Communicating with the Taciturn
Chapter two
áINE
My heart is thudding so hard, it feels like it's going to beat right out of my chest. What is going on?
Have I done something that would make Mick Fitzgerald think I'm disloyal to the mob?
Six months after my husband, Troy, was killed I was approached by the feds with what I thought was a ridiculous story about him being in the mob. Turns out, the story wasn't so farfetched but I didn't learn that until a few days later.
Even if I had known all along, I wouldn’t have told the feds anything. I'm not stupid. I knew turning rat comes with a death sentence and my girls needed me.
Kenneth Shaughnessy found out about my interview with the feds though. That conversation and the ones that followed it aren't anything I want to live through again. Ever.
After terrifying me with the devastating truth about my husband and how Troy died, Kenneth told me that as long as I stayed loyal to the mob, me and the girls would be safe.
But if I ever even thought about talking to law enforcement me and my girls would be dead before I could work out a deal for protective custody.
He didn't say that until the second time we spoke, when he was still trying to come off as benevolent, but his callous ruthlessness showed through.
I believed him. I still do.
The mob has local and state police on their payroll as well as federal agents in all of the alphabets. There's no way they wouldn't find out about it.
I told Kenneth we'd move out of New York and the mob would never have to worry about me telling what I didn't know. Heck, I knew a lot more about my husband after that discussion with Kenneth than I had before.
Only Kenneth vetoed that idea fast, saying that moving would be exhibiting a lack of loyalty, something I could and still cannot afford to do.
Proving my loyalty to the mob is why I work as a maid for him and his wife, rather than using my Associate's Degree in Accounting working somewhere else for more money. He said he had to keep an eye on me to be sure I didn't turn rat.
No amount of pleading or promises could convince him I'm not a threat.
Lately, Kenneth has been implying that I need to spread my legs for him to prove my loyalty.
Even the thought of letting that man touch me makes me want to vomit.
So far, I've been able to put him off, but I know I won't be able to forever. What I don't know is if I will be able to tolerate it when the inevitable happens without taking a butcher knife to his nether regions.
Even for the sake of my daughters.
But how can I do anything else? I love every one of my girls more than my own life.
And today, I had to choose between keeping the job that is my only protection and obeying the underboss of the Shaughnessy Mob, the man who killed my husband.
The fact Sadie is waiting at the mansion for me made the choice an easy one, but no less devastating.
Fear is eating my insides like acid.
"What is Mr. Fitzgerald going to do to me?" I ask, unable to help the quaver of fear in my voice.
Even so, I doubt I'll get an answer from Mr. Doesn't Like to Talk but Is Surprisingly Chivalrous. His now wet jacket is on the backseat and despite it being seventy-five degrees outside, the heat is on low inside the cab.
Why? Because I might get a chill from the slight damp in my hair after being exposed to the rain for the full two seconds it took him to turn his jacket into an umbrella for me.
His own dark hair got drenched by the unexpected downpour and the shoulders of his dress shirt cling wetly to his bulging muscles.
In a very hot way. Which is so not the point this minute, brain.
"Nothing." He doesn't say anything else.
"That's it? Nothing? Do you have any idea how stressed out I am right now?" Why am I antagonizing this guy?
Rule Number One for Smart Women: Do not antagonize the mobster. No matter how good looking he is.
"You're not in trouble." Kieran signals before taking a right.
The car is warm and I prickle with heat in the long-sleeved black button up that makes up half of my maid's uniform. The other half is a straight skirt designed to fall two inches below the knees, but hits mid-calf on my short 5'2" body.
No leggings or short sleeves for Allison Shaughnessy's staff. Not even in summer, much less mid-June. Not that I would ever wear leggings around Kenneth Shaughnessy. And with how low Allison sets the A/C, I'm happy for my long sleeves too.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I demand. "Is Sadie in trouble?"
He shrugs his big shoulders. Like seriously big. We're in a full size SUV and Kieran makes it feel small and cramped inside. He just takes up all the space around him.
"Don't shrug at me," I practically shout. "That's not an answer."
What is wrong with me? I am not this woman. I am quiet. I keep my head down.
"Kara sent me to pick you up," he says like that's supposed to explain everything and allay all my fears.
It does help. A little. Sadie sings Kara Shaughnessy's praises, repeating everything Fitz tells her about his mom.
I've never actually met the woman and I have to take Fitz's opinion of his parents with a grain of salt. He thinks his dad is a good guy too and everyone knows Mick Fitzgerald is a Bonafide sociopath.
At least everyone who has been made a widow by him with the threat of ending up dead too if she exhibits any kind of disloyalty. As defined by him and Kenneth Shaughnessy. FML.
I've seen Kara at PTA meetings though. She does seem kind and to really care about the welfare of all the children at St. Patrick's, not just her son's. Sadie is convinced we would be best friends if we got to know each other, like she and Fitz are.
I don't have the heart to tell my daughter that's about as likely as us moving to Long Island. Not only because we are in totally different social brackets but because Kara's husband murdered mine. And would do the same to me if he thought I was a rat too.
"You don't wear a ring."
It takes a second for Kieran's words to penetrate the haze of fear in my mind. Is he taunting me?
Of course I don't still wear the wedding ring from a man murdered for betraying the mob.
"Why would I?" I taunt back.
Seriously? Do I have a death wish, or what? What is it about this man that brings out the feisty nature I've kept under lock and key for the last six years?
"You're married."
"I am not married. I'm a widow." And he knows it because it's his boss that made me that way.
He swears under his breath. "Troy Gallagher was your husband," he says like he's just made the connection with my last name.
"And your boss killed him. Just tell me if it's my turn now." Please tell me it's not. Please, please tell me that.
Kieran's big body swells with affront. "No."
"You're not going to tell me? Or it's not my turn?" I demand.
"Why do you think Mick would kill you?"
My hands curl into fists. There were more words in his question than any of his answers to mine.
"Don't play dumb. I know I'm alive on sufferance. That if I step out of line, not just me, but my daughters will pay the price."
"Have you?"
"Stepped out of line? No. I have not. I've done exactly what Mick Fitzgerald ordered me to.
I'm still living in New York – even though I'd rather raise my daughters almost anywhere else – so the mob can keep an eye on me and make sure I don't betray any secrets.
Not that I know any. I work in a miserable job, for a lech who makes a pass at least once a week, to prove I'm loyal to that same mob. "
Helpless anger fills me as I list off all the accommodation I've been forced to make to keep my daughters safe because their father wanted the good things in life and was stupid enough to believe taking money to betray the mob was the way to get them.
Troy dazzled my na?ve eighteen-year-old self with his sophistication. He wore designer suits and watches. Well, I thought they were designer suits at the time. They were knockoffs, but they impressed the heck out of my teenage self.
He always carried the latest smart phone on the market. He took me to dinner at Michelin star restaurants and bought me jewelry from Cartier.
Yeah, those were fakes too, but I didn't find that out until I tried to sell the jewelry to help make ends meet after he died.
Against my mom's advice, I married him two weeks after we found out I was pregnant with Sadie. He'd forgotten the condom once too often and I thought he was such a prince for taking responsibility.
Mom didn't want me to get married so young, not even because I was pregnant. She offered to help me with Sadie and promised to watch her while I went to college.
But Troy was adamant and so darn charming.
So, I married him. He bought us a house (so heavily mortgaged I couldn't hope to keep up the payments after his death). I didn't have a Mercedes like Allison, but I did have a shiny minivan.
He didn't want me to go to college, but mom watched our daughter for me while I took classes part time without him knowing. It took me four years and two difficult pregnancies to get my Associate's Degree in Accounting.
There was no question of me working though. Especially when I discovered I was pregnant again right before our second daughter, Neeve, started kindergarten.
Troy was ecstatic that the birth control failed.
Me? Not so much. I love all my daughters, but pregnancy was hard and Troy worked long hours. When he was home, he wanted to play with his girls and there were times I felt like a single parent.
The prospect of adding another child to our family dynamic was not pure joy for me.
Only when my husband didn't live to see Joy born, that's exactly what I named her because she brought it back into all our lives.
Despite my fairytale turning into a horror story and learning my prince had been a frog who left me and my girls in the boiling pot of water, Joy's birth reminded all of us that life brings both happiness and grief.
As I come out of my trip down memory lane, I realize the man beside me is practically vibrating with fury.
That granite jaw and stiff shoulders could be from something other than anger, but he's got what Joy would call his mad face on.
"You are not going back there." The words come out like bullets.
And are just as devastating.
"I don't have a choice. Ask your boss."
Kieran's grip on the steering wheel goes white knuckled. "No."
I wish. "After I deal with whatever is going on with Sadie and Kara Shaughnessy, which I realize now that I'm calmer probably has something to do with what happened at St. Patrick's, though I'm not sure why they didn't call me if my daughter was involved, I have to go back to that house and beg Allison not to fire me before somehow getting the rest of the preparations done for her dinner party. "
"You aren't begging her for anything. And you're not going back to that house."
"And because you say it, it has to be true?" I demand, fed up with the fear I've been living in for over five years.
"Yes."
"How do you suggest I support my family without a job?" I ask sarcastically.
As much as I would rather be using my degree, I still have to pay the bills and there are no well-paid office jobs dancing on my horizon.
"I will take care of it."
"You don't even know me," I yell, totally exasperated with this man and his edicts.
Go here. Do that.
Then what he's actually suggesting flashes like neon letters in my brain. "I am not going to become your mistress!"
"Calm down."
"What's there to be calm about?" I demand at even higher volume.
"I do not need a mistress."
Not looking like that, he doesn't. He probably has a different woman every night of the week.
Ugh. What is wrong with me?
Who cares if the monosyllabic hottie has a ton of girlfriends?
Not me.
Liar. That pesky inner voice exhibits just a little too much honesty again.
Kieran doesn't speak again for the rest of the drive and I don't bother asking any more questions I know he won't answer.
Do I want to know what he means by I will take care of it if he's not talking about making me his mistress? Yes. Do I want to know what is happening with my daughter? Yes times two!
Do I want to risk losing my cool again if his answers are as upsetting as the ones he's given me so far? Absolutely not.
My situation is way too precarious for me to give into emotions I usually keep under lock and key. Fear. Anger. Confusion.
There's no room for them in my life.
I'm a mom and a daughter. Keeping my daughters and mother safe is the most important thing. I can't afford to forget that.
But something about this man jimmies the lock and my only protection is not to interact.