.
I dropped my head back against the seat and let the quiet flow over me.
In the cluster of four seats across the plane from Tom and me, Killian watched a black-and-white movie using headphones, and Carp and Stan bickered quietly over a card game I didn’t recognize.
It was nothing like the rambunctious flight to Egypt, when I’d spent half the time clinging to the arms of my seat to keep from freaking out.
Not least because the dragon I came to slay lay dead behind me, just as I’d hoped.
Well, not just as I’d hoped. If I could do it all over again, I’d skip the part where Zahur almost got me again.
And the one where a scared woman nearly collapsed Tom’s lung.
I flexed my fingers and remembered the smell of the bastard’s blood, of Tom’s blood when we landed in Lebanon.
“If you’re gonna cheat, play solitaire.” Stan heaved up from his seat and ambled toward the back of the plane where the drinks and snacks sat. Nobody had bothered to hire a flight attendant.
He snagged one of the mini bottles of vodka and popped it open. “I was going to do this when Tommaso was awake, but it seems like I’ll be waiting until next century for that.”
Carp chuckled. “At least.”
“For what?” I asked.
Killian moved one of his headphones aside, clearly thinking the same thing. Stan pulled out three more tiny liquor bottles and tossed them down the plane one at a time. I had to lunge to catch mine, but I did. Some gin I’d never heard of before. I opened it like everyone else.
Stan lifted his bottle. “To the men we lost. To the families that’ll grieve them. To the good they gave their lives for.” He tipped the bottle back into his mouth.
Carp and Killian followed suit, and I did after a moment’s hesitation. The gin burned going down. My last memory of Sam, glassy-eyed on the kitchen floor, floated to the forefront of my mind. The good he gave his life for was protecting me. Tears stung my eyes, and I blinked furiously.
Stan patted my shoulder as he passed. “No shame in that. We lost some good fucking people out there.”
Killian rattled of a few names I didn’t recognize. “All men I trusted to guard my house and my fiancée. They’ll be sorely missed.”
“I watched my buddy Andrew go down,” Carp said. “He never got back up.”
Stan sighed. “I’d never led a mission like that before. I think I’m going to carry all those deaths with me.”
I raised my bottle. “I watched Sam die for me. And he was a good fucking man, with a wife who’s going to miss him so goddamn much.”
“Cheers.” Killian knocked his bottle against mine. “I didn’t know him long, but I thought putting him on your guard was a smart idea.”
“He made Andrew laugh,” Carp said. When nobody responded, he shrugged. “Andrew was kind of a dick.”
Stan nodded sagely. “I liked him from the first fucking word. A guy you knew you could trust with your life.”
I drank silently while they traded stories about other men they saw die in Egypt. Even though it seemed like everyone was a hero, I couldn’t tear my mind away from Sam, and Amalia waiting for him to come home. My tears spilled down my cheeks.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Stan said. “I’m a macabre old bastard, but I promise I know how to shut up somewhere in here.”
I swiped the tears away and shook my head. “It’s okay. This is just part of the life, right?”
Killian tipped his bottle toward me in agreement.
“Sure,” Carp said, “but it’s the worst part.”
Stan nodded. “Even at my age, I’m not used to losing people. I don’t know if it ever gets easy.”
“I doubt it,” Killian said. “But that’s the timer the life puts on all of us. The world is your oyster until you’re tired of losing people. Or are lost yourself.”
I set my tiny bottle down on the table in front of me and stared at it for a long moment, thinking about Dad and my few memories of what life was like before he left the life.
“When I was a kid, I thought it was about the money,” I said.
Carp laughed. “The money doesn’t fucking hurt. Who can argue with a jet like this?”
I ran my hand over the butter-soft leather of my chair. I certainly couldn’t.
“After my dad left it, maybe a couple months into living on the run, I realized there had to be more to it than that.” I shook my head.
“What did you think then?” Killian asked, his voice low.
I looked at the Mano Della Morte . The first few months adjusting to a warehouse worker’s paycheck instead of a mafioso’s had been the hardest, but Mom and Dad loved me so much that sometimes I didn’t even notice.
I remembered thinking, back then, that Sera Bianchi could have all the rare dogs she wanted for her birthday, but she didn’t have two parents who showed up like I did.
“Power,” I said. “And the feeling that you were the thing that went bump in the night.”
He smiled wanly and looked away. Carp nudged Stan and snickered.
“But I was wrong about that too.” I turned to Tom, still asleep next to me, his curls in his eyes. “It’s about the relationships, isn’t it? At least for the ones worth having around. You’re each other’s family.”
Stan laughed delightedly. “I told Tommaso you were one tough-ass broad. I’ll drink to that.”
Carp raised his bottle. With a sideways glance in my direction, Killian did the same. I settled back in my seat, feeling like I understood the mafia better than I ever had before.
“For what it’s worth,” Killian said quietly, “we’re each other’s family.”
“Thank you.” I smiled, but a yawn engulfed the expression. “I guess I’m going to try to sleep now.”
They chuckled. I pulled a thin blanket over my shoulders and tried to get comfortable, but my thoughts wouldn’t slow.
I couldn’t deny a certain love for the men in this plane, for what they’d done for Tom if nothing else, but I didn’t know if I saw a future in the life.
Could we leave and keep these relationships?
I had no idea, but I thought I might like to find out.