Chapter Forty-Three Tiernan
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
TIERNAN
The morning I flew to Vegas with Achilles and Luca, I stopped at my sister’s apartment to ask her to take care of Lila. I issued similar requests to Da and Fintan. Not that my father was capable of taking care of a goldfish, but hey, at least he’d feel included.
Camorra and Irish soldiers were already in Vegas, preparing ammo and transportation.
I didn’t want to go.
But I didn’t have a choice, either.
Alex had every reason to kill me. Which was ironic, because for the first time, I actually found a reason to live.
My little expiration project proved to be successful. Fintan was right. I found a reason to live. I just hoped I didn’t die doing something stupid.
I showed myself into Tierney’s apartment, as always.
I heard the shower running and waited in the living room until my sister was done. Her place was too frou-frou for my taste. Compensation for the time we spent sleeping in piss-soaked cots, I suppose. I gave myself a leisurely tour, checking out the new art she purchased.
Something on the credenza under a genuine Emilia Spencer painting made me stop. A piece of mangled paper peeking from under a vase. It had a phone number and a name.
Tom Rothwell.
My nostrils flared.
That eejit.
That goddamn fool.
“Hey.” Tierney materialized from the corridor, draped in a silk black bathrobe. She used a towel to dry the red strings of her hair. “What’s up?”
Whirling toward her, I held the piece of paper between my index and middle finger. “You tell me.”
Her pink cheeks paled, her lips pressing into a hard line.
“Wow, a piece of paper.” She rolled her eyes with a laugh, recovering. “Call the press.”
“Tom Rothwell is a federal agent.”
I made it a point to know everything that happened at 26 Federal Plaza. I had surveillance of everyone coming and going into the building around the clock.
There were two governmental agencies any prolific criminal worked hard to avoid—the FBI and the IRS. Tierney willingly keeping a fed’s number could only mean one thing.
“There’s more than one Tom Rothwell in the world.” She folded her arms defensively. “Maybe even in New York.”
“Cut the shit, Tierney.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What the fuck are you doing, talking to the feds? Are you really that far gone?”
We were both screwed up, but I always held myself together. It worried me that I was putting my trust in this woman to protect my wife while I was gone when she did a shit job protecting her own ass.
“Fine.” Tierney shrugged. “So what if I’m talking to him? It’s got nothing to do with our work.”
“Everything’s to do with our work.”
“He doesn’t care about the Irish. We’re small fry. It’s the Camorra he is after,” she insisted. “If I could help him—”
“You couldn’t,” I snarled. “The Ferrantes will find out before you make a move. If they haven’t already.”
Vello had dirty feds working for him. He knew the FBI better than they knew themselves.
I massaged my temples, using every ounce of my self-control not to strangle her. She was going to rat out the people I was going to board a plane with tonight to take down the Bratva. My sister was batshit.
“Relax, we only had a coffee. Once. He knows nothing, and I don’t intend on giving him anything until you settle things in Vegas.”
Now that I thought about it, she’d been sulking a whole fucking lot recently. My sister could never be accused of being happy. But recently, she was downright miserable. I was too drunk on my wife’s cunt to pay attention.
“What’s your angle?” I growled.
Her cheeks were ablaze. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“I’m tired of this life, Tiernan. Tired of capitalizing on people’s weaknesses and addictions.
Tired of the parties and pretending to be something I’m not.
A social butterfly. An it girl. I want to retire somewhere nice.
Coastal. European. I want dirty martinis and a clean conscience.
Good books and maybe a gently reared husband to cook for every evening.
It’s not much…” She stared hard at her toes, painted in shiny black. “But it’s enough for me.”
“You can have all those things without throwing everyone you know under the bus,” I whispered.
“No, I can’t.” She looked like the little girl in Siberia. Flustered, scared, and unsure. “You don’t have Achilles breathing down your neck, holding your future in his palm, dangling it in front of you.”
“What are you talking about?” I stared at her in disbelief. “I married the don’s daughter.”
“Come on, Tiernan.” She shook off my hand, which I hadn’t realized was clutching her wrist. She glided toward the kitchen.
“You wanted Lila from the get-go. Fell for her before you even put a ring on it. You spared her life,” she whispered the last part.
“You’ve never shied away from killing someone. ”
“I’m not in love with her,” I corrected wryly. “We learned to get along, as you will with whoever Achilles chooses for you.”
“That you’d let him choose anyone for me shows how little you care about me. The power the Ferrantes have given you has corrupted you.” She wrenched an open wine bottle from her fridge, taking a swig from it.
“There was nothing left to corrupt.” I parked my elbows on the breakfast nook between us.
“Besides, the Ferrantes rule the East Coast. Refusing Achilles meant war. I needed to bide my time. See how shit unfolded.”
This was a bold-ass lie. I never tried to free her of the arrangement. I didn’t think it was necessarily a bad thing for Tierney to settle down with someone who wasn’t scared of her antics. If Achilles chose well—which he’d promised me he would—my sister could finally be at peace.
Tierney put the wine on the counter and splayed her fingers, staring at her burgundy nails. “I’m going to ruin this bastard, Tiernan, if it’s the last thing I do in this life. I promise you, none of the heat is going to circle back to us. We’ll get immunity.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I ran a hand over my hair.
“Listen to yourself. If the Ferrantes catch you, I won’t be able to help you.
Nor will any of your fancy artist and politician friends.
And if this somehow touches Lila…” I raised a finger between us in warning, struggling to control my anger.
“It’s not just the Ferrantes you will have to worry about.
I will personally put a bullet in your head. ”
“Why?” Her eyes zinged victoriously. “Thought you said you didn’t love her.”
“I don’t,” I countered. “But I vowed to protect her. She’s my wife.”
“If you really want to protect her, strike an immunity deal wit—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
My sister huffed, realizing she wasn’t gonna win this one. “Anyway, what’d you come here for?”
“My wife, actually.” I turned my back to her, pretending to examine a painting on her wall to avoid her shit-eating smirk. I stuffed my hands into my pockets. “I need you to keep an eye on her while I’m in Vegas.”
“Of course,” she said diligently. “Unlike you, I don’t mind admitting I love Lila.”
“She’s going to have around-the-clock security,” I ignored her dig. “Plus, I hired Ransom Lockwood’s company to do patrols around the neighborhood, so all I need is for you to keep her company and take her to her OB-GYN appointment.”
“Gotcha.”
“I’ll see what I can do about Achilles.”
I turned around, scanning her face. She looked exhausted, but also tough as nails.
“Okay,” she said quietly.
“But I mean it, Tierney. Don’t fuck with the feds. If you do, I won’t be able to save you. Not this time.”
A sad smile touched her lips. “I know.”
_______
My next stop was a sex shop.
I was only going to be gone for a couple days, but Lila needed to sleep, and she couldn’t do that without at least two orgasms.
I’d put her to bed every night for the past few months after pleasuring her with my tongue and cock. She was dependent on it. It was a habit we’d need to break at some point. But that point was going to come after I killed the Rasputins and found her rapist.
Besides, I’d met worse chores.
At the store, I purchased a suction vibrator and a wand massager. I steered clear of mammoth-sized dildos. The mere thought of something else inside her made my eye twitch. I could barely come to terms with the fact the baby was going to come out of her cunt.
The baby.
Now that we were a few weeks shy of his arrival, all sorts of thoughts crept into my head.
We did not think this arrangement through.
What if he were another race? Half Asian? Black? Pacific Islander? A dead giveaway I wasn’t the father? My entire suspect list was Caucasian, but there was a vast different between Italian Caucasian and Irish Caucasian.
What if she’d pour all her love and attention on the baby and forget about me?
Yes, I was jealous of an unborn baby.
No, I wasn’t above such notions.
I all but stomped my way back home, clutching the discreet sex shop bag in a chokehold. When I walked in, I spotted Imma in the kitchen, making pasta and singing out of tune in Italian.
“Imma,” I barked. “Take the evening off.”
She looked up from the boiling tomato sauce, startled. “Where would I go?”
“Do I look like a fucking tour guide?” I gestured to my face. “Have my driver take you to the movies. Or drive you up and down the street in circles. I don’t care.”
She gave me a disgruntled glare, but didn’t argue.
I found Lila in our bedroom, drawing. She looked up from her sketchbook when I entered. Set her pencil down and flipped the sketchbook over on her nightstand.
“When are you leaving?”
I could hear her disapproving tone through her hand gestures alone. The only other person I knew so thoroughly, so completely, was Tierney.
“About an hour. Plane’s engine is already running.”
I was keeping her brothers waiting, but I didn’t care. I found myself increasingly caring less and less about what happened outside my bed, and the woman inside it.
Pushing off the wall, I advanced toward her.
“What’s in the bag?”