19. Housekeeping, You Fucking Prick
Chapter nineteen
Housekeeping, You Fucking Prick
Kira
I woke with a scream, as the smell of bacon and the sound of voices infiltrated my dreams.
“Cillian!” I screamed, pulling myself from bed, seeing myself in pajamas I hadn’t put on last night.
I rushed out of the room into the living room, feeling an unfamiliar ache in my thighs, almost stumbling as I went.
“Cillian!”
I slammed the bedroom door open to find that my son was just happily bouncing in his high chair. In front of him were cups of coffee and a donut. Chocolate frosting with sprinkles.
My estranged - or was he? - husband wore the the same jeans as before, but his chest was bare. His thick, corded muscles moved beneath his skin. The man was an animated Greek statue. I thought that I had romanticized him in my memories - longing did silly things to a person’s memories.
But no, he was the same. His square pecs, and tight abs belonged on an underwear ad campaign, and his blond hair, so much better than the brown he’d colored it, was tucked back behind his ears.
“Good morning, sweet Muse,” he said, sliding a coffee across the counter towards me. “You slept well.”
He was talking as if the world hadn’t fucking changed. Like we had lived here, together, our whole lives, and had always had this sort of domestic bliss in the morning.
“Our son woke up early, and we went out to the cafe to get you breakfast,” he said, as though he was describing the weather.
Our son.
The words had so much meaning, even if there was nothing strange with how he said it.
“I hope you wore a shirt,” I said, prickling with unreasonable jealousy. Did he show his naked torso to other women the way he had in the park, when he’d run in front of all the Tiffanys? Was he on display for them?
“I did, but it rained, and I had to tuck the wean under my jacket.” He smirked, as if he could read my thoughts, and liked it. “The squirmy little monster got me soaked. I’m running my things through the dryer downstairs.”
I could see that happening. Cillian never liked being wrapped up, even when it was pouring outside.
“Monster!” Cillian said, lifting his arms up, making grabby hands towards Eoghan.
He leaned down in front of the tray of his high chair, and smiled. “ You are the monster, wean!” he said as he bopped him on the nose. “You can call me Dada.”
I stood beside Cillian, placing a hand on his shoulder, needing to touch him to know that he was alright. At least for now.
Eoghan didn’t seem to care. He kept on plating parts of Magda’s familiar green bean casserole, before he put one on the counter with a fork, and pushed it towards me.
“Eat,” he commanded, and I wasn’t sure if disobeying was worth it.
I would have to play this smart if I was to survive.
I inventoried all the ways that he could harm me - he could take my son away. He could dive into how my cover was created, and hurt Paradigm. He had all the power.
Once again, I was in the wretched position of being under a man’s power. The place I had fought so hard not to be. But it kept happening, again and again.
“Eat.” Eoghan gave the donut a pointed look, like he was an aggravated tutor and I was a disobedient student. “Drink your coffee. You’ll need it.”
Need it for what?
I was scared to ask the questions. Scared to make him angry. Scared to misstep.
I took one bite of the sweet pastry and put it down.
My mouth was so dry and I was so scared that I could hardly taste it.
“What happens now?” I asked, terrified of the answer.
Would he lock me in a room again? I looked at my son, and wanted to hold him. To kiss him, and cling to him like he was my last lifeline because they would take him from me. I knew it. There were consequences for touching a Green. And I had transgressed in the worst possible way.
“You’re going to eat and fix that dye job on your hair,” he said, nudging the fork towards me. “Then you’ll pack,and we will go home.”
“Monster!” Cillian sang, as he squished a bit of egg between his thumb and forefinger, then reached out his chubby arm to offer it to Eoghan.
“Dada,” Eoghan corrected him.
“Monster!” Cillian responded.
“We’ll work on that, son,” he said with a small smile.
Was it too much to hope that he’d just forgive me? That we’d just go back to what we were before I found Morelli? Yes. Yes it was. Because I had stolen his boy. And it was his boy. Maybe I wasn’t born in the life, but I understood power. He had it all, and I had none. Therefore, our son was his.
“Will you hurt me?” I asked, taking a sip of the coffee and wondering what cruelties this man had in store for me.
They said he had turned into his father after his death. That he’d exceeded him in cruelty in every possible way.
I felt his rough finger on my chin, as he tilted my face up.
“Do you want me to?” he asked, with a tilt of his head. “Will that make you feel better?”
His black eyes bored into mine, and I felt the familiar warmth pooling between my thighs. He must have worn contacts, and for the life of me, I could not remember what color they had been when he’d pretended to be Aaron Jackson. But they weren’t that intense onyx color, deeper than the abyss.
I could feel so much just from a look - the sense that he worshipped me with a devotion I didn’t deserve. Why? Why would I feel that, when I knew what he’d become? What he always was?
“I’m sorry about your father,” I whispered, hoping to win myself some points. Any sort of rapport might help keep him from stealing my son from me.
“Thank you,” he said, pulling his hand away. “Though I think you know that there was no real tragedy there.”
I had watched his father try to maim him. I had saved his hand. If he could remember…
“Aoibheann killed him.”
I almost dropped the cup on the table.
“Wh-what?”
“I don’t know how, still. He fell down the stairs. I’m wondering if she placed a curse on him. He was perfectly healthy and in the span of a week, became too weak and insane to manage a simple staircase he’d navigated for the past thirty years.” He shook his head, as he took the pan from the stove, and started to wash it in the sink. “The witch has moved on though, if you’re searching for allies, she’s quite a powerful one to have now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you heard?” he said, casually, as if we were talking about some distant family member. I suppose, to him, it was. “She married Jericho Vasiliev, head of the Bratva.”
I had heard. Of course I had, their marriage was in the papers, and even worse, they’d been in my intelligence briefs from Blink. When he mentioned Jericho Vasiliev, Blink had had a look in his eye like he was keeping something from me.
That wasn’t unusual, of course, because Blink kept a lot of things from me. Things that were “need to know”. The best way to keep a secret was to never tell it, after all.
Eoghan gave Cillian a donut. Green with white shamrocks. The boy went mmmm with satisfaction before smashing his face into the frosting, licking it off the dough.
“He’s going to get a sugar high from this,” I shook my head, almost annoyed that this breakfast would turn my son into a bit of a monster.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Eoghan said, looking at me with those onyx eyes, “for next time.”
Next time.
Because he was taking me back home. That was the point.
Back to that insane mansion, where everything first went wrong for us. Where everything was always wrong with him. Or maybe he’d take me back to his penthouse in New York City instead? I’d prefer that… if I was allowed a choice.
“Did… did Aoibheann want to get married?” I asked.
“Not at first,” he said, picking up his own donut, before glaring at mine. A silent command to keep eating. I obeyed, and he continued, “But before the wedding, they came to some kind of agreement. Now, they love each other. Clear as day now. Expecting a baby, too.”
“She is?” I squirmed, remembering how she had wanted to avoid that at all costs. But if she was having one… maybe that meant she wanted it?
“Aye,” Eoghan said, taking my coffee cup and having a drink of his own. “So Cillian will have some playmates as he grows up.”
I froze again.
“Eoghan…” I whispered, staring into my coffee cup.
“Not now,” he growled. My eyes snapped up, and his face had darkened, as though a storm cloud was brewing over his head. “Do not test what good will I have, Mrs. Green. Be grateful that I am here to protect my family, not to exact revenge.”
There he was. The Green we all knew about. The man of fable. A legend that had gotten darker each year, as reports of wrecked ships and burned warehouses became a thing of violent legend.
I should have listened to Cosima. I should have believed her.
I would not shatter what semblance of peace we had by asking about Giovanni Morelli.
“Come quietly, sweet Muse,” he reached out, placing his hand on mine. “Don’t hurt us more than you already have.”
I wished that my skin crawled at his quiet threat. I wished that I could feel some kind of fear. But whatever curse he’d placed on me, made me turn my palm up, so we could intertwine our fingers, and I drew comfort from it.
He took his finger and pushed a lock of hair behind my ear.
“I had hoped to win you over, like a normal man,” he said, as he leaned down, bringing our faces closer together over the linoleum table. “I wanted to give you the time that I hadn’t when I was myself. But now…” He shook his head. “I must get you home and safe.”
A loud banging on the door cut us off, as he and I jumped.
Eoghan looked at me, with terror in his eyes, as he gestured for me to grab Cillian. I did. Without hesitation, un-trapping him from the high chair and holding him to me.
The banging continued, as Eoghan went into the drawer, touching the underside of my hidden Glock. So he had found it.
He charged the weapon and placed it behind his back, before going to the door.
“Who is it?” he asked, his finger on the trigger.
“Housekeeping you fucking prick.”
The vaguely familiar voice made me slump.
Eoghan relaxed, opening the door.
“What?” he asked, as the woman pushed in.
“The Italians have found you.” Sinead Flanagan, the woman who had been my escape was clad in a leather jacket and leather boots. The hair that had been short and blonde was now black. But it was unmistakable. Her heart shaped face and small, doll-like lips were a standard of beauty from Edwardian time, and her pale skin and rosy cheeks from the bitter cold outside.
“How?” Eoghan glared, as if it was her fault.
Fuck! As if things couldn’t get any fucking worse…
Out of their sight, I touched the edge of my purse, until I found my phone. I pulled it out, pressing three buttons that triggered a sequence that would destroy it, the data inside, and send a distress signal. A signal that might not go fast enough to save me… but if there was a chance to save Cillian… I would take it.
I held Cillian closer, before I called, “Sinead?”
“Aunty!” My son said, recognizing her from the day she’d spent with us months ago.
“Hi sweetheart,” Sinead smiled, then looked at me apologetically. “Hi, Kira.”