Chapter One
- Alfie
Well, shit. That escalated quickly.
I hurdled over a stack of pallets as I skidded into the alley. Moretti’s men were right on my tail. It was my own damn fault, allowing myself to get distracted by the leggy blond barista at the coffee shop where I was supposed to be watching for Marco.
I'd always been good at blending into the shadows. It was a skill honed over years, one that had kept me alive in a world where secrets were the currency of life and death. As a member of the McTiernan Clan, secrets were my stock-in-trade. So, when Johnny, one of Connor McTiernan's snitches, ended up being murdered in his own hospital bed, it naturally fell to me to dig up who had tipped off Moretti. Marco was the only one of Johnny’s contacts from the Moretti Crime Family that Connor knew about, and I had some pressing questions to ask him.
Because we had a mole in our ranks, and I had a feeling that Johnny’s death was just the beginning.
But I had more important things to worry about right now, like the three mouth-breathers chasing me down the alley. The fact that they hadn’t shot me yet wasn’t giving me the warm-and-fuzzies. That just meant they wanted to beat some answers out of me, and my face was way too pretty to be sporting a black eye or two. Or worse.
I slipped in a puddle of something foul-smelling, and I nearly went down, but I corrected at the last moment, scrabbling around a corner as one of my pursuers went sailing over me.
“Grab that fucker!”
A hand fisted my jacket, and this time I did go down, leaving some skin on the sidewalk as I skidded abruptly to a stop.
“Hold him down, Marco.”
Well, hello, Marco. He was the contact of Johnny’s I was supposed to be tailing, but as an elbow slammed painfully into my ribs, I decided I wasn’t in the mood to stick around and chat. I rolled a hip and flipped him off my back, giving him a swift knee in the balls for good measure.
Goodbye, Marco.
I saw the flash of steel as I sprinted down the sidewalk. A knife. It looked like Moretti’s guys weren’t playing around anymore. My heart thundered in my chest, my breath coming in painful gasps. I wasn’t out of shape by any means, but I hadn’t run like this since Tommy and I were kids, wild and nothing but trouble, running from the cops in South Boston. I sure didn’t miss that.
My bruised ribs were becoming a painful stitch in my side. I had to shake these guys off and find some place to lie low for a while. Connor was going to fucking kill me if I got snatched up by Moretti.
“Come on back here, Irish—we just wanna ask you some questions. We’re not gonna hurt you!” One of them shouted at me.
That knife in your hands says different, I wanted to shout back, but I didn’t have the breath to answer. They were gaining on me. So, I did what any sane man would do.
I threw myself into traffic.
Brakes screeched, horns blared. Only about half the cars tried to stop, but the others swerving around them created a nice mess of things. I dodged and weaved past one car, then another, nearly making it across the street before I clipped a cab—I think the asshole actually sped up—and the world summersaulted.
I absorbed the hit on my hip and let my body twist over the hood, landing on my feet. My side hurt like a son of a bitch, but when I looked back, I saw that Moretti’s guys weren’t quite as adventurous as me. Laughing like a maniac, I threw up a middle finger as I ran down the street. That red light wouldn’t hold them forever.
I ducked into another alley. This part of the city was older and statelier, with brick buildings dotted with ivy and wrought iron gates. They’d chased me all the way to Beacon Hill.
Shit. This was deep in Moretti’s territory.
I stumbled, tripping over a cobblestone. They were going to be on me any minute now. It wouldn’t take them long to discover the alley. The first two doors were barred and shut tight, but the third had a brick propping it open. I kicked the brick out of the way and ducked inside.
It was a bookshop. It smelled, predictably, like dust and old books, a smell that kind of reminded me of my grandma’s house, minus the cats, of course. But there was something there that smelled sweeter underneath the leather and old paper, something dark and sultry that hinted at whispered secrets and stolen kisses behind the bookshelves.
I tried to breathe as quietly as I could, melting back into the bookcases. It was unnaturally silent—was this place even open? I double checked the door, inching along the back wall. I was in some kind of a storeroom, but if I could just find a place to wait it out for a few hours—
A footstep sounded behind me, and I ducked instinctively just in time for a book to go sailing past my head. I dropped to the ground and rolled, coming up with my knife in my hand to face my attacker, a tiny slip of a girl with big doe eyes and full lips pulled into a frown.
“Who are you? You shouldn’t be here.” Her voice was steady enough, but the hands that held the heavy book shook, undermining what I assumed was meant to be a threatening stance.
"Please," I gasped, my voice barely audible. "I need your help."
She blinked owlishly up at me, taking in the state of my bloodied and bruised body. Her eyes lingered on my tattoos, widening a bit at the ones across the knuckles. Fuil agus Onóir. Blood and Honor, the code of the Irish mob. I wondered if she knew what they meant for someone like me.
I didn’t get much time to wonder. The bell on the front door tinkled, and three men walked in. I could tell by the way they were walking that it was Marco and his gang. The girl saw me freeze. Without a word, the rushed toward me and took my hand, pulling me toward the back of the storeroom. She opened a door to a small closet and gently pushed me inside. “What—”
“Shh. Stay quiet.” She pushed against my chest. “I will get rid of them.”
I nearly stumble back when she shuts the door in my face. As it is, I nearly trip over the boxes on the floor, and I shoot out a hand to catch a mop handle before it can fall. I breathe through my mouth. The closet reeks of Windex, and it’s taking everything I have not to sneeze.
This is absurd. My eyes still haven’t adjusted, and I blink in the total darkness. I want to ease open the door so I can hear what’s going on, but I don’t want to risk the hinges creaking. I settle for pressing my ear against the door.
“Ciao, boys. I didn’t know you were stopping by.”
“We were in the neighborhood.” That was Marco talking. “Where were you? You always leave your shop unattended?”
“It was a slow day. I was in the back going through today’s shipments.”
“Lock the door if you’re going to do that, next time. This isn’t the best neighborhood.”
“It’s all right.”
“Lock the door. You never know who’s going to show up, and you’re not—”
“You mean I’m a puny little female incapable of defending myself?” Her voice raised. “Ha. Besides, I thought this was your turf—”
Footsteps closed in on the register. “You will do as your told, Emilia.”
I didn’t know who the new speaker was, but I bristled at the threat in his voice. I could imagine him getting in the girl’s—Emilia’s—face. Emilia…Emilia…where had I heard that name before?
“Fuck off, Dominic. Go peddle your maschillismo to someone who gives a shit.”
I couldn’t help but smile. The girl had balls.
“Dom didn’t mean anything by it, carina.” The third guy sounded like a slippery fuck. “It’s just that you’re here all alone, and we’ve got a bit of a turf war going on with the Irish. It would be better if you worked closer to home.”
“I’m not leaving my bookstore, Angel.”
“We can find you a new one. Closer to the compound,” Angel said. His voice lowered. “Dominic and I, we worry about you, Emilia. So does Lorenzo. We’d never forgive ourselves if anything happened to you.”
“I’ll be fine here. You don’t need to be worrying me, and neither does Lorenzo.”
“He’s your father. Of course, he worries.”
My stomach hit the floor. I wrenched back from the door so fast I didn’t hear what else was said over the rush of blood in my ears. Holy shit. Dominic and Angelo Moretti were standing a dozen feet away from me. Lorenzo Moretti’s only sons. Dominic was an underboss for the Moretti Crime Family, and notoriously ruthless. Angel was a capo for the Family, but he had quite a nasty reputation of his own.
Which made my little bookish savior none other than Emilia Russo, Lorenzo Moretti’s stepdaughter.
If any of them found out who I really was to the McTiernans, I was a dead man.
“Enough!” Dominic barked. “You two are giving me a headache. Emilia, did you see a guy with red hair and tattoos come by here? Out of breath, like he’s on the run?”
“Why, were you chasing him?”
“Answer the question,” Angel said. “He’s Irish, Emilia, pretty high up in the McTiernan Clan. Real bad character. Offed a few of our guys—we caught him shadowing Marco.”
“We’re not going to hurt him, we just want to ask him some questions.” Dominic’s voice sounded like he’d be anything but gentle once he got his hands on me.
This was bad. This was very, very bad. I eased into a crouch, pulling my knife and cursing myself for not bringing my gun today. I like to think of myself as more of a lover than a fighter, but it was this exact situation that Tommy was always warning me about. I just really hoped fate wasn’t going to prove him right.
“No. I didn’t see anyone. Certainly not a tattooed redhead,” Emilia said. “I’d have noticed him.”
Despite the sweat dotting my brow, the wave of adrenaline coursing through me felt like ice. She was covering for me.
“You still keep that back door propped open?” Footsteps came closer. “Mind if we take a look?”
Emilia let out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, but don’t touch anything. I worked all morning organizing those books, the order is very specific. I’ll miss the shipping deadline.”
She kept at it, chittering away at them and fussing over the books as I heard three sets of footsteps follow her into the back storeroom. My heart thumped in my chest. Emilia’s voice got closer and closer, and for one wild second, I thought she was about to fling the door to my supply closet wide open, but then she turned away from where I hid.
Planting herself directly between her brothers and me.
“You see? There is no one here.” She humphed. “Now, go away. Some of us actually have work to do.”
Once again, her voice trailed away, the three men grumbling as she shooed them out the door. I waited a full five minutes, not willing to take any chances, and then eased the door open.
The store was empty.
I was free.
Relief and disappointment washed over the residuals of the adrenaline dump of the last few minutes, leaving me feeling strangely hollow. I wasn't sure what I expected. Yes, I was glad to have shaken those three meatheads--I thought I'd been well and truly fucked, there, for a moment--but I'd have been lying to myself if I ignored that little pang of disappointment over seeing Emilia gone as well.
Not that I had any real expectations in mind. She'd risked her own skin to help me. I still couldn't get over that. What went through her head when she saw my tattoos? She must have recognized them. I wish I could've seen her face when they told her who I was. Did she flinch? Disgust? Surprise? Was it guilt that twisted her pretty mouth, maybe pity? She'd gotten a pretty good look at me while I was still on my feet, but I was a mess. She'd risked her neck for me, one of the enemies, without even knowing who I was.
I stretched, grimacing at the pull and burn of the bruises along my side. My hip was going to be black and blue tomorrow. It was already starting to stiffen up, and I tried not to limp too much as I walked back toward the alley where this whole shitshow began. I needed to get out of here.
"Hey."
I spun at the sound of Emilia's voice. Christ, she was good at sneaking up on me, that was twice, now. I was losing my touch. "Emilia Moretti."
"Russo, actually." She smiled, but it wasn't unkind. "That's me. But I don't know your name."
I opened my mouth to lie to her, but she was looking at me with those wide brown eyes, so trusting, and I just couldn't. Not to her. "Alfie. I'm Alfie Doyle, and I'm pretty sure you already know who I work for."
Her eyes strayed to the Gaelic on my knuckles. Blood and honor. "I know who you are, Alfie Doyle."
"Then why did you help me?" I had to know. I stepped closer to her, close enough to smell her, old books and rich coffee and something floral and sweet. Her lips parted, but she didn't retreat. "You lied for me to your own family. Why?"
Emilia clutched a book to her chest. I hadn't even realized she was holding one, but the way her dainty fingers thumbed at the pages made me think of what they'd feel like against my skin. Her gaze dropped, taking in my unkempt hair, bloodied lip, and torn clothes.
"Because you needed it," she whispered.
"You don't even know me."
She didn't quite frown, but a little crease appeared between her brows. "Dominic is a bully. Three on one is hardly fair odds."
My mouth twisted into a smirk. "The fact that you think those were bad odds is almost adorable."
"You're a modest one, aren't you?"
"My fighting skills come second only to my sense of self-preservation. After my good looks, of course."
She snorted, and I grinned, feeling my confidence returning. I hadn't lost my touch. I leaned into her personal space, just enough to make her breath catch. "I really should thank you for hiding me."
Her eyes widened. Her lips parted in a silent gasp. I couldn't stop myself. I closed the distance between us and kissed her.
It was a small kiss, bordering on chaste. Lips to lips and still clutching the book, Emilia's breath hitched, and she let out a small moan that sent my blood roaring in my veins. I wanted to take her up against the bookshelf, let her hair down, and fist my hand in her ebony hair as my fingers (and my cock) unraveled every single one of her secrets.
But I didn't. Instead, I settled for the slightest nip along her bottom lip, a brief little taste before I pulled back, something inside me purring contently when she leaned into my absence. Wrecked was a good look on her.
"Maybe I'll see you around, Emilia Russo."
With that, I opened the door and disappeared into the alley.
I'm not sure what made me say that, but as I walked away, I had the feeling that I had just made a promise.
An important one.
And I never broke a promise.
***