9. Darragh
Chapter 9
Darragh
I t was too fucking easy to get up to her balcony.
Any batshit crazy bastard could find his way up here.
Batshit crazy like me.
Then again, most people wouldn’t be able to climb a tree to get over the fence at the back of the property the way I just did. Nor would they be able to pull themselves up and over the balcony railing using nothing but a patio table below as a jumping off point.
Most people didn’t grow up climbing boxes and dumpsters and fire escapes in Dublin alleys because their mammy was too high to open the apartment door after locking you out.
Most people also wouldn’t know where to look for the camera. They wouldn’t know to make the ivy rustle like wind had hit it until the leaves cover the lens.
Even so, I probably am still on camera, at least for the time it took me to get to the back of the house. But since no Sicilians have come hauling ass out here with their guns blazing, I can only surmise that there’s no security guy watching the screens 24/7. Or, if there is, he’s sleeping on the job or off tugging on his cock somewhere.
All in all, old Vinny seems a lot more lax on the security stuff than his heir Elio. Elio’s place is locked down like a fucking fortress, with soldiers scattered all over the property at all times. I have no doubt it has to do with his young wife, Deirdre O’Malley, daughter of the now deceased Jack O’Malley.
Elio is pathetically obsessed with her. Such a dangerously stupid fucking thing, to love a woman as intensely as that. My father learned that lesson the hard way.
I learned it too.
But I’m not here for Deirdre. As much as I hate to lose, I plan to honour my deal. Elio won her. Her father, the one who stole from me, is dead. I have no further interest in the O’Malley girl. Or should I say Titone girl, now that she’s married.
No. My current interest lies with another Titone girl. The one with the name bestowed by blood, not by marriage.
The one lying in the bed mere feet from me now, nothing but glass and a fluffy bathrobe between us.
The moon is huge behind me. Lights up the night like a fucking beacon. Sends my shadow crawling through the glass towards her and illuminates the curves of her face.
She looks different like this. Sleeping. No makeup. Not choking and crying and begging me with those sharp little nails to save her. Her brow is smooth, her full lips slightly parted. Masses of dark hair spill around her on the bed. She must have collapsed on top of the blankets and fallen asleep right away. Her head didn’t even make it to the pillows.
How the hell is she sleeping so well when I couldn’t? It’s why I’m here at three in the goddamn morning when I have a million and one better things to do.
Like get some fucking sleep.
But I couldn’t do it. I was just lying in bed with my heart beating hard inside the scratches on my arm, staring at the ceiling and feeling like I wanted to peel myself out of my own skin.
Two shots of whiskey didn’t help.
Jerking off didn’t help either.
So. Now I’m here. With nothing to do but stare through the window like some fucking ghoul while she snoozes, blissfully unaware. I kick a little patio chair out of the way so I can get even closer.
Pretty little Titone. She doesn’t know that the monster isn’t under her bed.
He’s at her door.
I won’t open that door, though.
Not tonight.
I need to figure out what the hell I want with her.
How exactly I want her to repay me. What she can do for me.
She has done one thing for me so far, at least. I didn’t have police showing up tonight. Nor did I end up with any Italians shooting down my door. The news is already everywhere. All reports are positioning Fabbri’s death as a suicide.
She didn’t tell anyone I was there.
The youngest Titone can keep a secret. I can’t help but wonder what other secrets she’s holding onto, hiding behind those sharp nails and soft lips.
Something tells me she’s going to have more secrets than she knows what to do with by the time I’m done with her.
Something tells me she’ll be fucking choking on them.