Chapter 25
LOCHLAN
I don't remember the drive to the hospital. One second I'm kissing Adriana goodbye, the next I'm swerving my car into a parking spot and running toward the emergency room entrance.
The waiting area is packed with the usual mess of crying kids and people pressing bloody rags to various body parts. There is no sign of my brothers, so I head straight for the reception desk.
“Gavin Molloy. Where is he?” I say, slamming both hands down on the top of the desk.
She glances up at me and lifts an eyebrow. “And you are?”
“His brother.”
She waves her hands toward the double doors. “He's in exam room four. Down the hall, third door on your—”
I'm already gone before she finishes the sentence.
Cillian and Wolfe stand outside the exam room when I dart around the corner. Cillian looks over at me. He’s fucking wrecked… pale and drawn, panic in his gaze. Wolfe stares at his phone, his fingers flying across the screen, probably already trying to track down whoever did this.
“How is he?” I ask, peering around the doorway to get a glimpse of Gavin but he’s hidden by a curtain.
“Awake. Pissed as hell. He looks like shit.” Cillian rips a hand through his hair.
“They stitched up the gash on his head. He needed sixteen fucking stitches. His face is a disaster… black eye, split lip, bruised jaw.” Cillian grits his teeth.
“He’s also got a couple of bruised ribs, but by some miracle, nothing’s broken. "
“And what about the scans?” I ask in a low voice.
He shrugs. “Still waiting. Someone should have an update any minute now.”
“Is anyone in there now? Can I see him?” I ask.
“Yeah, go ahead. He’s awake,” Cillian says. “We’ll wait here.”
I take a few steps into the exam room. My stomach drops to my shoes when I pull back the curtain.
Shit, he looks even worse than what Cillian described. His left eye is nearly swollen shut, a dark purple stain covering the whole side of his face. A thick white bandage covers the side of his head where they stitched him up. His hair and shirt are caked with dried blood.
But his good eye focuses on me when I inch toward the gurney, and a weak grin lifts his lips.
“Hey, Loch,” he mumbles.
“You doing okay, G?” I ask. “You’re not looking too hot right now, I’ve gotta tell you.”
“You should see the other guys.”
I grab the chair next to his bed and pull it close to him. “What the hell happened?”
“Three guys jumped me outside O'Brien’s.” He winces when he tries to shift in my direction.
“Why the fuck were you by yourself? Where was your security? They’re supposed to be on you twenty-four seven after the Russian threat,” I say, anger bubbling in my veins.
Heads are gonna fucking roll when I get my hands on Danny and Mikey, who should have seen those assholes coming and handled them before they could breathe the same air as my brother.
“I just needed to run in to grab my jacket,” he says.
“I told them to stay in the car. I ran around to the front of the bar and didn’t even make it in the door before they grabbed me.
Someone hit Danny over the head when he got out of the car to investigate.
And then another one of those assholes slashed the tires so Mikey couldn’t follow them after they beat the hell outta me. ”
“Motherfuckers. Did you recognize them?”
“No. But one of them had a Russian accent.” His jaw tightens. “They said something about sending a message. That nobody's safe.”
My hands curl into fists. The Russians went after my youngest brother to send a message to Adriana, to me, to my father. They used Gavin to prove they could reach anyone connected to either family. And they were smart enough to take out his security first.
“How's Danny?” I ask.
“He’s got a concussion. They're checking him out down the hall.” Gavin lets out a sigh. “Fuck. This is my fault. I should've been more careful.”
“This isn't on you, G. This is on the bastards who did it.”
Footsteps approach behind me and a doctor walks in with a tablet in her hand. She looks young, maybe early thirties, her expression stoic. No-nonsense. Reminds me of Adriana.
“Good news,” she says in a crisp voice. “The CT scan came back clear. No bleeding, no swelling, no skull fracture. You've got a concussion, which means you'll need to take it easy for the next week or two. Headaches, dizziness, and light sensitivity are all normal, so don’t panic if you experience any of those.” Her eyebrows pull together. “But you got lucky, Mr. Molloy. If that hit had been a few more inches in the wrong direction, I’d be having a very different discussion with your family.”
Lucky. The word echoes in my head. My twenty-one-year-old brother got his skull nearly cracked open in a parking lot, and she says he’s lucky.
What the fuck?
“Can he go home?” I ask.
“We'd like to keep him for observation overnight, just to be safe. But as long as everything stays stable, he can be discharged tomorrow morning.”
She turns to Gavin and gives him some instructions about rest and follow-up appointments before leaving the curtained-off area. I slump back in my chair and let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” I say.
“Scared the shit out of myself.” He tries to smile but winces again. “Is Adriana okay? If they came after me to send a message—”
“She's fine. She's with her family. Her dad woke up from the coma today.”
“No shit? That's good news, right?”
“Yeah. It is.” I toy with the blanket on the gurney. “Listen, I need to make some calls. You good for a few minutes?”
He lets out a little snort then groans. “Like I’m going anywhere.”
I step out into the hallway where Cillian and Wolfe are still waiting. Before I can say anything, someone at the end of the corridor catches my eye.
My father is walking toward us. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Adrenaline courses through my veins, ire shooting to the tips of my fingers.
He's dressed to the nines, as usual, because nothing interferes with people’s perceptions of Eamon Molloy, not even the fact that one of his kids was brutally attacked by an enemy family.
His expression is calm as he saunters down the hall in his typical pompous ass way.
It’s as if he's showing up to a damn business meeting instead of a hospital where his son is lying in a bed with sixteen stitches in his head.
“How is he?” Eamon asks when he reaches us.
“Lucky,” Cillian says. “The scans came back clear. He just has a concussion and some bad bruising and swelling.”
“Good.” My father looks between us. “I've spoken with some associates. We'll find out who did this and take care of them.”
“You don’t need to look too hard. The Russians did this,” I say through gritted teeth. “They told Gavin it was a message. They’ve already hit the DiMicheli family, multiple times. Now they’re coming for us, just to prove they can.”
“Perhaps Gavin shouldn't have been out drinking alone at a bar when there are active threats against both families.” I shudder at the chill in his voice. Prick bastard. Always knew the asshole had ice for blood. “His reckless lifestyle has consequences.”
I stare at him. Blood pounds between my ears and I am damn close to pummeling his ass into the polished tile floor.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“Watch the way you talk to me, Lochlan,” he growls.
“Fuck that,” I say. “Your son is in there with his head split open and you're blaming him?” I take a step toward my father, fists clenched hard at my sides. “Why the hell aren’t you out there tearing this city apart to find the cocksuckers who did this to him?”
“I said we'll find them. But Gavin needs to take responsibility for putting himself in a vulnerable position. I've warned him countless times about his behavior.”
Jesus Christ, you could freeze ice on my father’s ass.
“He's twenty-one years old. He went to pick up his jacket from the bar, not party. And three guys beat him half to death in a parking lot.” People passing us in the hallway, shoot curious stares in our direction, but I don’t give a shit.
Fuck them. And fuck my father for sitting on his ass and doing nothing to protect us.
“This isn't about his lifestyle. This is about the Russian threat escalating, about them coming after our family, and you standing there like it's just another Tuesday night.”
My father’s jaw tenses. “I suggest you calm down, Lochlan. If not, you won’t like what happens next.”
“You don’t hold any control over me,” I hiss, my pulse hammering in my throat. “I’m not fucking afraid of you. And by the way, thanks for proving yet fucking again that the only person you really give a shit about is you.”
I don’t miss the flicker of shock in his expression. It lasts for a fleeting second before it morphs into disgust. Cillian shifts beside me, tearing his gaze away to focus on anything but us. But Wolfe watches, positioning himself closer to me.
My father straightens his cuffs, his sharp voice cutting the tense air. “I'll be in touch when I have information about who's responsible. In the meantime, focus on keeping your wife's family in line. The Russians wouldn't be making these moves if they didn't sense weakness on their side.”
He turns and stalks away without another word.
“He doesn’t even give a shit enough to check on G.” I shake my head then look around. “Hey, where's Ronan?” I ask.
Cillian still won't look at me. “I called him. Left three messages.”
“And?”
“He's not coming.”
“Gavin is lying in a hospital bed, and Ronan can't be bothered to show up?” I say through clenched teeth. “Where the fuck is he?”
“Loch—” Cillian starts to say.
I level him with a glare. “Where. Is. He.”
Wolfe points to his phone. “His car's GPS puts him at his apartment. He's been there all night.”
“I think I’ll go and give him a live update.” I twist away from my brothers and shove my hands against the double doors, pushing them open. My heels dig into the floor as I head for the exit.
Ronan's apartment is in some overpriced high-rise in the Seaport District. I've been here twice, maybe three times. Never liked the place. It’s too sterile and reminds me too much of our father's house.
I pound on his door hard enough to rattle the hinges.
“Open up, Ronan. I know you're in there.”
Silence follows.
I pound again, harder this time. “You've got about ten seconds before I kick this door down.”
Barely a second passes before the lock clicks and the door swings open. Ronan stands there in sweatpants and a t-shirt, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His face is pinched with irritation.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“You selfish bastard.” I shove past him into the apartment. “Our little brother is in the hospital with his head cracked open and you're sitting here boozing it up? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Cillian said the scans came back clear. He's fine.” His eyes narrow. “I got the messages.”
“Oh, lemme nominate you for brother of the fucking year,” I sneer.
“And just so you know, he's not fine. He got jumped by three guys and beaten until he couldn't stand up.
He's got sixteen stitches in his head.” I push against his chest and back him against the wall.
“And you couldn't be bothered to show up to check on him?”
Ronan takes a sip of his whiskey. Completely unruffled, not a modicum of concern visible anywhere on his face. He’s way too much like our father. “Gavin's reckless. He's been asking for something like this for years. Maybe now he'll finally learn to be more careful.”
Jesus, it’s like he just puked up our father’s words from a little while ago. I stare at him, too stunned to even respond. This fucking guy isn't the brother I grew up with. This isn't the kid who used to sneak me comic books when I was grounded, or cover for me when I stayed out past curfew.
This is Eamon Molloy’s son. Cold and calculating, emotionally empty and arrogance personified.
“You sound just like him,” I finally say. “Do you know that? Do you even care? You sound exactly like Dad.”
He shrugs. “Maybe Dad has a point.”
“Dad doesn't give a shit about any of us.
He never has. We're just pieces on his chessboard, tools he uses to get what he wants.” Weeks of rage finally boil over, at the whole fucking situation that our father manipulated us to be part of.
“I thought you were different. I thought underneath all your bullshit, you still cared about this family. About your brothers.”
“Fuck you, Lochlan. I care about what matters,” he says, his menacing tone grating against my ears.
“And Gavin doesn't matter? I don't matter? Cillian and Wolfe don't matter?"
Ronan rolls his eyes and walks past me into the living room. “Don't be so dramatic.”
But the asshole won’t answer. And that alone speaks fucking volumes.
“He's your blood, Ronan.” My voice cracks on the words. “He's your fucking blood. And you couldn't drag yourself off your couch for twenty minutes to make sure he was okay.”
Ronan twists around and puts down his whiskey glass. His blue eyes narrow, fury swirling fast and hard. But nowhere do I see any shred of humanity. No guilt, no shame, no tiny glimpse of the brother I used to know.
“Are you done?” he says.
And that’s when I know it’s really over.
Maybe part of me came here because I wanted to give him one last chance to show me that he’s not completely lost to us.
The last bit of hope I was holding onto, the stupid belief that maybe there was still a way to fix this family, cracks in half, just like my heart.
“Yeah,” I say. “I'm done.”
I head for the door, the weight of our reality crushing me. I stop with my hand on the handle, my other hand gripping the wall.
“Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't show up at my place.” I turn to look at him one last time. “As far as I'm concerned, you're not my brother anymore.”
I walk out and slam the door behind me. The walls shake at the force.
The hallway is quiet, leaving me to process the toxic thoughts looping through my mind.
I've spent years trying to hold this family together, trying to protect my brothers from our father, trying to believe that blood means something, that we'd be there for each other when it mattered.
But Ronan just showed me the unavoidable truth. He chose our father. He chose power and position over his own brothers.
And I'm done pretending that's ever going to change.
I pull out my phone and shoot off a text to Adriana.
Scans came back clear. Gavin's going to be okay. I'll be home soon.
Three gray dots appear immediately.
Thank God. I'm so relieved. I'm here when you get back.
I stare at her words and a wave of relief floods my chest.
My family might be falling apart. My father might be a monster. My oldest brother might be lost to me forever.
But Adriana is waiting for me. And right now, that's the only thing that matters.