Chapter 5 #2
Blood bubbles on his lips. “Check… the ink… it’s not real… there’s something hidden… in the ink…”
I glance up at Da. He’s watching me, expression unreadable, and a faint smile curving his mouth. There’s pride in it, and something colder. I’ve seen that look my whole life—when he kills, when he commands, when he tests me.
So I lift the hammer again. And again. The wet crack of steel meeting bone rings through my skull like music, familiar and wrong.
The screams that come after are raw and human, and something inside me goes terribly quiet, but even when Connor’s head sags forward, shoulders collapsing as unconsciousness drags him under, I can't stop swinging the hammer. Not yet.
Not until Da steps closer, resting a hand on my shoulder. “That’s my boy.”
And I don’t know if it’s approval or a death sentence.
I idolised him growing up. Hung on every word, tried to earn every inch of approval.
But he’s also the reason Jen got close enough to burn us.
The reason the only piece of happiness I ever thought I could keep was ripped away.
He’s the architect of the marriage contract tightening around my neck like a noose.
And no matter how hard I try, I can’t separate the man I worshipped from the one who shattered everything.
I grind my teeth until my jaw aches before catching Declan lurking in the shadows. Given the fact he’s been glued to Da’s side lately, it’s no surprise he slipped in here unnoticed, but the way he watches me—like he sees every fracture I’m trying to keep hidden—makes my skin crawl.
“Ciaran, let him go. Johnny’s waiting outside, and we’ve got work to do.”
His words are softly spoken, but they feel like law in this concrete cell. Dropping the hammer, I slip away from Da’s grip and head for the door without so much as a backwards glance as they start bickering with each other behind me.
I don't even pause to clean up. If Jonathan doesn’t like me bruised and bloodied, well then, he can join the fucking club. I’m past caring. When you’ve watched the only good thing in your life go up in flames, you learn how to stop giving a damn.
Outside, the sun blazes overhead, a brutal glare that sears my retinas after hours in darkness.
Jonathan leans against his car, one leg crossed over the other, sunglasses hiding eyes that miss nothing.
He’s every inch the Mafia boss—calm, sharp, terrifying in how little he has to move to own a room.
“You called?” I mutter, tugging my weed pen from my pocket and taking a long drag. He frowns but says nothing. Instead, he takes off his shades, hooks them into his collar, and strolls forward with a measured, quiet confidence.
He holds out his hand, brows raised.
I sigh and slap the vape into his palm.
Twisting it between his fingers, he muses, “You know, I used to catch Ciaran smoking in this very car park—tore strips off him every time. Seems the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, no matter how different you think you are.”
My hackles rise, a retort biting at the back of my tongue. But before I can spit it out, he cuts me off.
“I doubt your soon-to-be bride would approve of this habit. Or your drinking, for that matter.”
The words slice clean through the smoke swirling in my chest.
I snap back. “It’s not a habit or a problem. I can quit whenever I want, it’s just… how I unwind. Not all of us have someone to go home to.” The last part comes out bitter, the taste of it curdling in my mouth.
Jonathan’s eyes soften—barely—before hardening again. Silence stretches between us, heavy with all the things we’ve never said. He’s always walked that tightrope between Boss and uncle, one foot on either side of a line I don’t think even he knows how to erase.
“Any updates?” he finally asks, tipping his chin toward the Pit’s steel door.
“Apparently, some asshole with a ring is pulling the strings. And there’s something in the ink.” I shove my hands into my pockets.
Jonathan’s face darkens, shadows gathering in the lines etched around his mouth.
I can’t imagine what it’s like for him—knowing the sex trafficking ring that traumatised the love of his life is still out there, thriving under our noses.
Knowing he couldn’t even bring back her sister’s body to offer some form of closure.
It’s a kind of twisted hell I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
And yet when I think of enemies, I think of Lily.
Those hazel eyes I once would have drowned in.
Until I learned where they came from. Until I realised she’d kept her mother’s secrets close while pretending to let me in.
Everything we had tastes like ash now. Like I was a pawn in her game, dancing on strings I never even saw.
And to think I was ready to take on my Da, this whole goddamn organisation, just to break the contract for her.
“Salvatore’s going to love that,” Jonathan mutters, raking a hand through his greying hair. “Speaking of Salvatore, you’re wanted in Italy. The private jet’s being prepped as we speak.”
A cold weight settles in my stomach. The last shred of hope I’ve been clinging to disintegrates under the sun as Jonathan watches me with exhausted understanding, as I pace, fists clenched.
Because I know—I’ve always known—no one’s fighting for me anymore.
The only person who would have burned the world for me is gone.
“Now?” My voice comes out hoarse.
“Tomorrow. With the timeline of the wedding moving up, he wants to start the introductions and get you settled in. I tried to buy you more time but…” He trails off. We both know the truth. Nobody’s buying me time. Nobody ever was.
If anything, moving the wedding up—from Gianna’s twentieth birthday to her nineteenth—has stolen even more time from me.
I knew this day would come—the one where I’d have to start packing up my life, move to Italy and prepare to live with the Cosa Nostra—but having precious weeks and months I could have used to try and untangle this snatched away, stings.
I glance at the Pit’s iron door one last time, the sun flashing off its battered surface like a silent judge. I lower my head, swallowing the fight still clawing at my chest.
Jonathan meets my eyes. Regret flickers there, but it doesn’t matter because in the end, this was always going to be how it ends for me. For a while, I tried to kid myself into thinking I would find a way out of this contract, but that was always a fool's errand.
With a clipped nod, I stride past him and slide into the backseat of the waiting SUV, the leather cold against my sweat-soaked shirt.
Liam and Aidan catch my eyes in the mirror, silent questions hanging between us.
I shake my head and Liam starts the car, the low purr of the engine the only sound as we pull away.
So much for the sweet relief of my high.