Chapter 21 Declan
TWENTY-ONE
declan
She’s a pain. Jesus, she really is.
Last night we made love. We didn’t fuck like I’d intended when I found her in that outfit.
And it undid me. Seeing her dressed like one of my many fantasies, the one of her being a secret, cheap slut for me and me alone in those stupid hot pink heels I got her, one where I’d fuck her hard, tie her up, open up the curtain, and turn on the light so she got that edge of exposure she craves.
I wanted to do dirty, filthy things that would make Satan fucking blush.
Things I’d have to book out the confessional booth for a few years in order to cleanse myself…if I actually followed my religion.
But when she looked at me…she really looked at me. It was like her soul was peeking out and I needed…needed to show her a softer side.
I didn’t lie about her being mine, she is. For now.
Marlowe did the right thing by reminding me it’s for now.
My head needs to be in the game. I’m protecting her and trying to figure out whatever happened to her da.
I finish my breakfast and wash the plate, not wanting to leave a mess for our housekeeper, then pour a second cup of coffee when someone enters the room.
It’s not Marlowe because my heart and guts don’t twist. It’s Cal. He stands there in one of his dark suits. He eyes me in mine with a plain black t-shirt underneath.
“Yeah, I know. You think I should be wearing a button down, but it’s just a shakedown and—”
“I’m helping you on your newest little job, Dec.” He pushes past me, swipes a cup, and fills it. “Just got off the phone with Roark. He gave me a tip on your girl’s da. Someone who buys and sells information. I’m coming along to make sure he gives us a fair deal.”
I clench my fist. “I can—”
“Eejit.” He pats my cheek. “I know you can, but what’s better than one Murphy?”
“All of us,” I say.
He eyes me and leans his forehead close to mine. “You’re as fucking tough as us, but if something needs to be done, I’ll do it. Unless you have something to say about that?”
With a sigh, I bite my tongue. “Something to be done” means killing. I’ve killed. I’ve done plenty, but they all stop me from being one of them. From trying to be the most brutal.
He finishes his coffee and we head out. Cal slides behind the wheel of the black truck. Clive and a few others are inside the house, and though I can only see one or two outside, I’m betting there’s half an army I can’t spot. “What about Seamus and Tor?”
“Busy.”
“But—”
“No one goes in or out of our place without an escort,” he says as we head to Maspeth in Queens. “That means Ava works from home, and both Harry and Lucie Joy have called in sick. They don’t need to be at their jobs every day since they own the fucking places.”
“Want to tell me why you’re so pissed?” I ask as his hand white-knuckles the wheel.
“Your bodyguard job is now much more dangerous.” He pauses, like he’s giving me space, so I take it.
“Our job as a mafia family is dangerous. And a bodyguard position, by definition, is dangerous,” I say, knowing I’ve said the wrong thing the moment the words hit air. Not wrong as in what I’m saying, but the wrong subject matter.
He ignores me. “I’m thinking someone doesn’t want her da found. We’re going in against Roark’s advice.” Cal grits his teeth. “But this lead’s the shortest route to ending this mess, as long as it’s not a trap.”
“Why would it be a trap?” Unease pushes at me. “The threats against her? I—”
“No, you eejit. I’m talking about Milo. Once we get this done, then he can marry her.” He cuts me a look. “The wedding you never fucking told me about.”
“Whatever. I’m not even sure what that whole future marriage is. He didn’t seem to care when we got fake-hitched that night after the show.”
“A marriage arrangement isn’t our business, Dec.”
No…but it’s my business.
“He only wants the money and the power she’ll represent.”
Cal goes still. “You think he might have killed the da?”
“No.” That’s the thing, I don’t. “I think Heston is either being held captive somewhere, or he went into hiding—my money is on the latter.”
“Because?” Cal asks.
I force myself to slow my frenzied thoughts. “Because if someone killed him, that’d put Cloris at the top of the food chain. They’d never get their hands on his cash. That’s why I think he’s hiding. And if someone did take him, it’s because they know he’s worth more alive.”
I swear to God, my brother smiles. Small, secret, and it lights something up in me. “Good work. Yeah, okay, Dec.” He pauses. “But you know you need to let her go when this is over and she’s safe.”
“I know.”
Silence blankets the car for a few miles. Then Cal speaks again. “I heard that Milo’s brother is missing. Please tell me you didn’t do something like find him and the drugs and kill him?”
“Jesus. I’m impulsive but not that stupid.” I look out the window, not really taking in the passing scenery. Of course, I might have killed him by accident. But I figure Roark would know if that was the case.
Callahan pats my leg. “Stay focused on what’s important. Keeping her safe, making sure she’s fine once you part ways—”
“And finding her da.”
“I was going to fucking say making sure she’s fine for the handover to her mam and Milo.”
His words cut into me. I have to bite my tongue to stop saying something stupid like Milo can fuck himself into oblivion and take her cold mam with him.
We pull up to a house in Maspeth, Queens. It’s a sunny day. My eyes scour the neighborhood. Big, ugly houses with big yards and a lot of for sale signs. I’m not sure many people live here.
But the house we’re in front of is run down and lived in. A broke ass car is in the driveway on cement blocks. Something dark moves through my blood, and I automatically check my weapon, making sure it’s still loaded.
Cal does the same.
“It’s too quiet.”
“This neighborhood’s probably owned by one of the Queens mafia families. Or else this guy—Gregor is what he goes by—likes to lie low in suburban hoods. Who the fuck knows?”
We get out and pass the car. Cal knocks when we get to the front door.
My instincts are screaming.
“I don’t like it, Cal.”
He knocks again, and when no one answers, I look at him. “Maybe the intel’s wrong?”
“Maybe Roark was right about this being a bad idea, but we’ll never know unless we fucking go in. Shit, I need a smoke.”
“You…” I trail. Danger presses down on me, making it hard to breathe as I see suddenly what I’ve dragged my brother into. “Go back to the car. You’re a da now, and—”
“I’m not listening to a gobshite like you, Dec,” he says. “We both go in.”
Both.
This is my problem, but we’re family, and like all our problems, we handle them together. “Are you really against the bodyguard thing?”
“You’re bringing that up now?”
He’s got a point. I reach past him and try the door, and it opens.
I draw my gun, and we both go in.
We don’t have far to go before we find why this Gregor didn’t answer the door. He’s high as a kite, used needles scattered around the place, and a brick of heroin cracked open on a chipped wooden table. I spot the lighter and the spoon, then walk over and smack the asshole.
“What?”
His eyes…they belong to a man on a trip, but they hold fear. And it’s not for us.
“Gregor?”
“If you want information, it costs. Drugs, money. Hot chicks.” He chuckles.
It turns my stomach. Guy’s got to be around fifty. That fucking high-pitched laugh doesn’t sound normal.
“His real name’s Dennis Browne.” Cal throws the wallet down, pulls his gun, and aims it at him. “Heston Briggs. What do you know?”
“Payment first.”
I start nosing around, but his place is a mess. Like someone already tore through it. Or maybe he did it himself. “How about your life as payment? You tell us,” I say, “you live. You don’t, you die.”
“Like I told the cartel, he’s too rich to be found.”
It sparks something in me. Too rich to be found? It fits with my idea of him being in hiding.
Callahan’s gun is steady at his temple. “You know then. Where is he?”
Something comes to me. If he helped Heston, maybe he knows about Mario. Because if that isn’t some of our cocaine in the corner—I recognize the smiley face stickers on the bricks—I might be the fucking Tooth Fairy. “And where’s Mario Marcello?”
“Something I’d like to know.”
I whirl around and Cal switches his focus and gun from Gregor to Milo Marcello.
“Got no beef with you, Marcello,” Callahan says quietly. “But we need to talk territory, and my mother’s mafia ties.”
I’m about to say what in the actual fuck when I hear something.
Footsteps. Heavy, booted. They approach fast, and the glass of one of the windows shatters as the front door splinters.
I throw myself forward, knocking both my brother and Milo to the ground as bullets fly through the air, hitting Gregor multiple times, killing him.
I’m spattered in his blood as I pull him in front of us as a shield and start shooting.
Milo and my brother join. I take out three who come at us, Callahan pops two and Milo one, but more men pour in.
Bullets fly and I push Marcello and Callahan out of the way, narrowly missing being shot as I take out another attacker.
Then more fucking guys arrive, shooting those attacking us, and soon the situation is under control.
Milo rises, dusting off his coat. “Cartel pigs.”
“You okay, Mr. Marcello?” One big guy asks, shooting someone who starts moving on the ground.
“Fine.” He looks around, shaking his head.
“Call in the cleaners?” the man asks.
“Leave it. Make the other call. Send the fucks a message.”
Cal kicks one of the bodies, bending down to take in the tattoo. “This one’s Roja.”
“This one is, too,” I say, and then I see another tattoo on one of the others. “Cinco.”
“Fucking scum.” Milo looks around, picking up some things, and motioning to his men to take the heroin. He leaves the brick and gestures to the coke.
“You can take it if you want, but it’s not good,” Cal says.
Milo smiles. “I know the gang. Leave it. The remnants of that gang will feel the heat.”