Chapter 20
ROWAN
The morning sun is strong, but there’s a cool breeze keeping the temperature down. We had breakfast al fresco, and now that he’s done Merrick is throwing rocks into a pond that sits on the property behind Chandler House. They splash with a plop, sink to the bottom. I watch the sunfish and koi scatter.
“What’re you doing? You’re scaring the fish. And you could hurt them if you’re not careful.”
“Yeah, I suck at skipping stones.”
“They have to be flat, and kind of potato shaped. Also, sidearm it like you’re pitching a baseball.” I find two rocks perfect for skimming water, pick them up, and toss one to him.
“You remember I’m a sidearm pitcher. How sweet.”
“You impressed me with your strikeout numbers. I don’t know why you didn’t take that scholarship to Oregon.”
“Because I didn’t want to be a Duck.”
“You’re joking.” I wind up, flick my wrist. My stone skips clear across the length of the oval pond, to the far bank and into long cattail reeds. It’s been ages since I did this. Must be muscle memory. My mom loved it. She had a whole collection of puck-like pebbles. We’d go to the Frog Pond early Sunday mornings before Boston Common got too busy, skipping stones until I got bored and asked to leave.
“Duh. I didn’t want to be that far away from my family.”
“Interesting problem to have. Can’t relate.”
“I know.” His second attempt is better than the last. The stone skips twice before it’s swallowed by the water. “What’re you gonna do about your dad?”
I grab a few more stones. He does, too.
“Can’t kill him, I don’t have it in me. There’s no other way, I’m going to set him up for a fall.” I tremble as I give it breath. It goes against everything my dad drilled into me about fealty and obedience. I’ve been the perfect drone.
Merrick turns the pebbles over in his hand. They clatter against each other. “Shit.”
“Yep.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard though, right?”
“Nope.” He has a cache the cops would have a field day sorting through. And I know all the cops on our payroll, so I know who not to call. The issue would be getting him to the boathouse where his hoard lives. He doesn’t go down to the marina much unless he’s taking one of his yachts out for a pleasure cruise. He’s been hands-off where merchandise is concerned for years; his captains deal with shipping, receiving, and domestic resale. Something big and catastrophic would have to go down in order to get him on site, but big and catastrophic could destroy the evidence before he gets there to take the fall for owning all of it. The only way anything will stick to the motherfucker is if he’s caught with his grubby hands immersed in it. Then there’ll be no denying or shirking ownership.
My phone rings in my jeans pocket. Someone not in my contacts is trying to FaceTime me. It’s got to be Jules calling from her mom’s phone. I hit join and smile at the sight of her. “Hey, beautiful.”
“Hi.” Something is off. She isn’t smiling back at me. She’s trying to hide that she’s terrified. Her eyes give her away.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I have good news and bad news. The good news is Teague is scared of you now so he’s out of his vendetta phase. The bad news is my mom and I took trip to my dad’s warehouse and… Well, see for yourself.”
She flips the phone around. An open crate comes into focus, but I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing: Small, green ovals that resemble turtle shells, with what looks like spray bottle nozzles sticking out of their tops.
Merrick gasps. “Are those fucking hand grenades?”
“Holy Mother of God, that’s what they are?”
“Yes, that’s what they are. He’s got a warehouse full of them, maybe thirty crates, and large caliber guns, too. The kind soldiers use in combat.” She pans the camera around the building. There are stacks and stacks of wooden crates with bits of straw packing filler sticking out through the slats. When she turns the camera back on herself, her eyes are welling with tears. “Where the hell did he get grenades, Rowan?”
From what I saw, they seemed old—leftovers from a skirmish that time forgot. There were white letters etched into the sides of them, but not letters I could read. They looked alien. Cyrillic? The Cold War. Fuck.
“Russia.” The Russian mob has no presence in Boston. If they did, I’d know about it. They operate out of New York—Brighton Beach in Brooklyn. They’re the craziest motherfuckers in the game, no morals, no ethics, shoot first ask questions never. Elisa’s cousins in Manhattan had a problem with them not too long ago. Money couldn’t satiate them; they wanted the debt paid in blood and they got it.
“If your father is in bed with the Russians, he’s got a much broader reach than I realized.” And he puts my dad’s ventures to shame. My dad peddles drugs and guns to street thugs, and ships stolen Cadillacs to the Sultan of Wherever. Calloway is pushing weapons of mass murder in the Middle East or to warlords in Africa or some Godforsaken place.
I don’t have to voice the concept to Jules; she’s the smartest person I know and has already twigged it. “My dad’s not a gangster, he’s a terrorist. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of people are going to die because of him. I had no idea how dangerous he was. He can’t be allowed to continue… this.”
She’s correct. This changes everything. It’s not about us anymore. Whether or not we can be together feels like a trivial concern when faced with the fact that Patrick is a fucking arms dealer a la the Merchant of Death. It doesn’t make a difference whether his arsenal is utilized to kill Americans or Iraqis or Sudanese; we’re all human beings. This is bigger than the Boston PD or State Troopers. It’s FBI-level stuff, or Homeland Security, or some other national agency. If he gets caught with weapons of war, he’s looking at forever behind bars.
Oh, shit, that’s it! The one stone to kill two birds with. My father would die to get his mitts on Calloway’s stash. And Calloway would die to protect it. “I have an idea. You’re not gonna like it. I don’t like it myself, but at this point it’s not just for us, it’s a public service. Neither of our fathers can be allowed to continue doing what they’ve been doing.”
Jules looks at her mom, who’s just off screen. I hear Maria say, “She’s right. They’ve both become unmanageable. Enough is enough.”
Jules swallows a lump in her throat. It goes down hard. “Are they going to survive this plan of yours?”
That is the goal, yes. But I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep. If they choose to live that moment the way they’ve always chosen to live, they won’t make it out alive. At least they’ll have a choice. The consequences will fit their actions.
“I hope so,” I answer. “That’s really gonna depend on them.”
“Not likely, then.” She sighs. “How can I help?”
I didn’t want her entangled in this, but it’s unavoidable. I do need her help. We have to coordinate, or it won’t work. “Merrick, take a walk.”
“What? I want to?—”
Maria pops on screen and uses her best Mom Voice. “You heard her, Merrick. Go on.”
“Sorry, no boys allowed,” Jules adds.
“Fine.” He pouts, kicking up the rotting remnants of last autumn’s fallen leaves as he trudges toward the tree line.
When I’m sure he’s out of earshot, I start. “Alright. First step, I’m coming home.”
An hour into the drive back to the city, Merrick breaks the uncomfortable quietness that has settled between us. “I could’ve lived without seeing your strap-on. How am I ever going to look at Jules the same way again? That thing is huge and she’s so small. Where do you put it?”
“I guess I shouldn’t tell you it vibrates then?”
Merrick goes bug-eyed. His cheeks are so red they’re almost purple. “Good God, woman!”
“Hey, you insisted on helping me pack my bag. I told you to stay out of the zipped pocket, but you didn’t listen.”
“Maybe you should’ve told me why I needed to stay out of it.”
“Right. Because ‘Dude, my dick is in that pocket,’ would have been less weird for you.”
He shifts behind the steering wheel. “No. No it would not have.”
“Exactly. Learn to listen to me when I say shit.”
“Can we talk about something else? Like what your plan is.”
“No. Don’t ask me again.” He doesn’t listen to my words, but he understands tone very well. He knows better than to push me when I get stern. He clears his throat as he straightens his backward baseball cap. His face tells me I’ve hurt his feelings. That isn’t the desired effect.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, man. I’d put my life in your hands, and I know my secrets are safe with you.”
“I know. Thanks for saying it.”
“Here’s good.” I make him stop the car at the top of my block. I don’t want him any closer to my house or my dad than he needs to be. I tug my bag from the back seat. “If you can run Jules’s suitcase to Rose, I’d appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
“I’m not sure how all this is gonna go, or how long it’ll take to orchestrate. All I can say is I’m hoping that I get to stay after it’s done.” And maybe that the world will be safer with two treacherous men removed from it.
“Same.” He wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulls me into a hug. “You’re hella brave and hella smart. You’ve got this.”
I don’t wait for him to drive away. I have to move before my determination starts to waver. It’s a 500-foot stroll to the brownstone that, a handful of days ago, every part of me was determined to never walk into again.
The march is automatic. My body functions without conscious thought. Before I realize it, I’m up the front porch, one hand on the brass filigree doorknob, the other sliding my key into the lock. The click it makes as it turns is strident—louder than a gunshot.
The house is still. Eerily so. It’s not normally teeming with excitement, though there does tend to be a predictable flow of my dad’s associates coming and going. He’s showy, likes to entertain, likes to flaunt the promise of excess to his underlings, like, “Work hard, kill a few people, and someday you too can have a two-million-dollar manse stocked with expensive liquors in crystal decanters.” There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with wealth; it’s the way he and Patrick Calloway went about attaining it that is all sorts of fucked up.
“Dad, are you home?” I check the living room and the kitchen, head up to his study. The door is closed, per usual. I give it the shave and a haircut knock. It’s his signal that it’s me on the other side of the door. He responds with two bits before opening. Or he used to. Not today. The door flies open sans ceremony.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the pup running back to the leader of the pack with her tail between her legs.”
You smug bastard. I ball my fists but stave off the impulse to lash out, or to turn around and saunter right the fuck back out of his miserable life.
“In case you were unaware, I took care of Teague Calloway. He’s alive but won’t be giving me any more shit.”
He squinches and his glacial demeanor thaws. It was a test. He was goading me to see how I’d react, if I was in fact a scared puppy seeking the big bad wolf’s protection. He understands now that is not the case. I am not here because I need him. I’m here because I choose to be. He welcomes me into his scared space, leads me to the familiar leather chair. Instead of sitting on the opposite side of the desk, he takes a seat beside me.
“I was sure I’d never see you again.”
“I was pretty damn sure of that, too, after you fired a gun at the woman I love. You have Juliet to thank for me being here. She reminded me that you’re the only parent I have left. You should more than thank her, you should kiss her ass in Macy’s window.”
He goes hmm. “She’s a discerning girl.”
“Don’t mistake her sensitivity for forgiveness. She hates you for what you did at the funeral. I hate you for it, too. I don’t care what happens to Calloway or Teague or any of their shitbirds, but if you ever try to hurt Jules or her mother again, I will ruin you. Do you understand me?”
He’s not a man who takes threats lightly. Nor is he a man who shows fear. But I am the last person he ever imagined he would have to fear. “I do. You love this girl the way I loved your mother. I would’ve burned this city to the ground for her. But you know you can’t be with her, right?”
Unaccustomed as I am to it, I have to lie and make it beyond convincing. “No, I can’t be with her. You showed me how unrealistic it is to want a fairytale ending in real life. Don’t expect a thank you.”
“I accept that. But your lapse in loyalty needs rectifying. Are you willing to help me sort things out with the Rossis? Elisa was very hurt to hear that you were with someone else. Alfonso was none too pleased, either. He’s a romantic. You know how Italians are.”
“Yes. And if I do, can we forget all of this ever happened? I don’t want to do menial tasks for you anymore. I want to see the books; I want to know about every single cent and all the inventory we have. I want to be ready for the reins when you hand them over to me.”
He’s surprised and a touch impressed. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
“I don’t want your business, I’m just all you have. When it’s mine, I’m going to run things very differently. I do like the money, and I’m going to clean it up.”
“When it’s yours, you can run it however you want.” He grins. “We can move forward if you answer one question honestly. You warned Alistair I was coming for him, didn’t you? He’s gone off-grid. Ben, too.”
I was waiting for that. I have a prepared response. “Did you think I wouldn’t? There were times he was more of a father to me than you were. Remember all the back-to-school nights and basketball games you missed that he showed up for? I couldn’t stop caring about him. You had my loyalty by default. He had it because he earned it, and because you encouraged it.”
He folds his arms across his chest and taps his left bicep. “That is a fair point. He stepped in a lot when I couldn’t be there.”
Wow, an acknowledgment of weakness. “You’re still hunting him though, aren’t you?”
“I gave you the leniency you asked for with Ben because he never wronged me. Alistair has. Egregiously. I am who I am; don’t ask me to be someone else.”
There’s the Callum Monaghan I know. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Tigers can’t change their stripes, but their teeth can be removed. “I have some information for you that I think will help me make amends for Alistair. But, before I give it to you, set up a meeting for me with Alfonso and Elisa. I want to take them to dinner.”
“You mean you want us to take them to dinner?” He regards me with blatant concern—though for what, my wellbeing or his, I’m unsure—mixed with a hint of incredulity. He’s not obtuse. He wouldn’t have amassed his empire if he didn’t dwell in a state of perpetual suspicion. I can’t say I blame him for being wary of me. Anyway, he’s right. I am going to pull a Brutus and stab him in the back. He’s lucky I don’t stab him through the heart.
Sell the shit out of it or you’re screwed. “No, I meant what I said. It goes back to wanting to be an adult and, yeah, wanting to distance myself from you. You told me people fuck up under pressure and I’m no exception, but every time I’ve made a mistake, you’ve fixed it for me. You got the bullet from my gun out of Gino. You erased any traces of me from his body. I fucked things up with the Rossis. I hurt Elisa. This is my mess; let me clean it up. Otherwise, I’ll never be able to own this city or do with it as I please.”
He’s glaring into my eyes, searching for any sign of deceit. I’m praying to a God I don’t believe in that he either can’t see it, or he refuses to, because I know it’s there. I’m the bearer of the heaviness, and maybe it’s a lie too cumbersome for me to camouflage.
“I’ll set it up for tomorrow night,” he finally says. “You’ll have to go to the North End. They’ll want you off your game in their territory.”
I mask my relief with an indifferent shrug. “That’s fine. I’m in the mood for some gnocchi. Suggest Giacomo’s to Alfonso. I dig their pasta sauce. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m fucking exhausted.”
As I stand up to take my leave, he goes for his phone. Before he dials Alfonso, he says, “I’m proud of you, kid.”
“For what?” I used to live to make him proud. I coveted those words. He’s given them to me at last, and I’d rather he suffocated on them.
“Embracing your destiny.”
“Thanks.”
That’s it. If I don’t leave this room this instant, I’m going to lose my shit. I have to see Jules. I need her in my arms, if only for a minute. She steadies me when I feel unsteady, like a mooring to a ship in a storm. She’s my anchorwoman. All my life I’ve been petrified of letting anyone be that for me, but who wants to go through this dark, terrible world without someone who knows how to hold you together when you feel like you’re falling to pieces? She wants the job. She can handle the job. I’m going to give it to her.
Before I hung up with them this morning, Jules’s mom insisted on two things: That I call her Maria, and that I save her phone number and use it any time. I love her for both of those things. The second my bedroom door closes, I’m dialing.
I expect Maria to answer, but it’s Jules’s voice I hear. “Step one complete?”
“Yeah. Are you home?”
“No, still out on good behavior. Teague is staying with us until he’s recuperated enough to fend for himself, so Mom’s keeping me out for as long as possible. We’re at the Pru.”
“You’re alone with your mom? Can I see you?”
“Yes and yes, please.”
“I can be there in twenty.”
Shopping malls suck. I’m jittery. More so than usual. I’m not the type of girl anyone is eager to introduce to their parents. Technically, I’ve already met Maria, though a few phone conversations and once in person while being shot at and hiding for our lives don’t really count, do they? This is closer to how parental introductions are supposed to be done, in a chill environment, probably with some alcohol. The food court of the Prudential Center will do.
I spot Jules and her mom through the crowd. They’re at a booth with faux leather seats and a black lacquered table near Boston Chowda Company. Maria sees me first, smiles and waves me over. She’s warm and inviting in all the ways I imagine a mom to be, which is pretty impressive given the lifestyle we’re all accustomed to. Jules doesn’t wait for me to approach the table; she gets up and meets me halfway. As I’m watching her saunter toward me, it occurs to me that meeting halfway is more than a metaphor. It’s what love is, at its core: Two people with independent wills, with their own ideas and dreams and goals, making space for each other and shaping new dreams and goals together.
I manage to get out the words, “Hi, gorgeous,” and then her lips are on mine and her arms are around me, and she’s pressed against my chest so hard it’s like she’s trying to climb inside me. My gaze wanders over to Maria, who’s watching us and seems seconds away from tears. I guess a mother knows whose hands are safe for their children. I think my mother would feel that way about Jules. I slide my fingers into her hair and kiss her forehead.
“This has been the worst weekend of my life. I’m so glad you’re here,” she says.
“Same.”
She lets go of her hold on me, takes my hand. “Come say hi to Mom.”
Maria stands up to greet me. In the height of awkwardness, I offer her my hand to shake. “Oh, no, sweetie, in this family we hug.” I’ve gone seventeen years without a mother’s embrace. I forgot that it feels like coming home. I have to force myself not to cozy into her, as if I were frozen to the bone in the dead of winter and she were a flaming hearth. “Now help us with this food, would you? Our eyes were much larger than our stomachs.”
I want to tell her that I’m a terrible New Englander who detests clam chowder, but there’s a basket of cheese biscuits calling my name, so I shut up, sit down, and dig in.
The three of us laugh a lot throughout our impromptu early dinner. It’s nice to be ordinary for a change. Maria takes the trays topped with trash to the bin and, when she returns, her eyes are on Jules’s and my intertwined digits atop the table. “I’m going to pop down to Newbury Street. After the last few days, your father owes me a very expensive tennis bracelet and maybe a necklace to match, don’t you agree?”
Jules nods. “He def does. Tiffany?”
“That’ll be my first stop, then on to Cartier.”
“Oh my God, Mom, I love that for you,” Jules replies with a chortle.
I take it as a signal that we’re leaving, but Jules stops me. “Mom prefers to shop for jewelry on her own. Some people go to church to have religious experiences; she goes to jewelers.”
“Very well put. And won’t it be nice to enjoy some ‘you time’ without Mom around?” She grins. “We’ll meet back here in a few hours.”
Maria disappears into the crowded food court. “Did your mom just… encourage us to have a quickie?”
Jules laughs until she’s out of breath. “No, babe. She’s cool but not that cool.” She leans in for a kiss, then whispers into my ear. “Why, are you in the mood for one? Because I wouldn’t mind getting absolutely railed in the fitting room at Saks.” When she moves away, I see that her smirk is downright diabolical. Lustful.
I love that I’m not alone in having nymphomaniacal tendencies. And sex in public places isn’t something we do solely out of necessity. She prefers a bed, but she does have a bit of exhibitionism in her. Like me, she finds the possibility of being caught in a compromising position thrilling. It’s as if I sensed that in her. We share the same kink, and I’m normally very happy to indulge her, but right now I think the stress of this weekend, compounded by the stress of concocting a plan to dethrone both of our fathers, is weighing so heavy on my shoulders that all I want to do is hold her.
“Is it okay if I’m not? If I want to just sit here in this booth with my arms around you?”
The fire in her eyes is instantly replaced by a mellower glow. Funny how she can switch the devil off and the angel on with such swiftness. She slides her legs up onto the bench, pushes her back into my side, takes my forearms into her hands, and folds herself into me. Head perched against my shoulder, she says, “Cuddlebug Rowan is my favorite Rowan.”
I kiss the crown of her head. “Yeah. Turns out I like her, too.”
We sit that way as I update her on the situation with the Rossis, the meal my dad arranged tomorrow night. And then we don’t talk much. Two hours pass with me holding her, until Maria returns with a sparkly diamond tennis bracelet on her left wrist.
She shimmies it so the fluorescent light refracts. “Mama’s got that brand-new bling. Hold on, have you two been right here where I left you this entire time?”
Jules doesn’t move. “Yes.”
“I’m not sure when I’ll get to see her again after today. I’m trying to fill up on her, I guess.”
“Ah, young love.” Maria beams. “I remember that.”
I walk them to their car. The kiss Jules gives me as we say goodbye is not chaste; I’m aware of her mother’s presence as her lips are on mine, and even more so after they’re not anymore. All Maria does is let out a small “ha” when she reads my embarrassment. Jules says, “Remember that when you’re sitting next to Elisa tomorrow night.”
“Possessiveness is cute on you.”
“Happy to hear it, ’cause you’re mine.”
“I am. Completely.” I open the car door for her, and she goes a touch pink in the cheeks.