Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
West Scott
“ Y ou didn’t have to pick me up, sweetheart.” But damn, was I glad he had. It felt so good to see him—to have him in my arms. I tightened my hold on him and peppered his neck with kisses. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you more.” He inched back and captured my mouth with his, and he gave me a firm kiss. “Let’s get outta here.”
I nodded, and he threw my rollaboard into the back seat.
“You’re grabbing your gear at home first, right?” he asked.
“Yes.” I needed a shower too.
Minutes later, we had the airport in the rearview, and he’d updated me on the latest escapades of our children. Ellie was going through a thing, so even though Alfie and I had spoken last night as well as this morning, something new had evidently happened.
“At this rate, I think she’s collecting minutes in the time-out corner,” he said. “But God forbid you call it that. Her teacher firmly called it the calm space .”
I chuckled and rubbed his thigh.
He honked at the car in front of us, presumably for driving too slow. Or the idiot’s inability to switch lanes like a normal person. Christ.
“I’m still jealous of your evening routine these past couple of days, by the way,” he told me.
I smiled. I couldn’t lie; it’d been fantastic. After a day of too many meetings, I’d come back to my hotel, ordered a big pizza, and then I’d taken a long shower before I’d donned my robe. The food had arrived just as I’d gotten ready for a night in bed with the news running in the background and a few magazines scattered about.
“I did wish you were there with me,” I said.
“Yeeeaaah, and then you come back home, and the first thing you do is schedule a fucking tee time with Shan.”
I grinned and adjusted my tie. He thought we were playing golf, which was actually foolish. I’d never bought a neon-colored golf ball in my life, and it looked like it was going to snow any moment.
At most, this time of year, we hit up the driving range.
“It’s only for a couple of hours,” I assured. “I’ll be home by the time you get off work.”
He scratched his nose and moved over to the right lane. “About that. I couldn’t tell you earlier, but three of our guys caught the motherfuckers who attacked Mom and the other women.”
“ What? ” I turned my head toward him so fast that I almost hurt my neck. Shock tore through me, and I could barely believe what I was hearing. In fact, he kept talking, and I wasn’t sure I picked up more than every other word. Something about a pursuit. Something about lying low at a safehouse somewhere near Allentown.
My ears started ringing, and I felt myself check out mentally.
They’d been caught.
All this rage I’d struggled with the past several weeks pushed itself to the surface, and it became difficult to swallow.
Right then and there, I vowed to myself to stay back. I trusted Alfie wouldn’t go too far—scratch that, I didn’t trust him at all. But I trusted Shan, and he was surely involved. If I asked him to make sure Alfie didn’t end up killing those sick bastards…
Either way, if invited to tag along when Alfie went there, I had to stay at home. As much as I wanted to torture them, I wasn’t sure I could stop at that—or look myself in the mirror after.
“When are you seeing them?” I forced myself to ask.
“Tomorrow.”
I nodded slowly. My original plan had been for us to stow away the last of the moving boxes, because we couldn’t spend Christmas in a house that looked like a storage unit. Then we were supposed to start planning for the holiday.
I let out a long breath and unballed my fists.
Tomorrow.
“I’m not gonna kill them, West. I promise.”
I nodded again. Another deep breath. “Good.”
Silence followed, and I got lost in my mind. We sped up, and we slowed down. I went to war with all the different perspectives in my head. The one that called me a hypocrite for wanting them dead but needing someone other than Alfie and me to do the job. The one who wanted to take part in the torture. The one who wanted to kill them. The one who worried Alfie might need me there to hold him back.
We crossed the Schuylkill again, and we got stuck in a traffic jam.
On autopilot, I opened the glove compartment and found a pack of smokes, and I lit one up and rolled down the window a bit.
“Can you tell me what you’re thinking, papi?”
“Swear on our lives that you won’t kill them,” I said.
“I swear on our lives.” He reached out and gave my knee a squeeze. “I’ve asked Kellan and Colm to make sure I don’t cross that line. Okay?”
Okay. Okay, yes, that did feel good to hear. I just didn’t believe he could cope with the aftermath if he murdered someone, no matter how much they deserved it. This was me being selfish. I didn’t want him to suffer from trauma and nightmares following such an event. I wanted him happy and free from doubt. He struggled with that enough, to be honest.
“In that case, please sever a limb or two from me,” I stated.
He choked on a chuckle. “I fucking love you. I can do that.” He paused for a beat before he spoke again. “Does that mean you don’t wanna get in on the action? It’s okay if you do, you know. Finn will allow it.”
I shook my head. “Tempting, but it’s best I never see their faces.”
“Gotcha. No face, no case.”
That was one way of spinning it.
I took another swallow of whiskey and checked the time.
Shan was due any moment.
I hadn’t showered. I hadn’t unpacked. I hadn’t moved any of the moving boxes in the hallway that’d sat there since we’d emptied the last of Alfie’s house. I couldn’t get up from the damn couch.
I’d fed Shorty and made sure he had water. That felt like all the accomplishment I could muster today.
It was a little past noon on a random Thursday, and I was going through the most sluggish identity crisis in my life. I just sat there and stared into space, while my brain did a slow relapse of what I’d sworn off on Thanksgiving. As in, no more wondering what made a good man. No more worrying about consequences. The only thing that mattered was that Alfie and I were happy and together.
Oh, and the small detail of me wanting to torture two no-good fuckheads for what they’d done to my mother-in-law and several other women.
Who had I become?
I’d never even been in a fight!
I contemplated texting Phil to ask if he and Giulia would mind watching the children tonight. Giulia wouldn’t be returning to work until after the holidays, so she’d called more frequently lately, wanting to have them over.
Oh, fuck it. I wouldn’t be a good dad today. I was too busy wondering how I went from boring TV producer to partner of a mobster who hid cash all over the house, handled deliveries for a criminal organization, was off to torture two men tomorrow, and, somehow, made me the happiest son of a bitch in the world.
After throwing back my whiskey, I pulled out my phone and messaged Phil. I knew he wouldn’t say no, but I still wanted to make it up to him. And the best way to do that was to offer up my access to the company club suite for the next Flyers game. One ticket was always reserved in my name, though I tended to give it away. Parking pass and food included. I bet I could arrange so that he could bring his brother.
Just as I sent the text, someone rang the doorbell, so I dragged myself up and headed to the hallway.
Shan was right on time.
I opened the door—ah, fuck me.
Of all the days of the year.
“Mom,” I said.
She didn’t look comfortable one bit, and that made two of us. Why on earth was she here? She’d been perfectly happy with my ignoring her calls for so long.
She sniffed and picked off her gloves. “Are you going to invite me in, son?”
Must I?
I opened the door wider, and she shuddered at the cold and walked in.
I didn’t have the energy for this.
“I’ll get right to the point,” she said. “Your father is thinking we should disown you.”
I furrowed my brow, waiting for the anger to surge forward, the hurt, the disbelief, but not a fucking thing showed up. I barely even wanted to ask why.
I stared at her, this woman who’d raised me—alongside a nanny or three—and I saw a stranger. But then, she’d always been that way. Hadn’t she? It wasn’t as if we’d ever sat down to have a heart-to-heart about hormones, college, feelings… The closest I’d gotten was one day in my senior year of high school when I’d come out to her and Dad.
“I assume this has to do with Alfie and me,” I said.
The corners of her eyes tightened. She wasn’t happy. “The fact that we had to hear about you getting back together through neighborhood gossip , West…” She glanced around herself, seeing the moving boxes, some toys on the floor—and it never ceased to amaze me how she always managed to come off as stuck-up and arrogant. Most people tried to hide that. She wore her holier-than-thou personality like a badge of honor. “Now we’re hearing all sorts of things,” she muttered. “That boy—he still lives with you. Well-known mafia members come and go.”
I needed a refill.
I walked into the living room and poured a new glass.
“Do you even care, West?” she pressed.
“I care about a lot of things,” I replied. “I care about finally being reunited with the love of my life. I care about our family, our children, our friends?—”
“Your friends?” she laughed. “And who are they?”
“Oh, I’m sure Dad has a list of names,” I said dryly. “I take it that’s why he wants to disown me, then? Because Alfie’s in touch with his family on the O’Shea and Murray side?”
She jutted her chin. “So you won’t even deny it.”
“Am I supposed to?”
“Yes!” she cried out. “Yes, you are, West! You’re supposed to do more than that! You’re supposed to choose your own family over an entire mafia organization!”
I took a quick sip of the whiskey, then set the glass on the coffee table. “I did choose. Ironically, it’s Alfie who’s been trying to get me to call you—or, at the very least, make sure the children maintain a relationship with you.”
She had nothing to say to that. She merely watched me as if I spoke in a language she couldn’t understand.
“But I think I’ll pass,” I said. “If Dad wants to disown me, I won’t stand in his way. It’s not the threat you think it is.”
Confusion and hurt flicked by for a moment, and I could practically read her mind in that instant. She knew me as little as I knew her. She was just realizing it now.
“What happened to you?”
“I stopped pretending.” I couldn’t help but get a little cold in my response, because I was so over this. If I was completely honest, I probably hadn’t planned for more than a hiatus. Despite Alfie’s worries, I supposed I saw us moving on one day to keep the peace somehow, to see my parents every once in a while, if only for the children. But now…? What was the point? They were never going to change, and I was never going back to what had once lost me my husband.
Shan did have a point. I could exist in more than one world—but my parents’ wasn’t one of them. Instead, I had work. I had Alfie’s family, his parents and grandparents and cousins and…all of them. And then, the Sons of Munster. More cousins. A new uncle for Alfie whom I enjoyed golfing with.
In a couple of weeks, Alfie was going to put on nice clothes and accompany me to the annual holiday party at my office. We were going to drink Christmas cocktails and eat shrimp. We were going to survive by sending each other lingering looks that promised of later . And the morning after, we’d head out to Finn and Emilia’s for our own little Christmas brunch and gift exchange.
Those were my worlds.
“So that’s it,” Mom said. “We’re the enemy now.”
No. She had that wrong.
I shook my head. “I never viewed you as the enemy, Mom. I’m grateful for how easy you made my life in many ways. You gave me opportunities most people only dream of. But I never wanted to act like I’m better than everyone else—and that’s what gets you up in the morning.”
She had the nerve to look offended.
“Don’t fucking deny it,” I murmured. “Not once did you try to make Alfie feel welcome in our family. Instead, you went out of your way to show him he’d never fit in. But in doing so, you alienated me as well.” I paused when she broke eye contact. “For God’s sake, you’ve never worked a day in your life, and you still have the audacity to call people working minimum wage lazy .”
That one earned me a glare. “That’s unfair. You’re taking that out of context. I merely point out that everyone who wants to get somewhere in this country can.”
“Very easy to say when you were born at the top.”
She scoffed. “Not this again. If I hear about the alleged one-percent one more time?—”
“Alleged?” I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. “It’s fucking statistics. It’s not something people fabricated.”
She shook her head and put on her gloves again. “You’ve clearly made up your mind. Your father and I have done everything for you—and this is the thanks we get.”
It was no use to argue. She’d never understand or admit to a single wrongdoing.
I was better off just opening the door for her, which I did.
“If you say so, Mom. Have a wonderful life.”
She threw me one more dirty look on her way out.
It was curious to me that she hadn’t protested about not seeing the children…
With perfect timing, Shan had pulled up next to my car, and he was about two seconds away from crossing paths with my mother.
He nodded politely and let her pass. “Hello.”
Mom said nothing at first, but she did turn around to look back at me. “That’s Shannon O’Shea, son. Do you not realize that?”
Shan’s expression flashed with surprise, followed by confusion at what was going on.
“Yes, he’s been kind enough to help me plan my proposal to Alfie,” I replied smoothly. “Enjoy your walk home. Give Dad my best.” With that said, I shifted my attention to Shan and nodded for him. “Come on in, my friend. Pardon the moving-box mess in the hallway.”
“Are you packing up so soon?” he asked and walked in.
“This is from Alfie’s house.” I shut the door and locked it. “We’re finally handing over the keys next week.”
The house hadn’t been difficult to sell, considering the upgrades Alfie had made in the two years he’d lived there, nor had we been involved much in the process of selling it. But to me, the date of handing over the keys marked the end of a miserable period where I’d been without him.
“So that was your mother…” He managed to pull off a wry little smirk at the same time as his eyes reflected a bit of concern. “It’s rarely a good thing when someone knows who I am without knowing me.”
Yes, well.
“I’m familiar with that,” I chuckled. “She’s just being her old self. She had problems with Alfie from day one, and now she’s upset that I no longer put up with her judgment.”
“I see.”
I gestured for the kitchen, because I was hungry. It’d been stupid to drink before having something to eat.
“How was Boston?”
“Windy. They’ve had snow already.” I opened the fridge and pulled out some leftovers. Pizza rolls, some chicken and rice casserole, and marinara with deli meatballs. “I spoke to Alfie every night, and of course he felt the need to mimic the accent.”
Shan rumbled a laugh. “I can imagine it.”
“I can’t unhear it.” I grinned and opened a cupboard. “Are you hungry? The last thing I ate was a half-crushed Biscoff in the lounge at Logan.”
“I crumble them in my ice cream,” he admitted. “I had a late breakfast, but this looks good.”
Two plates, it was.
“So he actually believes we’re playing golf now?” he asked. “It’s frigid outside.”
“He might have too much on his mind to question my golf habits,” I replied. “He told me about the, uh…you know.”
He nodded. “I figured. I’m glad they were caught.”
Even though he was here to help me with my proposal plans, I wanted his views on what I’d struggled with lately.
I filled the two plates and set the first one in the microwave. Then I opened the bread box, because you couldn’t have marinara without bread.
“May I ask how you justify the urge to kill someone who’s hurt a loved one?” I asked. “Because that’s all I can think about. I keep telling myself I want them dead without me—or Alfie—pulling the trigger, but I…” I sighed heavily. “I told Alfie I don’t want to go near them. What I didn’t tell him was that I fear I wouldn’t be able to hold back.”
He nodded slowly. “The urge is easy to justify. I think it’s normal to want someone dead after they’ve harmed a loved one. The act itself is another matter.”
Fair.
“I trust we’re speaking in hypothetical terms here,” he added.
I chuckled through my nose, remembering my reality. “Yes, of course. I know you’ve never actually taken a life.”
“Right.” He sat down at the island and seemed to ponder his response. “When I was fifteen, my old man sat me down. He said I was going to pursue three things in my future to get all the perspectives I needed. One, family. I grew up in the syndicate—it was all I knew. Number two, something that took me away from everything I knew. That’s why I joined the Army. And three, a second world to create a balance. And, given the nature of my first world, I chose what, to me, represented innocence. I chose to work with children. I wanted to do good.”
I had read about that, starting with an old article in which Shannon O’Shea had attended a banquet with his wife, where they raised money for families dealing with trauma in children. Shan had been a much-respected voice in that field before he’d retired.
“I can’t tell you how many children I’ve met who were angry, downright murderous, because Daddy hit Mommy all the time,” he said. “Children who’ve been abused and neglected themselves, children who’ve come here from war zones, children who’ve been abandoned… The urge to protect themselves or a sibling, or a mother, is there from such a young age, West.”
The microwave dinged, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to move. I just stood there on the other side of the island and listened.
“I had one patient—a boy, seven years old,” he went on. “His mother had recently lost custody, so the boy and his older sister were living in a group home. And every session, he spoke of wanting to kill Mommy for what she’d done.”
I folded my arms over my chest as something deflated within me. He wasn’t about to give me a magic solution to all my problems. He was merely going to paint the whole world gray. Or what little black-and-white I had left.
“He had grown up with violence, neglect, addiction, and sexual assault,” he said. “As far as I know, he never pulled a trigger—but would you blame him if he had?”
So much for his world of innocence.
“We grow up hearing that life isn’t fair, which is certainly true,” he continued. “But we do our best by being part of a society that pushes for fair laws for all. We decided that murder is wrong, no matter what. Still, several states have the death penalty. We support our troops, many of whom come home after ending lives on a battlefield. We look back on history and watch interviews with Nazi soldiers who were simply following orders .”
I scrubbed a hand over my face.
He cleared his throat. “The short answer is, I gave up. I stopped pretending I could be what even a modern society’s structure couldn’t. Society isn’t fair at all. I’m not convinced it’s actually possible. There will always be hypocrisy and injustice. Because we keep trying to make things black-and-white when humanity is anything but.”
And there it was. The damn black-and-white.
“In other words, you’ve created your own society with the Sons,” I deduced quietly.
He inclined his head. “That’s a good way of putting it.”
“And you’ve given up justifying reasoning as much as acts. Hypothetically speaking.”
He let out a chuckle. “We didn’t give up. We reevaluated. The giving up part is personal. We have our own laws, and they revolve around protecting our interests, including our community, our families, and our values. This is nothing you haven’t heard before.”
He was right about that.
“In the unlikely event that God is real, I’ll let him judge me,” he said. “In the meantime, I will hurt those who’ve harmed my loved ones. I will do anything to protect my family, and I don’t feel guilty about that.”
Something loosened in my chest.
I will do anything to protect my family, and I don’t feel guilty about that.
In the end, it wasn’t a matter of justifying anything, then. It was a matter of accepting that I no longer believed in black-and-white.
I swallowed and turned around to get the food from the microwave.
The second plate went in next, and I pushed the first one across the island to Shan.
“What about ramifications, doc?” I asked, grabbing utensils. “How to be able to live with oneself after taking a life?”
He broke off a piece of bread. “You drive me to drink, West.”
I let out a laugh. “By all means. I’ll go get the whiskey.”
“No, it’s all right,” he chuckled. “I take it you’re concerned about Alfie.”
“Well, yes. He’s chosen this life and will be exposed to situations where he’s more free to decide someone’s punishment. Out here in the world that pretends to be black-and-white, we hand things over to the police and a courtroom.”
“Mm.” He nodded and chewed, and he dragged the bread through the marinara.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” I pointed.
“My God, yes. Who made this?”
“Giulia. She cooks for Alfie whenever I’m out of town.” It’d been that way during our marriage too.
“She should open a restaurant.” He reached for the napkin holder by the knives. “I understand your fears, mate. I do. But in Alfie’s case, I don’t think you need to worry. He actually needs to confer with Kellan before taking any action. Alfie isn’t part of a street crew. The inner circle turns to Finn, Kellan, and Colm for counsel and orders.”
That was only reassuring when the people deserving punishment hadn’t viciously assaulted his mother.
“You do realize he’s John Murray’s son biologically,” I said. “Is your criminal bunch of malcontents known for holding back when a crime has been committed against you or people you love?”
He furrowed his brow at me and set down his fork.
“It’s his mother, Shan,” I reminded him. “What did Finn do when his mother was murdered?”
I wasn’t going to bring up Patrick. Grace O’Shea was enough of a personal blow.
It wasn’t a coincidence that practically an entire mafia organization in Italy had been wiped off the face of the earth following the deaths of Grace and Patrick.
“You know, I thought I was coming over here to show you the listings from Killarney,” he said. “I had my Realtor in Dublin get up at the crack of dawn and everything.”
My mouth twitched. We’d get to that. I’d buy a nice little cottage or something, and I’d propose there.
“How about I buy you a nice driver?” I suggested.
“Is that what’s causing me to slice the balls? Because I’ve tried?—”
“No, not at all. That’s all on you. But a nice driver is a nice driver.”
He scoffed under his breath and stabbed a meatball with his fork. “Alfie will be fine, West. He told Kellan to physically hold him back… Excuse me.” He pulled out his phone and frowned at the display. It just said Eric. “Yes, Eric?”
It reminded me to check my own phone, to see if Phil had responded.
Shan cursed and turned away slightly.
I hoped nothing was wrong.
Phil’s message flashed on the screen, and he’d responded less than a minute after I’d sent my text.
Happy to help. Also happy to relieve you of a ticket or two. When am I picking the ankle biters up from school? Am I dropping them off there tomorrow too?
He was a godsend, as always. Now I could make dinner plans for Alfie and me. We needed to talk things through properly tonight, so I wouldn’t be a walking train wreck tomorrow.
“And you’re sure he knows the address?” Shan pressed.
His conversation was definitely not going as well as mine with Phil. I thanked him for helping out, gave him the information he needed, and promised to stop by with bagels tomorrow morning when we picked up the children. Well, Alfie would. I’d be at work.
“All right, thank you for letting me know,” Shan said. “Keep trying to reach Kellan and Finn.” He ended the call and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I may have spoken too soon about Alfie.”
Excuse me?
He faced me and looked a lot more tired than before. “Colby was shadowing Eric today at Finn’s office, and the boy essentially spent the morning trying to find more evidence from the attackers. Which…he did.”
He didn’t need to elaborate further. Colby had found more videos, hadn’t he?
I clenched my jaw and rubbed a hand over my mouth. “There’s a video of Giulia, isn’t there?”
He inclined his head. “And he told Alfie about it. Who, in turn, demanded to see the video.”
Oh Christ, no.
I went rigid as something Shan had said came back to me, about knowing an address…? Was that about Alfie?
“Where is he now?” I demanded, alarm shooting through me.
He sighed and got off the stool. “He’s on his way to the safehouse—and I don’t suppose I need to ask if you’re coming with me.”
Absolutely not. We should be in the car already.
Please don’t do something you can’t live with, baby.
“I’ll drive.” I stalked out of the kitchen.
“No, you’re not. I can already tell you’re about to break every speed limit on the way.”
I threw him a glare over my shoulder. “Now’s not the time to preach about being a law-abiding citizen.”
“You don’t speed toward a crime scene, West. I’m driving. Besides, your car is like a book with a stunning cover and blank pages. There’s barely any power under the hood.”