Page 26

TWENTY-SIX

KEIRA

Everything’s A Lie - Klergy, LEXICON ect.

I have a sinking suspicion this conversation will break the last shred of hope I still have swimming around. It’d already taken an asteroid-sized hit with the news that my mother wasn’t, in fact, still walking around the city. As nervous as I was for the possibility that I might get to see her again, no matter the anger that boiled within me at her possible reasons to stay away, hearing him confirm what my logical brain knew all along was like losing her all over again.

But now wasn’t the time or place to let that fully process. I’d let Domenico fill in the blanks of my mother’s past, but his side would always be skewed. I needed more information to corroborate his stories or even dismiss them. I’d take what they had to say and paint my own picture of what I felt was the truth. At the end of the day, the only one who knew the unfiltered truth of it all was dead, and she hadn’t left behind a crumb to go by.

“Tell me what you think you know about me and my mother. I’d love to hear it.” I can’t help the strong sarcasm that snakes through my tone. I’m annoyed that this little impromptu gathering isn’t meeting my expectations.

“Your mother thought she was sneakier than she was. Or maybe my household was further locked down than she imagined. She never came to me with the news that she was pregnant, but the housekeeper caught on quickly. Hard not to when your life revolves around caring for those in a household.”

“You’re telling me your staff ratted out my mother? You knew the entire time she was expecting and just let her hide it?”

“I was a very different man decades ago. Family was important, but my time and energy were always focused elsewhere. The girl’s mother, your grandmother, had already passed. God rest her soul. But no, the woman in question didn’t tell me. Not until—” He pauses, looking over my shoulder.

I follow his gaze, noticing a large framed photo on a small table. It’s too small and too dark to make out the people clumped together, but it must be family, my family.

He shakes off whatever reverie pulled him from his story and continues, “Not until after your mother disappeared.”

“You mean when she ran. Went into hiding, trying to get away from everything.” I didn’t even know half of it, but I couldn’t deny that if my mom had left everything behind, there was a good enough reason. She abandoned her sister, the comfort of being well off and taken care of, and a boy she must have at least believed she loved. From everything I’d experienced in the last year, I’d bet all that I owned on her doing it out of love and preservation for the both of us.

“Your mother probably thought the worst would happen if she came back here with a baby bundled in her arms. But she was wrong. What your father and his uncle did, ripping your sister from her, was worse than anything she would have faced coming home with the two of you.”

“She was fifteen and growing up in the middle of a turf war between two kingpins. How else would you expect her maternal instincts to react? I don’t even want children, and I would have done the exact same fucking thing.”

“I expected her to come home to her family,” he says gruffly, the first sign of emotion bleeding into his story. “But you’re right. Over the years and things that happened, I could no longer find fault in your mother’s decisions.”

“But you still knew we were out there. We didn’t go far. It’s not like she even tried all that hard to hide us away. With fake names and a tiny apartment in a city of millions, we were still well within your domain. And what, with you being, well, you, how didn’t you find us?” Emotions I’ve been able to shove into the recesses of my mind come flooding out as it dawns on me.

“I did.”

I shove away from him, the chair knocking back into Harkin, who’s been extremely quiet this entire time. My fist connects with the wall, and the cheap particle board crumbles at the impact. The minor destruction isn’t enough to release the overwhelming sense of fury building in my gut. I need more.

How can these men just leave their daughters to suffer? My father and grandfather are two sides of the same coin. Their issues may stem from differences in blood, but they both make the same decisions when it comes down to it.

“You need to listen to the rest of what I have to tell you.”

I whirl on my heels, my hand clenching against the sting radiating through my knuckles, the other thrown up to stop him from saying anything else. “What difference does it make now? You knew. You led us down the path that got my mother killed in the middle of the street, probably as retribution for something you did. It’s your fucking fault she’s dead.”

His venomous glare would be more intimidating if my temper weren’t in complete control of my actions and thoughts. Even when he stands and towers over my petite frame, it doesn’t matter. Harkin moves in my peripheral, but I hold a hand out to stop him. As red as Patrick’s face blazes, I don’t feel unsafe here. Maybe there’s something wrong with my self-preservation, but it’s never steered me wrong.

“Your mother made her choices. I could have dragged you both back and locked you up. Or maybe it would have been better for everyone to send you away to another state or back to our home country. But there are eyes everywhere and rats within my own system. You were both safe off your father's and great uncle’s radar. So, I did what I thought was best. I left you both to discover what life was like for those without a family to rely on. I kept my distance and looked after you from afar. Your mother never knew the extent of my reach. The building you grew up in, mine. The work she was hired to do without any experience, my connections. Even the woman who watched you before you were old enough to go to school.”

“Then what happened? If you were so on it, how did he find us?” I choke over the resentment clogging my throat.

“Like you said, you weren’t very far. All it took was for someone to recognize her and run their mouth to the wrong person. The city might be full of unsuspecting people going about their lives, but in the wrong neighborhood, you’re one gossip away from disaster, and disaster it was.”

My rage crumbles into nothing more than emotional torment. It wasn’t anything she did. It wasn’t a vendetta. It was a man scorned by a teenage girl on a power trip that caused my mother’s death. Maybe there was more to the story, but no one’s dropped that secret yet. At this point, I’m not sure I can handle it. My head hurts. I want to go home, crawl into our bed and forget that today ever happened.

This is too much. I came here expecting information about my mother. Information that would tell me where to find her. Our last ounce of hope was that we might have something to hold over Dom’s head. All today has accomplished is another jarring trip down memory lane I never asked for.

Drawing in a deep breath, I shake off the last twenty minutes. I know I need to process all this, but now isn’t the right time. We have more important things to deal with right now, especially now that we’ve finally found and have an audience with the man Domenico is so desperate to meet with.

“Speaking of disasters, my father wants a meeting with you.”

He takes the sidestep in conversation in stride, not missing a beat. “He does. My men have set up a time and place.”

“Do you know what he wants?”

His hand works against his long white goatee. “I have my suspicions.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and it pisses me off. “You know I’ll be there,” I add, trying to draw more information from him.

“I’m aware,” is his only response.

The man from moments ago who wouldn’t stop talking is gone. In his place, now zipped up tight with his business on the table, is the boss everyone else must be used to. He exudes an unearthly power without all the bells and whistles. Where Domenico is the storybook depiction of a mobster: lavish house, tailored suits, and gelled-up muscle, Patrick is the complete opposite.

He looks like he just came off a construction site. His hands are literally stained and dirty, and I try not to think about the cause. It’s funny, really. I’m being thrust into the life my mother fought so hard to keep us out of. I guess what they say is true: the past always comes back to haunt us, even when we’re not the ones it should be haunting.

I step back, bumping into a solid wall of muscle. “Well, if that’s all, we should go. Guess I’ll see you again soon.” I sidestep around the metal chair and head for the door, Harkin, my ever- present shadow. I pause, hand outstretched for the knob, and peek over my shoulder. “Oh, and a word of advice. That twin of mine might look all sweet and angelic, but she’s under his influence. However Domenico tries to sell her, just know it’s a lie.”

As we exit, he doesn’t try to stop us, but the last thing I notice is a surprising look of pride in his eyes. The walk from his office out the front of the building is tense. His men still take up around the space, but they don’t interfere. There’s no scanning of eyes or secret codes to step through the double doors, and when we get outside, the two men from before wait beside their kidnapping van.

They spin quickly, hands drawing weapons, as the crunch of tires steals their attention from our arrival. I recognize the blacked-out SUV. James slams on the brakes when a bullet grazes the edge of the car.

“Enough,” I yell over the cacophony of chaos about to erupt around us.

It grabs their attention, but an ear-piercing whistle echoing off the surrounding buildings makes the men freeze. We all spin toward the newcomer, resting against the frame of the door to the warehouse. Patrick Donahue, my grandfather, calls his men back like school children.

The scene causes a giggle to build in my chest, but I stifle it from erupting. James pulls ahead and blocks us from the building to get in. Unexpectedly, Stace occupies the passenger seat, so we jump in the back and take off.

Her blonde locks whip around, smacking James in the face as she spins in her seat to take me in. “You good?”

“Girl, I am far from good. Want to trade families?”

She lets out a soft chuckle, but her eyes brim with concern. “Babes, there’s a reason you’ve never met my family. You might not be asking that if you had.”

I don’t know much about Stacey’s family besides the fact that she comes from old European money. The kind of money that comes with castle estates in the hills of some small country town where the letters don’t spell out the actual word. Yet, she’s been alone in the city since she was sixteen.

“You’re right. Family sucks,” I say, wrinkling up my face to exaggerate my point.

“Thank fuck for friends. Am I right?” Stacey adds.

“Language,” James whispers under his breath, eyes still focused on the road.

Hers roll in response with a quick shake of her head. I don’t know how they know, but his hand files out like the bullet from earlier, reaching for her chin to bring her eyes to his. He quickly flicks them back and forth, keeping us on a steady path home. When he drags her in close to whisper something unintelligible in her ear, my lips pull between my teeth, and I shift in my seat.

Watching him handle her regardless of who’s around is sexy as hell. It sidetracks my brain from the mess we just experienced and throws my hormones in the driver’s seat. Harkin doesn’t miss my reaction. His large hand falls to the top of my thigh, squeezing the muscle. His lips brush against my ear.

“Are you getting wet watching him correct her, little one?”

A quiet whimper breaks free when his teeth graze the shell of my ear, and his hand shoves between my clenched thighs, sending a shiver through my body. It hums to life under his attention when his thumb presses firmly against my core. My hips buck, seeking more and making me desperate. I’m no longer paying attention to whatever is happening in the front seat. All I can think about is the fact that we’re still miles away from the apartment, but I’m minutes away from breaking Harkin’s rule about audiences.