Chapter 32
32
C ALLAN
Sometimes, the best way to change your life is to leave it all behind, and that’s exactly what Hudson did after my father’s death.
It’s not too often when someone so intricately enmeshed in a life of crime takes such a drastic measure to alter the path of his life.
He had no family, no kids, and no one to care for other than himself.
He said he was too old to live that kind of life, and by old, he meant tired.
He wasn’t that old in years, but he surely wanted to live the rest of his life differently.
I can’t blame him.
I wouldn’t say no to making that change myself––I muse, taking in the gated community comprised of over one thousand hectares of forest and coastal landscape not far from Tamarindo.
The road snakes up to a charming colonial modern house that screams luxurious living.
Wearing a long, flowing white shirt and sand-colored matching pants, Hudson, a man in his sixties, lounges casually on the terrace when he lifts his gaze from his book and flashes a smile at me.
A woman wearing a dress and an apron exits the house just as he rises from his chair.
They engage in a short dialogue while I push the door open and collect my travel bag from the car.
I packed light and had my baggage taken to the airport by one of my men, so I didn’t raise any suspicions.
“Long time no see,” Hudson says, opening his arms and broadening his smile while the woman goes inside.
“I told Maribel to set the table on the terrace if you don’t mind. I love the weather this time of year.”
“Works for me,” I say, grinning and briefly hugging and patting him on his back.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, running an admiring gaze over my frame. “You put on more muscle.”
“Not by choice,” I joke, and he shows me to the table on the terrace. “You didn’t have lunch, I suppose.”
“I didn’t get the chance.”
“Good.”
He glances over his shoulder before shifting his focus to the staff.
“Maribel, please take care of his driver. I’m sure the man is hungry, too.” He turns to me. “What time is your flight back?”
I check the time on my watch for no reason.
“Whenever I’m ready to go back.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me, studying me for a few moments.
“Can you stay a little longer? Now that you’re here…” he says.
I think about it for a few seconds.
Everything I left behind urges me to return as quickly as possible. If anything happens to Mackenzie, I’ll never forgive myself.
Other than my men, no one is there to protect her.
Alistair takes care of some business. Duncan is still in Montana. And Ewan? God knows where he is these days.
The corners of Hudson's eyes crinkle with a smile when he touches my arm.
“You’ll love it here,” he says before turning his focus to the housekeeper. “Maribel, get the guest bedroom ready upstairs. Chap, chap.”
The woman responds with a charming smile, which makes me think she is more than his housekeeper.
Hudson has never been committed to a woman. Who was it? Most of us couldn’t.
My father was, and we all know how that ended.
The same goes for Ewan and Duncan.
Alistair and I knew better, yet here I am, worrying about the woman I left home.
“Take a seat,” Hudson says, claiming one himself.
“I need to wash my hands first.”
“Sure.”
He pulls out of his seat and invites me in before showing me around the house.
The decor is a pleasant mix of rustic and modern. Wooden floors, immaculate walls, Spanish art, and luxurious plants.
He returns to the terrace while I enter the bathroom and check my phone again.
I’ve become obsessed with Beverly’s updates since she confirmed the police had picked up Carmen and her boys.
I make a quick call, and my men confirm things are calm. Nothing major’s going on.
Beverly suggested stopping my men from watching Mackenzie around the clock, and I’m tempted to do that.
She thinks that by leaving Mackenzie alone, my enemies will focus on me instead of her.
I agree with that to a point, but I’m not on board entirely.I wouldn’t take it kindly if anything bad happened to her.
My phone buzzes on the vanity as I finish washing my hands.I dry them with paper towels and answer the call.
“He’s name is O’Malley,” Beverly says.
I listen to the static, my hand frozen on my phone.
My phone pressed to my ear.
“Who the fuck is O’Malley?” I mutter.
“That’s the name I’ve got.”
“From whom?”
“I can’t reveal my source.”
“Bev?” I push out sternly.
“It’s not an official source. It’s someone from my old life.”
Beverly is not a person with a clean record.
She’s a villain like us.
She’s always been a villain.
Yet she’s worth every dollar I’ve spent on her after saving her ass and using my connections to solve a host of legal problems.
She and I have a few things in common.
She’s obsessed with what she does.
She has a weird sense of justice.
And she knows how to be loyal when she has to.
So, I trust her even though she doesn’t want to reveal her source.
“Okay,” I say halfheartedly.
A few moments of silence fill the room as I’m mulling over the next course of action.
“You do what you need to do,” she says. “I don’t want to know about it or have anything to do with it. I’ll give the info to your men.”
“You do that. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Sounds good…” she says, her voice trailing off. “There’s one more thing,” she eventually adds. “Whatever you choose to do, cut ties with your woman for the next, I don’t know? A couple of weeks? If shit hits the fan and you’re still with her, you risk having her killed or arrested. They can also harm her in other ways.”
“I know,” I say in a clipped voice, eager to move away from this conversation.
We hang up a moment later, and I stay still, my eyes trained on my phone, my finger hovering over the screen.
It takes me a few seconds to make up my mind, shove my phone into my pocket, and leave the bathroom.
I’ll talk to Hudson first and then make the call.
“Is everything all right?” Hudson asks as I inch closer and take a seat across from him at the wicker table.
“As good as it can be considering the circumstances.”
A restrained smile struggles on my lips.
“So…” he says before pushing his napkin across his lips, chewing on his food already.
He points to the food first.
“Try some of her food. It’s the best.” He must be talking about Maribel. “Ceviche, Arroz con pollo, and my favorite one, Casado.”
Meaning meat, rice, beans, fried plantains, and salad.
I pick up a fork and taste the food under his watchful eyes.
“I’m listening,” he says eventually, and I chew on my food before swallowing quickly and giving him the entire story.
The loss of the necklace. The setup. Being on a wild goose chase ever since.
And then the newest developments.
We are halfway through our meal when I drop the name I just got from Beverly.
“O’Malley,” he mutters pensively, chewing slowly while trying to come up with something I don’t already know. “Who the fuck is O’Malley?”
Looking down, I smile.
“That’s exactly what I said.”
He finishes chewing on his chicken, swallows hard, and takes a sip of wine.
“And the woman you just met?” he says with a glint in his eyes.
“She’ll become collateral damage if I don’t do something about it.”
“I see,” he murmurs, relaxing in his seat. “I can probably find out who this O’Malley is. Is he in New York right now?” he asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket and setting it on the table.
He pushes upright and rests his elbows on the table while scrolling down the list of names on his phone.
“Let me do this…” he murmurs, tapping a number and making a call.
The line rings when he snatches his phone and brings it to his ear.
“I have a name for you,” he says and a few moments pass.“Yeah,” he goes on. “Somewhere in New York.” He looks at me. “As soon as you can.”
He ends the call and sets his phone down, a frown forming on his forehead.
“No one survived that day as far as I know,” he says. “No one of significance.”
He’s talking about the night we put out all the people responsible for the deaths, and we got our revenge.
“I don’t think so.”
I resume eating when his phone rings on the table, and I put my fork down and drink some water, waiting for him to pick it up.
Hudson checks it and answers right away.
“Yeah…” he says, looking at me. “Okay.”
His gaze pulls away, which is not a good sign.
More so, a dark cloud creeps over his face, carving his features in surprise.
“Are you sure?”
The person at the other end of the phone line must say yes because without saying another word, Hudson taps his phone to end the call and places it on the table, face down.
His eyes stay trained on the table as if he can’t find his words, which is so not like him.
“Bad news, son,” he says in a stoic voice, lifting his gaze to me. “Your instincts were right. This is much more than a thug taking a jab at you. And more than that…” He searches my eyes before he continues, the same dark expression on his face. “This is an old story. Something your father never thought would make it to your ears. Or your brothers’ ears. Or even your mother’s.”
Clasping my hands together and resting my elbows on the table, I wait for him to elaborate.
“I’m listening.”
He takes in a long breath before speaking again.
“This doesn’t have to do with your father. This is about your grandfather.”
A pause ensues as I listen to him, not knowing what to expect.
“Your grandfather had a stepbrother.”
My eyebrows go up as I look at him incredulously.
“What?” I murmur, grappling with disbelief.
This is the first time I’m hearing about this.
He nods softly.
“Yes. Rory was his name. He moved to Italy and worked for Cosa Nostra after he got cut out of his father’s will at your great grandmother's insistence. And that would be your great grandfather’s will.”
My mouth falls open.
“What are you talking about? There was no one else in our family as far as I know.”
“You wouldn’t know. Your great grandparents were still young. And your grandfather himself was a young man. Rory didn’t grow up in your family. He was the product of an extramarital affair and sort of blackmailed his way into your family. His father––your great grandfather––imposed his will when he found out he’d fathered another child. The old man always wanted more boys. And Rory living in the same house with your grandfather, his father and his stepmother worked for a little while. But soon after, things went off the rails. The stepbrother had a temper…”
“As if my grandfather hadn’t.”
Smiling faintly, he nods.
“I can’t argue that. At any rate, your great grandmother, as the stubborn woman that she was, ultimately had the final say, and when everything unraveled, Rory threatened to kill her and got shot by your great grandfather, who then took him out of his will and never wanted to hear from him again.”
I pull my mouth closed.
“Is this him?” I ask eventually.
He shrugs, his gaze trailing down.
“That’s the thing. I don’t know. Word was that he was killed in a mafia war in Sicily. He was a hitman when he worked for the Italians. There was also word he had a son. And his son had a son.”
I sink my teeth into my lip, knowing what he’d say next.
“So it’s either him. Or his son. Or his nephew, the man who is about your age. And they know exactly who they’re messing with,” he says, his eyes drilling deep into mine.