Chapter 5
W aking up to the fact that yesterday was, in fact, not a dream—it’s a toss-up of how I feel about that fact. But after a much-needed caramel iced latte, breakfast, and a shower to wake me up, I seek out Jonathan.
“There’s so much to tell you I’m not quite sure where to start,” he muses as he gets us both a glass of water and takes a seat behind his desk while I settle on the sofa opposite his desk. Everything about this office screams masculine and moody but the glass wall behind his desk and cream sofa helps offset the darkness.
“Did you love her?”
“More than anything. I was ready to walk away from everything for her, for you, for us. But my father had lung cancer. He only had one wish before he died, that the family business remain within the family. And as his only child, it fell to me. I was young and cocky and thought I could have it all…at least for a while,” he trails off, looking lost in thought.
“The family business? Like actual businesses or…” What business was more important than the woman he loved?
“Well, yes, they were part of it…but…sweetheart…have you heard of the Four Points?”
The Four Points was a notorious gang in parts of London a few decades ago. They originally formed in Northern Ireland but expanded to have a foothold in London as well. Rumour has it that their leader was highly superstitious and a devout Irish Catholic so when he kept seeing four leaf clovers before every successful business meeting, which are supposed to be incredibly rare, he became obsessed. To the point he renamed the whole organisation after them and swore by the luck of the Irish. A member of the Four Points is identified by the tattoo of a four-leaf clover to represent their core beliefs: faith, hope, love and luck.
They used to rule this city with an iron fist, controlling drugs, arms and business deals, until their leader died and then they fizzled out like a fire that burned too quickly.
“Yeah, but what have they got to do with this…” I stare at him in disbelief and horror as he undoes the top few buttons and tugs his shirt collar aside to reveal the black and white tattoo of a skull encased in a four-leaf clover. The exact tattoo that was synonymous with the gang to the point that if anyone was ever caught with this tattoo who wasn’t one of them, they’d soon disappear.
“Your dad was the leader of a gang?!” I whisper-shout, shocked.
“My father was the leader of the Irish mafia, the same as his father before him. The same way I am now too.” For a moment, all I can do is stare at him, speechless, breathless and nauseous, before blurting out, “The mafia is real?!”
“Very much so. Your Mum left before anyone knew about you to prevent anyone from using you against me. It was the only way to ensure your safety, though it tore us apart. My ties to the Four Points were too widely known. Even if I had left or pretended to be ousted, we would still be targets. That’s exactly what’s happening now.” His brows are lowered as he stares at me, waiting for me to say something but I can’t. I’m speechless. What do you say when everything you know is shifted and twisted into something you don’t recognise?
“She knew about the whole mafia side of things? ”
“I’d told her everything. She took it surprisingly well, up until the fear of what would happen to you as threats of war rolled in.” It’s hard to picture my kind-hearted Mum being okay with a world full of violence and bloodshed, but then again, she lived a whole life before me.
“This is madness.”
“Believe me, sweetheart, I know. I’ll happily answer any questions you have. Anything I can do to make this easier, I will, all you have to do is ask.”
“And I will. When I’ve had more than a handful of hours to wrap my head around this shit.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else, after all, you are clearly your mother’s daughter.” Meeting his eyes — eyes identical to mine— we share a look that convoys how fucked up this is for both of us before I make an effort to switch the conversation to something that’s been scratching at my brain since last night.
“Owen?”
“His Dad, Seamus, is my underboss, so yes. He’s always known and been a part of this. As has Abigail.” At this, he looks sheepish.
“My Abigail?” Next thing you know I’m going to be told Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy are real too.
“Jack, her father, is one of my Capos, so when I asked him if he’d enrol his little girl in the same school as you so I’d have an excuse to catch glimpses of you, he agreed. Owen going there had nothing to do with me, and neither of them knew anything about you being my daughter until last night.” He retrieves two photo albums from a shelf under his desk before taking a seat beside me.
“But how did you even know what school I went to in the first place?” If the whole point of Mum leaving him before I was born was to keep my identity a secret, then she wouldn’t have been in contact with him.
“We’d already picked out your name before she left, and since she never took me up on my offer to create a fake ID for her, I knew your surname. In this digital age, that makes it shockingly easy to track someone. Plus, I had a security detail keeping an eye on you. But most importantly, St. Theresa’s is funded and run by the Four Points. It serves as a safe place for our kids and to educate future recruits.” As he talks, more and more things start clicking into place.
How everyone seemed to know each other, despite being in different years. How the teachers turned a blind eye to the many cuts and bruises that littered my classmates when normally kids showing up injured at school would trigger a call to social services.
“If it’s meant to be exclusive to the Four Points, then why is there a public scholarship for other kids to get a full ride? That’s a security risk waiting to happen,” I muse aloud.
“The short answer is there isn’t. Not normally. It’s something I fabricated for your safety. Considering the man who attacked you last night works for the Clan, a different mafia faction, it’s clear that was the right call. I need you to understand the dangers and let me keep you safe.” At my stunned silence, he changes course as he presses a photo album into my frozen hands, “These are the only photos I have of Helen but I thought you might like to look at them, if not now then at some point.” Silence blankets us as I try to find something, anything, to say. But honestly, what I need most is time—time to come to terms with what he’s told me and time to untangle the knot of emotions in my stomach.
With a final squeeze of his hand, I make my excuse to leave. Albeit disappointed, he doesn’t fight me on it; just insists that the Finlay brothers will shadow me.
A short car ride and exchange of numbers later, Aidan insisted on doing a quick walkthrough before they deemed my apartment safe. With promises to text them if I needed anything or wanted to go anywhere, I locked the door and slumped against it under the weight of my shifted perspective of the world .
So much has changed in such a short space of time I can’t even begin to wrap my head around it all. But one thing that hasn’t changed is that my apartment is my safe space. Sure it’s nowhere near as extravagant as Jonathan’s place and it’s a little on the smaller size, but it’s home.
Curling up on the sofa, I brace myself and flip through the photo albums slowly, studying the pictures. It’s strange seeing Mum so clearly in love, something I never got to witness. As far as I can remember she spent all her time working as a receptionist for a local doctor’s office and taking care of me. We did everything together to the point I don’t even remember her having friends around.
Parched, I wander into the kitchen to get a drink before heading to my room, and right then, my phone chimes with a text.