Chapter 46
“How have you been?”I ask Mari once we’re both seated with our coffees.
“Not great, honestly.”
“Yeah, it’s been a rough couple of months for me, too. I think the whole kidnapping thing got to me more than I realized.” I read from my mental script, playing the part of distraught victim.
When thinking about how to handle this meeting, I decided to try deception first. Mari was eager to see me when I got back from Canada. She was genuinely upset when I broke up with her. Either she’s one hell of an actress with balls of steel or things aren’t what they seem. Going in soft and seeing what I can learn felt like the best tactic. If I’m getting nowhere using that angle, I’ll pivot.
“I can’t imagine. It had to have been terrifying.”
“Oddly enough, I wasn’t as worried at first as I was later. The men whose robbery we interrupted were clearly just as surprised by us as we were by them. I kept thinking they’d take what they came for and leave us behind. Even when we were at that airplane hangar in Canada, I didn’t see how killing us served any purpose. The fear really kicked in when our plane crashed. That next week was pretty awful.”
She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I was so worried when you disappeared.”
“My cousin said you came looking for me at the gym.”
“I was desperate to know what had happened. You’re not the type to ignore people, so I knew something was wrong.”
“You were right to worry.” I inject a touch of frailty into my smile. “I was in a lot of trouble. I think it didn’t fully set in until I got home, and then it all felt like too much. I’ve needed some time to process everything.”
“That’s understandable. How has your family been since you got back? They keeping a close eye on you?”
Mari may not have known about the criminal element of my family while we were together, but I’d complained to her about my cousins treating me with kid gloves and not letting me be a part of their boys” club.
“They’ve actually been pretty great. No hovering or locking me away in a cage.” I pause to redirect things. “About them, I’m a little surprised you were willing to meet up now that you know the truth about what I do and have seen how dangerous it can be. I figured that would probably scare you off.”
Her gaze drops to the coffee cup in her hands. “It’s not ideal, but I know you, and you’re not a monster. You protect people, not hurt them.”
“I handle security, but that doesn’t make me a saint. I hurt people if I have to,” I say softly.
“Only when you have to—that’s a big caveat,” she urges. “You’re a good person, Shae. I know you are. And I’m willing to wait for you to sort things out if it means having a chance with you.”
I can’t find a single suspicious thread to pull in any of her responses. I debate confronting her directly with questions about her name and the lack of an online identity but decide to try one more avenue.
“That’s very generous of you. I appreciate how understanding you’ve been, even getting together on short notice. I’d like to keep talking, but I actually have a family wedding to get to.”
“Ah, I wondered if there was a special occasion. You look stunning.”
“Thank you.” I stand from my chair, and she follows suit. “No big date or anything like that, in case you were wondering.” I give her a wink.
Her answering smile is radiant.
“Can I have a hug before I go?” I ask hesitantly.
“Of course.” She opens her arms, and I wrap her in an embrace, making sure to snake my hand stealthfully into her open boho tote purse.
My plan is to take her wallet and see what I might find, but when my hand unexpectedly connects with the distinct feel of a passport booklet, I nab that instead. It’s too unusual to ignore. Who carries a passport around in their purse?
She said she’d been out of town, but it still seems strange. Plus, I know she doesn’t drive, so she probably doesn’t have a driver’s license in her wallet. This is my best bet for getting information.
I slide the booklet up the sleeve of my jacket and squeeze her arms affectionately as I pull away. “It really is great to see you. Maybe we can do lunch this week?”
Happiness shines in her eyes. “Yeah, I’d love that. Definitely.”
“I’ll give you a text tomorrow.”
We give one last goodbye and part ways from the coffee shop, going in opposite directions. I force myself to wait until I’m a full city block away before I slip into an alley and examine my find. It’s a US passport, the edges worn from regular activity as though she keeps it in her purse often. Inside, I find her photo and the name Marsela Kola, not Mari Cola.
Such a small distinction, but it makes all the difference in the world because the Italian girl I thought I knew is actually Albanian.
It can’t be a coincidence.
No matter how convincing she may have been, Mari is somehow linked to the men who took us and that airstrip in Quebec. I flip through the pages and see multiple stamps for Canada. None for Albania, but that doesn’t mean anything. I consider myself Irish American, but I’ve never actually been to Ireland.
The woman I screwed for six fucking months is a fraud. She fed her family information about our guns that she somehow skimmed from me. I was the source. Everything that happened was because of me.
Renzo was right. It was all my fault.
My rage and frustration consume me with such ferocity that I struggle to breathe.
I try so fucking hard to prove myself worthy of the Byrne name and the respect it deserves. I strive every single day to show that women are equally as capable as men, especially in criminal pursuits where violence, strength, and bravery are essential to success. And I didn’t even abide by my own lessons. I never considered Mari to be a threat because she’s a woman.
What a fucking hypocrite I’ve been.
And blind. So fucking blind.
Now, I have to go to my family—to Renzo and his family—and tell them that it was all my fault. I inadvertently leaked the information that almost got us killed. Am I supposed to do that at my brother’s wedding? Because there’s no way I can go and pretend to be fine. They’ll know something’s wrong and demand the truth.
I’d rather miss his wedding than have my shame broadcast to the entire family at the event. I’m not proud of how I feel, but it is what it is.
Now, I have an inkling of how Oran must have felt when he learned his wife was responsible for the betrayal that led to our dad’s death. I thought he’d taken it hard at the time, but now I see the incredible fortitude he must have had to keep from falling apart.
The guilt and shame. It’s sickening.
I literally have to choke back my self-disgust as it rises in the back of my throat. I definitely can’t go to the wedding. Not now. I consider going after Mari right now and force her to confess everything. The intensity of my need to follow her is what stops me. I’m a little scared of what I might do to her. I shouldn’t be. She probably doesn’t deserve my grace, but I decide not to act while I’m still overcome with such extreme emotions.
Instead, I start to walk with no destination in mind. I just walk.
I’m embarrassed and ashamed and so fucking furious with myself and with her. The emotions claw at my heels, spurring me on faster while tear-filled eyes blur my vision and slow me down—pushed and pulled by opposing forces that keep me perpetually frustrated. My life is no different. I have to be tough but sensitive. Cautious yet bold. And above all, flawless.
As a woman in a man’s world, I am absolutely not allowed to show weakness because it will be weaponized and used against me without fail.
I do my best every day not to let the double standards get to me. I know my worth. I also know that not everyone will see it. Little setbacks rarely faze me.
This is different. A crack in the foundation I’ve stood upon for years. I start to wonder if stepping down wouldn’t be best for my family, whether I do it for Renzo or not. My confidence is so profoundly shaken that I don’t know what to think. I don’t know how to process it, so I do the only thing I can and move forward.
I walk for what feels like ages, though I don’t know for sure because I refuse to look at my phone. I walk until the sky is dark, and my feet take me home of their own volition.
I numbly jab the elevator call button when I reach the lobby of my building. The light dings, announcing its arrival. I lean forward, my weight shifted in anticipation of escaping upstairs, only the universe isn’t done toying with me yet. When the doors open, Renzo Donati stands on the other side.
My lungs seize tight on a wheezing gasp as though I’ve been sucker punched. “What are you doing here?” I blurt, my panicked brain unable to properly process as my skittering heart forgets how to beat.
Renzo’s entire face goes dark, each sculpted edge suddenly razor sharp. “What the fuck is going on? Where have you been?”
“You should go. This isn’t a good time.” I shake my head and inch backward.
Quick as a striking viper, he clasps my hand and tugs me into the elevator car.
“Renzo, please. I’ll call you tomorrow. I just need some space right now.”
“You can beg all you want. I’m not going anywhere except up to your place, where you’re going to tell me exactly what the fuck is going on.”
Like a wounded animal backed into a corner, I wrench my wrist from his grip and back away to the opposite wall of the elevator. “You have no right to demand anything from me.” I sound like I’m possessed, hissing at him for seemingly no reason, but I can’t stop myself.
Maybe I am possessed. Maybe that’s what he’s been trying to tell me all along.
Renzo refuses to give an inch, closing the gap between us and forcing my gaze to his with a hand cupping my jaw. “Good thing I don’t give a fuck about rights. I take what I want, and I’m done waiting.”
His lips slam down on mine, a sensual assault that makes my battered heart weep. With joy. With devastation. His kiss breaks me down to nothing and builds me back up, but underneath it all, I’m still the same flawed little girl I’ve always been.
I’m the first to pull back, tears finally cascading down my cheeks. “You want the truth. I’ll tell you.” My voice is toneless. As empty as my heart feels. “The guns, the kidnapping, it was all my fault. You were right to blame me.” As the elevator doors open behind me, I spread my hands wide in supplication. “I am chaos.”