6. Heaven
CHAPTER 6
HEAVEN
B usiness partner, my ass. He’s a deviant scumbag.
One who made me ache with need. One who knew how to turn me on, exactly how to touch me. I’d have let him fuck me, too. And that burns.
My feet pound the pavement and I round a turn along the East River Greenway, my heart thumping in my chest. I push harder and harder to keep my lead over Patrick.
I make this run every day, and this morning, I convinced my brother to come with me. I figured he’d give me a much-needed distraction from Matteo Villani before I have the displeasure of seeing him again.
Tonight.
The thought makes my stomach flip in a way I tell myself is disgust and hate. I’m just not sure exactly who those feelings are for. Him…or me.
I still can’t believe I gave up control to that man, a money-driven thug who runs sex clubs and fixes problems and wields the kind of power I don’t like or trust. He’s sneaky, and he’s been sitting back for too long, letting everyone in our world relax.
What did people say? As long as you didn’t cross him and paid your dues, then he could make magic happen. All for a pretty fucking penny.
I’ve read about Villani. I looked into him. He owns half of Europe. Now he wants to do business with Dad. And my father is leaping at it.
A man like Villani doesn’t do anything out of the goodness of a heart he doesn’t have. He’ll want something, and—this is what sits uneasily inside me—his payments are sometimes worse than what might happen without buying his influence.
Never trust one who lives in the shadows.
If that’s not a motto, it should be.
When he got to Manhattan, seemingly out of nowhere a year ago, it was blood and bullets and fury and no remorse, and then he settled back, seemingly content with his small stake. He settled back and made money with his services, both in the clubs and outside.
He doesn’t feel like a friendly business arrangement. He feels like a deadly and dark and hostile takeover. The kind you never see coming.
There’s absolutely no way I’m letting my father sign away any part of our legacy to that fucknut. I’m sure Conor is on board with Matteo’s deal because let’s face it, all fucknuts band together. It’s like they can sniff each other out, sensing the scum on each other and realizing they’re one and the same.
Kindred spirits or what the hell ever.
I’m definitely not one of them. If—I mean, when—I take over, things will change. No more ego-driven deals. We don’t need a deal with the likes of someone as dangerous and reckless as Matteo Villani.
Reckless. I push myself harder, plowing through a meandering couple on the path. On paper he’s not reckless, but there’s something about him, in the way he likes his sex, or I imagine he likes his sex, that says reckless. Taking me on is reckless. I might be young, but I have more experience in this underworld than most realize. I’ve seen things, and after Molly?—
After what happened to my cousin, I don’t trust men like Matteo Villani.
I might not have the power to run things yet. But I have influence. And I’ll find a way to stop this tonight, even if I have to tell my father Matteo tried to force himself on me.
“Heaven,” Patrick pants from a few feet behind me. “Slow down!”
“Come on, don’t be such a pussy!” I call out, ignoring the burn in my lungs and muscles. I know my limits, and I’m nowhere near them, even as the sun beats down hot. “Do I have to carry you every time we do this? Your stamina is shit!”
“That’s…because…I’d rather…lift…weights,” he rasps, picking up the pace. I know it’s only temporary. He’ll fall back and end up collapsing on a bench soon enough. “I don’t understand why…you like torturing me…this way. I’ve been a good brother to you, yeah? Why the fuck…do you wanna kill me off? I’m too young to…die.”
I laugh and give him a little punch in the arm. “Running’s good for you. Burns off the booze, gets the blood flowing, clears your mind.”
“I screw plenty of chicks. That burns off booze and gets the blood flowing, too. I’m good with cardio as long as it’s the kind where getting off is an added benefit.”
“You’re such a pig.” I slow my pace slightly so Patrick doesn’t pass out in the middle of the path. “I’m just trying to keep you healthy.”
“Seems like the exact opposite,” he says. “Just saying.”
I slow to a jog when Patrick collapses against the black, wrought iron railing overlooking the river with an exaggerated breath as sweat trickles down his face.
I stop next to him, staring at the sun glittering atop the rippling water. “It’s so peaceful out here.”
“As opposed to?”
I roll my eyes. “Everywhere else in Manhattan.”
“And yet, you still wanna be boss.” He shakes his head. “You really think you’re gonna change things, Heaven?”
“Yes. Someone has to.” I twist my ponytail around my fingers. “If Dad leaves things up to Conor, he’ll run our family into the ground and nobody will be safe.”
“We’re not exactly a family of accountants. I know how you feel about keeping everyone safe, but not even Dad could deliver on that,” Patrick murmurs. “We still lost a lot that he couldn’t prevent.”
A pang assaults my heart.
Am I really any better than Conor? Than Dad?
I mean, look at what I let happen to my cousin, Molly. She was the sister I never had but always wanted.
I could have protected her.
I should have protected her.
But I didn’t.
And that knowledge has been slowly choking me to death ever since that fateful night.
I press my fingertips to my temples to chase away the toxic memories bubbling into my consciousness, memories I try so hard to keep buried along with the guilt and the rage.
I completely failed in my attempt to stop the horrors that will haunt me for a lifetime. I watched Molly get taken. I let it happen.
That Heaven Mulligan was weak, scared, and riddled with self-doubt. She dreamed big but faltered whenever an opportunity was presented.
That Heaven Mulligan was erased alongside her cousin. And this new version has been trying to rebuild herself ever since.
Our family was fractured—is fractured—by those events. And I won’t let anything happen to the rest of them. Not even Conor. We might have power, we might hold a position that’s more than might, that’s strategic in this endless game of mafia, but we’re just holding on because of something I did.
Or rather, didn’t do.
But that understanding is my burden. My problem to fix.
I take a deep breath. “All I know is that it’s time for a change.”
“Conor doesn’t help,” says Patrick as he turns, leaning his back on the railing. “Conor’s a wild card, but he’s the favorite in this, so I?—”
“Conor’s more than a wild card. He’s reckless to the point of stupidity. And he’s been pulling shit for too long, making enemies on every street corner, for Christ’s sake. I don’t understand what Dad is waiting for, why he doesn’t just pull the plug and stick Conor in another role where he can’t constantly put us in the line of fire.”
There are plenty of arenas Conor would excel at. Leading the family isn’t one of them.
“You know why,” Patrick says. “He’s the oldest.”
“Yeah, and the dumbest.”
“Well, last night wasn’t exactly your brightest move, was it?” He nudges me and chuckles. “Admit it, you both have that same hotheaded temper. Maybe instead of constantly undermining and outplaying each other, you come together and use your super-dipshit powers for the greater good.”
I smack his arm. “You’re a real dick, Patty.”
He shrugs. “I’m just happy to be alive after you almost killed me with that brutal run.”
I melt against the railing and raise my face toward the hot sun. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to invite anyone’s grubby hands into our cookie jar, especially Villani’s, and I know I’m going to be the only one who sees it as a bad thing.”
“Look, Heaven,” Patrick says. “You’re smart. Smarter than all of us. You know what this family needs to thrive, and Conor sees it, too. He’s threatened by you. Always has been. This time, don’t give him the upper hand. Keep your shit together and grab Dad’s ear when you’re alone. He’ll listen to you.”
“I’m always fighting an uphill battle with Conor. It’s bullshit that Dad keeps him close just because he’s a guy.”
“Dad’s old school. But if he was set on Conor, he wouldn’t have you on his other shoulder, would he?”
“I hope not,” I say. “Because I’ve worked too damn hard to get edged out by our dear brother.”
“Then play the game the right way this time.” Patrick winks at me. “Show them all that you’re the best one for the job.”
“Thanks, Patty.” I smile and slant him a look. “Are you saying all this so I make you my second?”
Patty might come across as a wiseass with a childish streak a mile wide and three miles long, but when it comes down to it, he can jump in with the best of them. Better yet, I know he has my back. Conor will be lucky if I let him tend bar at one of our pubs.
“Not if it’s hard work.” He laughs, then shrugs. “You don’t have to thank me. Just don’t drag my ass on any more of these fucking ‘jogs,’ okay?”
“Deal.” I loop my arm through his and we head up a winding path through trees and greenery that lead to the small area past the Eleanor Roosevelt Memorial, and up to where Patty parked his H2 on Riverside Drive, just off West 72nd. I still have no idea why he insists on driving that tank here in Manhattan, but he loves it and refuses to get something even a little eco-friendlier.
It guzzles gas faster than a dog laps water on a hot summer day, but something about it is so Patty. Maybe it’s the obnoxious neon yellow, the way it stands out and screams, I’m fucking here to play.
His car shines bright like the sun, and equally hurts my eyes when I stare at it for a second too long as it sits at the curb of the quiet street, one of the few in Manhattan.
We’re silent as we walk, and I take the time to process Patty’s words. He’s right. An all-out war with my brother would be counterproductive when we have a new associate to deal with…at least it's a bad idea until I can get rid of the thug.
Sometimes I think I do shit like infiltrating the Villani lair to prove myself to myself more than to my family. Those insecurities are hard to eradicate, and I hate them.
Conor goes too far the other way. He doesn’t give a damn about getting anyone’s approval. He acts with no remorse or regret. And control? Hell, he has none. That’s why he’s on the hit list of so many of our enemies.
And still my father keeps him at the ready. All because he’s got a dick to swing around.
Yeah, old school definitely equates to sexist.
Whatever. I’m done with that shit. Which is why I’ll be the trailblazer. I just need to keep my cool tonight.
My stomach rumbles. “How does a bacon, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel sound?”
Patrick chuckles. “Jesus, it’s a good thing you run as much as you do, or else that appetite of yours would turn you into a candidate for My 600-Lb. Life .”
We reach the truck and he runs a loving hand over its side. I roll my eyes, reaching up to pull open the passenger door when a set of squealing tires and a loud-ass motor come roaring around the bend. The acrid scent of burning rubber stings as the car takes a hard right from 72 nd Street and crashes into Patty’s back fender.
The car practically ricochets off the Hummer, probably the one benefit to having the truck. I fly backward, the impact launching me at the hard ground. My shoulder slams into pavement and I groan, clutching it to alleviate the sharp pain shooting down my arm.
“Patty!” I yell, crawling around the front of the truck. “What the hell is?—?”
But my words freeze as two big, beefy guys jump out of a second car, grab Patrick and pummel him. Their fists slam into his face, his chest, his back.
Patrick struggles, putting up a hard fight. Shit. What I thought was a fucking accident is anything but. I haul myself up, pressing into the truck, and force the panic back.
“We–got–a–message,” says one of the big guys with a thick Brooklyn accent, punctuating each word with a slam of a fist into my brother. “From–Dominguez.”
My blood turns ice cold. The man’s a monster. What the fuck does he want with us? I’m reaching into the truck, searching for a weapon, a crowbar, anything. Patrick’s got to have a gun somewhere, but knowing him, it’s over on the driver’s side, under the seat, and I can’t reach it from where I am.
Someone grabs my leg, hard fingers digging deep. I kick with the other, glancing back. I connect with the guy’s head and he lets go a moment. It’s enough for me to lunge into the cab of the truck.
Ignoring the pain, ignoring the bite on my leg, my fingers wrap around the smooth warmth of Patty’s gun.
There’s no time to check the mag. I hope like fuck it’s loaded and ready. And I kick again and again.
The guy’s ready this time, and my sneaker flies off.
“Get back here, cunt.”
I twist and throw all my weight into him, knocking him down. I raise the gun, and when the guy gets up and comes at me, I pull the trigger.
“Fuck.” Not. Fucking. Loaded.
The man laughs and lunges for the gun. We fight, but my palms are sweaty, and he has about two-hundred pounds of muscle on me. I kick at his balls but connect with his hip.
The gun’s his and he turns it, slamming it into my head.
My vision blurs, ears ring, and black dots burst in front of my eyes. The man swipes up a fistful of my running shirt and lifts me off my feet, dragging me out and onto the pavement where I hit it. He kicks. Hard. And pain explodes through me, kidneys radiating out the kind of heated pain I’ve only ever felt once before.
His foot comes back but I manage to curl and roll away. And then I stagger up and swing my leg out, taking out his. He hits the pavement like bricks. Something on his side gleams and I snatch it from his waistband. His fucking gun. I cock it and point it at him.
“What’s Dominguez got to do with us?” I ask, trying to keep the shake from my voice as the grunts and thumps behind me tell me Patrick’s putting up a fight.
“You’re dead. Your whole family.”
“Yeah? Tell your friend to let my brother go, and I’ll let you live long enough to take a message back.”
“Heaven!”
Patrick’s yell distracts me and I look up, just as a third guy appears.
The third man yanks my hair, and the other gets up and hits me. In the distance sirens start to wail, and the men suddenly back away from us. Doors slam on the cars and, wheels screaming, they take off down Riverside Drive.
“Fuck. You okay?” Patrick grabs me. He’s bleeding, and I’m sure I don’t look much better.
“Yeah.” My feet are a little unsteady, but as I clutch him, my whole being a mess of pain, I force myself into calmness.
“I had the fucker. I had him down, and then the other car’s door opened and I had to let him go to warn you. Let’s go after them.”
I shake my head. “Patty, we have to get out of here, before the cops show up.”
A minute later, we’re in the truck and zooming away from the attack scene. My chest heaves, my breaths slicing into my lungs, and I desperately fight the shaking from the adrenaline. What the fuck was that?
Patrick’s going on about having to get rid of his beloved vehicle, but that’s the least of my concerns. If it comes down to it, we pay off the cops who might be dumb enough to sniff around. I don’t want to deal with them if I don’t have to, but I’ve a horrible feeling I’ve been left out of a lot.
A lot that Matteo Villani knows about.
Dominguez. A nasty piece of work, vile. Underage girls, slavery, you name it. He has his sticky fingers in things no one else touches. He’s also very dangerous, and his cartel runs Harlem.
“He mentioned Dominguez,” I say.
“I was there,” Patrick says, his bruised and swollen hands gripping the wheel tight.
“Don’t tell me that’s what the meeting is about tonight.”
“You mean what the fuck did Conor do.” My brother doesn’t make it a question.
“Yeah. He’s an ass, but he’s family. And if he messed with Dominguez…”
I don’t finish. I don’t have to.
Because if he did, how the hell am I going to save anyone ?
And why the fuck would Villani want to fix whatever Conor has done?