Page 8 of The Mafia Assassin’s Redemption (Mafia Obsession #2)

SEVEN

torin

My heart slams against my ribs as I stalk outside, gritting my teeth, trying to keep my anger under control.

Sort out one fucking problem and another pops up. Like weeds. Or goddamn Whac-A-Mole.

On the edge of the pavement, I look around to calculate where the shot came from and determine that the shooter is in the building across the street. The lock on the front door has been jimmied, just enough that now it doesn’t automatically lock behind someone coming or going.

No one’s going to think much of it because the apartment building’s old. Only a professional would know.

I take the stairs two at a time, narrowly missing a collision with a mother and her kid as they head down the steps.

“Watch it,” she yells after me.

My muttered “sorry” is probably lost under the stomp of her feet as she makes her way to the foyer, but I dismiss them.

I step out of the stairwell on the third floor because this would be the floor the bullet came from. Digging my heels into the shitty carpet, I walk down the hallway .

I swear to fucking God, if anyone’s been injured because of this, heads are going to fucking roll.

Apartment 3F.

Inside I can hear the fucker talking to himself. Not the words, but the tone. Smug, overly confident. A kick in the fucking balls kinda tone.

“Jesus, Mary, and…” I want to kick the fucking door in so it splinters and scares the crap out of the occupant.

I don’t.

The last thing I need is him accidentally squeezing off a round and hitting Harry.

Instead, I take the handle and turn it.

The little gobshite didn’t even lock it after he picked it open.

Arnold sits in a corner, rolls his eyes toward me, and slumps down on the floor, head resting on his paws. I know how he feels.

I move farther inside the apartment, spying the backpack leaning on the wall next to Arnold.

I hold up a finger to my lips as I pass Arnold and Clawzilla, and miraculously, they stay quiet. I quietly make my way through to the bedroom where Declan sits on a chair he dragged in, next to a high-tech rifle setup.

Who brings pets to a presumed hit?

My eyes narrow on the equipment.

“When the fuck did we get all that?”

Dec jumps high enough to hit the goddamn ceiling, a yelp slipping from his mouth. “Fuck, Tor. What the hell are you doing sneaking up on me like that? Do you see the firepower I have next to me?”

I grab the rifle from him, check it, and start to dismantle it quickly, my actions second nature. The gun might be new, but I know exactly how to use it. And I’ve pulled apart and cleaned my share of them.

I have two at home that I like to assemble and reassemble—a handgun and rifle. Both are in my safe in the basement. I pull them out for those times I need something soothing to do, something that’s mindless and requires muscle memory and focus. It gets things in order inside my head.

But this? I take a closer look at the weapon.

Do we have a new arms dealer who sells cutting-edge, military-grade shit? That’s dangerous and something of a slippery slope. Callahan definitely didn’t mention anything to me, not that weapons are part of my current arsenal.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m dismantling this before you kill someone. You were just supposed to scare her, for fuck’s sake.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt her. So fuck off and give me my gun.” He reaches for the rifle and I turn away with it.

“What the fuck do you mean it’s yours?”

“Well, now that Cal’s gone and gotten all domesticated, and while I love me some Lucie—” He stops himself. “Ah, shit. Not like that.” He shoots a pleading look at me. “Don’t tell Cal I said that.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Whatever, Tor, someone’s gotta take over the clan. Might as well be me.”

“Not. You.”

He scowls.

“You can’t be using this thing, Declan.” I finish putting it away and zip up the bag. “The name of the game is to be anonymous when shooting. Have a favorite gun, fuck, get a custom, but military shit is for war. We’re not at war. And we’re not terrorists.”

I let out a breath. What I don’t want is what Callahan worked so hard to prevent, and that’s Declan dead. Or caught by the cops because a stolen, high-end military rifle used for hits and shootouts is something of a calling card for the police.

“Look, all I’m saying is that I’m the one who can handle these jobs. You’re getting married to that lass, so you’ll be busy with other things, I guess.” He shrugs. “I mean, she’s not hot, but maybe she’s into?—”

I move so fast that I cut off his words as I slam him against the wall and squeeze his throat. He gurgles and clamps a hand over mine.

“I’d kill you. but Mam might get sad and I don’t want that.” I lean in, squeeze a little harder, and say, “You also don’t talk about Harry like that. Ever.”

I let him go and he swings a punch at me. I let it land, the ricochet of pain mild but needed. For him.

Christ, I just grabbed his throat for hinting she might be kinky when I taunted her with the same. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought.

Dec tries to hit me again, but I catch his fist a hair of a second before it crashes against my chin. “Don’t push it, kid.”

“Why’d you volunteer for that marriage, Tor?”

Because I let her mother get killed and raped. I got her father killed. I almost let her burn alive. I watched Shiv die from a bullet that was meant for me. In short, I fucked up and destroyed a lot of lives. And this is the only way I can make up for any of the losses.

“Because I decided to step up.”

Nobody knows the truth. And I can’t let them in on my dirty secret.

Arnold whines and Clawzilla lets out a meow.

I look at my brother with a lifted eyebrow. “You brought the pets?”

“They wanted to come. They have their own minds, you know.”

I need to get back to Harry. I don’t trust her not to run again, and all it takes is one time for her to get enough of a head start where I lose her for good.

Maybe later I can give myself the luxury of admitting just how hot it was on the floor, feeling her against me, feeling how aroused that tight body was with my hand between her thighs. And how strangely, perversely good it felt to have her point a gun at me.

But right now, I focus on the issue. My eejit brother. “Just how close did you mean to aim? Because you need to go to the range for more lessons. Do you want to know how close you got to shooting her? And me?”

He makes a face. “You called and?—”

“I called, Declan, and asked you to help me out by stressing how serious the situation is. I didn’t give you the order to kill anyone.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know it was love,” he says in a huff, stalking off to get the cat pack and Arnold’s leash.

I throw the duffel over my shoulder and hustle him to the door. “It’s not, dipshit. Just watch your aim next time.”

“You kept moving.”

“Jesus, you can’t even admit you fucked up,” I say with a shake of my head.

“You know,” he says, ignoring me. “You were close to her. Very close. Something I should know about?”

“Move,” I growl.

I follow him out of the apartment, my pulse pounding with the need to get back over to her place.

The cold hits me, seeping into the fabric of my coat as we move to the street and Arnold barks at a passing pedestrian. “I’ve got questions?—”

I stop short when my phone buzzes. Dec peers over my shoulder as I look at the text from Callahan.

Had to invite Ricci to the wedding since you skewered his guy.

No doubt he had to anyway, because of the terms of the blood marriage, and this is his way of making sure things are good between us.

I text back.

Skewered guy shot at us. Fuck him.

Where are you? Get a suit and be at St. Jane’s church at eleven sharp. Make sure Dec’s there, too.

I poke my brother. “This is why I wanted you to shoot and miss, very much miss. Make it seem dire enough that Harry goes through with the wedding. Her life depends on it, whether she wants to do it or not.”

“C’mon, we’re all catches, Tor. She should be happy you’re doing the deed. A blood wedding sounds wicked.”

It sounds fucking binding, and I should be modern enough not to like the idea of making her mine in that way. But I do. Mine to do with what I want. How I want.

It’s all there, written into the contract for a ceremony only a mafia Catholic church can perform.

“When we get up to her apartment,” I mutter, “we grab her and you just keep quiet.”

“If,” he says, “she asks? What do I say?”

“Asks what?”

He shrugs. “Maybe wants someone hotter and younger. Maybe she’d rather have me.”

I narrow my eyes at him as I pick the lock again on the front door of her building. I really don’t give a fuck that we’re right out in the open. Most people take one look at us and hurry away.

With a dog like Arnold, an evil cat like Clawzilla, and the air we Murphys have, we exude a “keep the fuck away” aura.

“Then tell her I asked you to come and meet me to get her to the fucking church on time.”

The moment we start climbing the stairs to her apartment, an icy sensation snakes around my bones. Not of dread, but acceptance.

Her apartment’s quiet once we get inside. I take a quick glance around.

“Where is this girl?” Dec asks as Arnold creeps around, sniffing every crevice of the place. “She’s gone. On the run again?”

“No.” But as I leave him to go through the rest of the apartment, doubt creeps in. I step into her bathroom and look around the cramped, green-tiled space. The tub and sink gleam. Her peach-colored toothbrush sits on the counter.

“Smart fucking girl.” I open a side zip of the rifle duffel and pick up her toothpaste and a bottle of perfume that fits Hazel—but not the flash of fierceness of Harry in her silver eyes. That’s something far spicier than just soft, sultry florals.

Harry’s way more interesting than generic flowers. More greens, musk, a bitter edge with teeth that hides a softer facade.

I also grab her USB cable. She wouldn’t leave for good without it.

Harry hasn’t gone far.

But that doesn’t stop me from grabbing things I think she might want. Creams for her face, some makeup in a bag, and at the last minute, I snag a bottle of bubble bath, styled like Venus rising on the half shell.

Then I head into her bedroom .

This is her space, a glimpse of her.

When I broke in earlier, I just came in here quickly to get the space set in my head, to look for nasty surprises and kill them dead.

But now… I can see her.

The quilt’s tangled and the pillows are a mess. There’s a bottle of water on the bedside table, two books, and a charging Kindle.

I grab it all and head for her closet.

“Jesus fuck, Harry.” Does she shop at the Salvation Army?

I pick out some dresses that look somewhat decent, then I grab some shoes and underwear from an open drawer.

I don’t bother searching for passports or licenses. She’ll probably have those on her. I can’t decide if she has a bag, ready to go, or if she’s planning on coming back.

I call Liam, our newest driver, to pick us up.

“Come on,” I say to Dec. “We need to go.” I take a step toward the door, turn back to the coffee table in the living room, and point. “Take the flowers. We’re going to a wedding.”

He salutes me with the bouquet, and like the oddest little gang, we march downstairs to wait for the car. It doesn’t take long for him to pull up to the curb and we cut through the traffic easily.

Once we’re home, I place some speed orders online, send Liam with a couple of Harry’s things to have sized and then delivered to the church. Then I throw on the tux I wore for Cal’s wedding, make calls to place the other orders I need, and lock the fucking rifle up.

It takes half an hour for the packages to arrive, and the moment they do, I go to the living room, grab the flowers, and wave at my brothers and Lucie. “See you at the church.”

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” Seamus asks, tugging at his tie.

I give him the once-over. “Use a shoulder holster under that jacket. I can see your gun.”

Lucie gasps. “You’re all bringing weapons? To church?”

“Have you learned nothing, Joy?” Cal growls as he catches her in his arms, making her red-gold hair fly out along with her full red skirt.

She rises up on her toes and kisses him, which turns into a full-on tongue tangle, so much so that I catch a glimpse of Cal’s tongue ring. Dec snickers and Seamus groans.

Neither Callahan nor Lucie pay attention, and when they finally come up for air, my deadly brother’s smiling like a besotted idiot.

“Only if you’re good,” she says to him.

I roll my eyes. “I’m heading out now.”

And I leave before Cal can start asking any questions I don’t want to answer, which is pretty much anything he can think to ask.

Questions like where’s the bride? I’m not an idiot. While I suspect she’s got nobody but her uncle and her priest to turn to, years of watching over her gave me a good idea of her life, and I’ve got people ready to tear the city apart with one click of my phone.

I don’t think I’ll have to do that, though.

She ran, but she won’t go far. The near misses today scared her and she’ll take them seriously. Harry knows what’s best for her, even if she hates to admit it.

The church isn’t locked when I arrive. I push open the heavy wooden door, stepping into the hallowed air, the candles glowing and giving life to the saints, to Mary, to Jesus.

The air’s heavy with frankincense.

There’s no one here, but there are gorgeous vases of flowers lining the perimeter.

It’s quiet and still, like the world’s taking a breath before a momentous event.

The calm before the shitstorm hits.

There’s no one in sight but I’m not alone. Life breathes here and I head up the aisle and cross the sanctuary over to the sacristy.

A bottle of rum sits on the table. I put down the flowers and packages I carried in and head through the doors which should take me to the rectory where the priest lives.

Instead, I find a loose wall panel and press on it. It creaks open, revealing a lamp-lit stone staircase that heads down into cool earthiness.

There are two small landings with doors, and when I reach the bottom, I turn toward a room filled with broken furniture.

Voices travel into the hallway, echoing against the stone walls.

I follow the sound and stop in front of a door.

I twist the brass doorknob and enter the darkened room.

Harry jumps when she sees me, and a heavyset priest looks up at me, startled.

My lips pull into a tight line. “Ticktock, Harry,” I say in a low voice. “Your time’s up.”