“It’s never too late to beg for forgiveness. To seek redemption.”
I shrugged, but before I could gripe at him, Aidan Sr. called out, “What’s the holdup?”
Doyle’s eyes flashed with concern before he nodded at us all, his features one big pucker of discombobulation, and we strolled away.
Seamus, the second Conor was dealing with Doyle, muttered, “What a jerk.”
My lips twitched. “Yeah. He hasn’t changed much. How does he sound more Irish now than he did when I was a kid?”
“A miracle,” Declan said glumly. “It’s the only thing about him that has changed.”
I knew why he was glum too.
“He’ll tell your father.”
“Of course he will.”
Seamus peered over at us. “He can’t make us go, can he, Mom?”
I shrugged. “Your grandfather likes to get his own way,” was all I said.
“Then he needs to learn he can’t always.” His brow furrowed. “Isn’t that something you learn as a kid?”
“It is, but I think your great-grandmother skipped that lesson.”
“Or four,” Declan muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.
And again, he endeared me to him more than he could ever know by not trying to sway me into agreeing with him.
He didn’t say a goddamn word, just looked miserable at the prospect of the conversation that was in all our futures. I couldn’t say I blamed him.
The last couple times I’d met Aidan Sr. were a couple too many.
As we headed over to Dec’s SUV, a shiny Porsche that gleamed in the sunlight, George straightened up. He’d stayed outside to watch over the vehicles. Either this was new, something the upper ranks necessitated, or it was because of the war.
It pissed me off that I knew why too.
Not because they thought some punk kids were going to take off with one of the classic sports cars here, but because they were making sure that no other faction could plant a car bomb while they were otherwise engaged.
That was the lofty world I lived in now.
When I climbed into the SUV after Dec opened the door for me, I watched as he rounded the fender at the same time as Seamus leaped in behind me.
He was relatively quiet as Declan got behind the wheel and started the ignition, but he’d been quiet since Conor and Brennan had come around for dinner.
Used to his moods, I left him in peace, and Declan was relatively quiet, too, on the drive out of the center of Hell’s Kitchen and toward the highway that would take us off Manhattan and lead us into the city itself.
Was I surprised the leaders no longer lived in the epicenter of their territory?
Sure, but I got it. They weren’t exactly figureheads. Anyone who was anyone knew to fear where angels wouldn’t tread where Aidan Sr. was concerned, and he was probably as much of a prime target now as he’d ever been.
I turned to watch the scenery go by. Expensive stores, landmarks that I’d visited a time or ten in my years here, the busy roads that were crammed with cars even on a Sunday. We passed fancy restaurants and skyscrapers that were engineering feats.
The energy here, the vibe, was something that couldn’t be replicated, and I had to admit it was inspiring as hell. I hadn’t anticipated that, but I considered it a boon, especially with all the external crap I was having to deal with. My muse should have left the building, but instead she was here, alive and kicking, and loving the chaos into which we’d fallen.
I was having a hard time settling down on my next project, that was how heavy the barricade of inspiration was, but I’d know, when the time came, what I needed to do.
“You doing okay, Mom?”
My brows rose at the question, but I turned around to look at Shay. “Takes more than a crotchety old priest to get under my skin, butt face.” When I let my gaze drift over him, his sheepish grin revealed a multitude of things. Most of them being that he was nervous.
Not that I could blame him.
I’d tried to keep this Sunday ritual low angst, teasing him as I bribed him to come to church, stuff like that. But it had to be intense. He was about to meet a set of grandparents for the first time ever. They might love him, they might loathe him—he didn’t know, did he?
I mean, I did. I knew. He could be a little bastard and the O’Donnellys would still bring him into the fold. That was how they worked.
I actually kind of liked that about them.
Family went deeper than personality.
It was bone deep, blood deep. You could be a prick as a person, could be going through a rough patch that made you a pain in the ass, and you’d never stop being blood.
Every time I met them, that was rammed home to me.
“I didn’t like what he was calling you,” Shay admitted, and he shot his father a glare under his lashes. “I should have said something.”
I knew what he was getting at, but I twisted it around and asked, “Why should you? I said it all, didn’t I?”
“You should have had backup,” he argued stubbornly. Another glower aimed at his father making an appearance.
“I have a mouth in my head, don’t I?” I winked at him. “If I’d needed your father’s or your help, kiddo, I’d have asked for it. I knew exactly how Doyle was going to be. He’s old school. He’s Old Testament. How you were born might not be the way his church likes it, but I stopped giving a damn about those ways when I was eighteen.”
Shay’s brows rose. “Then why are we going to church if you don’t care about it anymore?”
“Because it’s important to your grandfather.”
Shay’s frown lightened some, and he tipped up his chin. “Oh.”
I reached between the seat, loving that he held out his hand to grab mine. “I love that you wanted to defend me, but don’t forget I kick butt too. Who’s the one who put that bitch at the PTA meeting in her place last year, huh?”
His eyes lit up before he burst out laughing. “That was hilarious! Oh man, you really shut her up.”
When Declan started chuckling, I wasn’t surprised. Shay had an infectious laugh. “What happened?” he inquired, snickering all the while.
I wafted a hand. “We were arguing about the homecoming dance, of all things—”
“Wait, you were on the actual PTA?”
His surprise had me grumbling, “I like to pay it forward, and I wanna know what’s going on wherever Shay is. I don’t think Midlands will let me in unless I let my blue hair fade out, though.”
At that, Shay groused, “I like it blue, Mom.”
“Thanks, baby,” I replied with a grin. “But future presidential candidates’ moms can’t have blue hair and more than one piercing in their ears.”
Eyes twinkling, he said, “Well, I’m not that yet. Enjoy yourself while you can before you have to behave.”
That had me snickering too. “You’re all heart, kid.” I loved the sparkle in his gaze, it filled me with warmth to know that he was less anxious and that was something I’d helped ease. “Anyway, the homecoming dance. Yeah. So she wanted to bring in like a pony and a magician act, and all this stuff, and I was like, ‘It isn’t a five-year-old’s birthday party.’ She got in my face, threw some water at me, screamed at me a little, and I just said, ‘No wonder you wanted it for that age group, seeing as you’re acting like a five-year-old right now.’ She was wicked pissed.”
“It was hilarious. I wasn’t supposed to be there, but Caro couldn’t babysit. Mrs. Jayden turned bright pink and stormed out.”
“Queen of the one liners. That’s me,” I joked. “And in that old school, they were all swanky and snippy. Being likened to a kindergartener hit her straight in the ego.”
“They’ll probably be even worse at Midlands,” Declan pointed out, but he was smiling.
“Yeah. Probably. You’re going to be rubbing shoulders with senators’ grandkids, Shay, seeing as the country’s run by a bunch of old, white dudes.”
Dec rolled his eyes. “Still f
ighting the establishment, I take it.”
I rolled my eyes right damn back. “It’s what I do.”
“Your mother was a lot more idealistic back when I knew her, Shay,” Declan told him, and when I cast my kid a glance, any unease had faded away. It was almost charming to see him eat up the words, like he wanted to know what I’d been like. It hit me then that he’d only ever gotten a pretty one-sided view of me. “She wanted to change the world.”
“I wanted to go into the Peace Corps,” I agreed, and I smiled at Shay. “But you changed all that, so I decided to make money instead.” Tongue-in-cheek, I winked at him. “And because we live in a capitalist sinkhole, the more money I made, the more of a platform I had, and the more I could shine a light on the shit that goes down everywhere.”
“Rebel, rebel,” Declan teased under his breath.
“Still my favorite Bowie song,” I teased back, loving his grin.
“Did you know that every piece of Mom’s art has a message?”
Declan shrugged. “I didn’t, but I can see why. My favorite is Rats at Dawn. Charming name there, by the way, honey.”
Butterflies spilled through me. “You have a favorite?”
He gave me the side-eye. “You know I appreciate art.”
“The classics. Not modern art.”
“Everything in its proper place.” He cleared his throat. “A few years ago, I found out about you. Did some research. You have good techniques.”
He’d known about me for a couple of years but hadn’t stormed into my life?
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, wasn’t sure if my perceptions were skewed because he liked Rats at Dawn. Despite the less than charming name, it was an oil painting I was particularly proud of.
I’d been in London at the time, and we’d been staying in Canary Wharf, one of the financial hubs in the capital. I’d taken to waking up at dawn and drinking coffee on the banks of the Thames while watching the city wake up as I froze my ass off.
I’d watched joggers return from their morning run head inside, get changed into slick suits, and return with expensive cases in their hands. They were the banker wankers that were so often vilified, so I’d done a little more vilifying.
A rat morphed into a jogger morphed into a city fat cat.
That collection had all been around an animal. And not always the pretty ones either. There was a kraken amid that set too.
My muse was weird. The public? Weirder still. Rats at Dawn had sold for a million at auction last year.
Realizing that I’d fallen silent when I wanted to keep Shay’s mind off things, I muttered, “I’m glad you liked it.”
“Rats was my favorite. Remember that time in London where we—”
As Shay reminisced, I let him, chiming in here and there with things to make him laugh. But my brain was whirring. Not only had he seen my art, known who I was for a couple of years, Dec had a favorite. Thought I had ‘good techniques’.
I hated that I was nervous. Hated that he’d turned me into a goddamn fifteen-year-old again when I was about to go to his house, meet his family for the first time in a proper setting.
Never in a million lightyears would I have expected to ever be rolling up to the O’Donnelly home for Sunday dinner, but that was how surreal my life was now—as surreal as my art.
It took a while because they lived off the beaten path, closer to upstate than the city, and it made me empathize with Declan because I knew he had to visit often and it was a bitch of a drive, but the house itself was beautiful.
A one-story building that was too short for two floors, but too tall for just the one, which I figured meant the sprawling home had super high ceilings. From the road, it was like the place was a high-security prison. The walls were tall, glass glinted on the ramparts, barbed wire glittered in the sun, and cameras twisted here and there as the car drove to the driveway.
There was a guard station, signage for several alarm companies, and to get through the gate, Declan had to roll to a halt, open his window, and salute the guy sitting in the booth.
As we drove inside, the prison vibe disappeared to be replaced with a beautifully landscaped garden that paved the way to a house that belonged in Hollywood.
It was light and breezy, lots of windows, lots of French doors that led to a terrace that ran along the side of the property. In the distance, I could see the gleam of a pool and a lot of seating areas.
“You grew up here?” Shay asked Declan, and I could sense his eagerness to know more. To learn about his dad.
“No,” Declan replied. “They moved here a few years ago.”
Didn’t take a genius to figure out why.
Security threat.
Christ, I’d barely been back a month and I’d heard that so many fucking times.
“Where did you live when you were a kid?”
“In Hell’s Kitchen. When I was really young, we lived in an apartment.”
That had my brows surging high because I hadn’t known that.
His hand drifted over to me, and for the first time, I wondered at his state of mind because he never touched me in front of Seamus, something I really appreciated, but his hand settled on my leg. His palm wasn’t dry. Not exactly sweaty, but I just got the feeling he was nervous.
The notion soothed me because it made my own agitation feel normal. I wasn’t scared of the O’Donnellys, not anymore, but the kid in me, the kid who had taken one of their own from them, who had sneaked around with Declan, well, that kid was bricking it.
As we pulled up to a halt, the door opened. Lena and Aidan Sr. could only have recently arrived themselves, but when Lena surged out, I sensed her excitement.
Truthfully, I was surprised she didn’t have more grandkids roaming around. I’d have thought they’d have tried to marry their sons off earlier, but apparently they hadn’t.
The older woman stood on her front stoop, wringing her hands. I twisted around to look at Shay, saw he was watching her, and murmured, “That’s Lena. Remember, be polite and respectful. They have a different way of life. Watch and take note.”
I’d told him the same when we’d traveled with some Roma back in Ireland and when we’d traversed the desert with a nomadic tribe of Bedouins.
I figured it was fitting that I told him the same with a bunch of people who were Irish Mob. A culture all on their own. A society that lived with its own rules.
Declan had killed someone this week, shot another’s foot, but he hadn’t spent a lick of time inside a police station… that was how it worked when you were an O’Donnelly.
“I will,” Shay promised, but he was a kid. His assurances didn’t always mean that much.
Like that time with the Bedouins, when he’d asked why the leader was called a Sheikh, when he’d learned that Sheikh meant ‘old man,’ and the leader of the tribe had been in his late thirties…
I’d thanked God for the fact we’d had someone translating for us and, kindly, the translator hadn’t communicated that part.
Sometimes, questions just came out, and with Seamus, more than most. He was inquisitive by nature. Protective too.
I wasn’t surprised he’d raised Doyle’s conversation, because he’d stayed quiet and hadn’t said anything, he’d be feeling guilty.
Somehow, and I had no idea how, but I’d instilled an honor code in him. Sometimes, I wondered how I’d done such a good job, but then I’d come back down to Earth when he took a twenty-five-minute shower.
I climbed out of the SUV, and as Shay closed his door, I hooked an arm over his shoulders. When he hugged his around my waist, we walked as a united front toward the grandmother who, quite clearly, longed to meet him.
Aside from the one-armed hug, he was stiff and tense, and I didn’t bother trying to ease that. He’d be that way until he was home tonight, and that was okay. I didn’t blame him, either. I’d be happy when I was climbing into my bed tonight too.
Well, happier when I climbed out of it to head into Declan’s…
/> “Seamus,” Lena whispered, her eyes lighting up as they drifted over him.
He looked cute in his suit, and even though I figured he could have come in pants and a shirt, I thought it best to start off properly… the suit and the Kevlar vest? More reasons why I owed him big time. Hence the full-on day trip to Coney Island.
“Hi,” he said awkwardly, lifting a hand and waving it.
She smiled at him, then stepped forward at the same time Aidan Sr. loomed in the doorway.
His eyes were on me, and not even for a scant second did they flicker over to Shay or to Lena. It was the strangest feeling, being at the center of someone’s focus who was capable of killing you, who’d feel no remorse over it because he had a different honor code.
It was like when you went to a zoo or an aquarium and a lion or a shark stared at you through the cage/glass. You were well aware that, without the pen, you’d be chomped up and spat out within seconds.
I was face to face with a predator, and even though my heart sped up, I wasn’t scared.
It boggled my mind, but I wasn’t.
I tipped my chin up and stared him down just as hard as he stared at me, until Declan barked, “Da, stop it.”
His gaze cut to his son, and they glowered at one another for a minute before Lena turned to her husband and grumbled, “Stop looming, Aidan. Get over here and meet Seamus.”
Aidan licked his lips and took a few cautious steps forward. In fact, everything about him spoke of his nerves.
The distinct difference between before, when he’d been looking at me with the cold, glass-eyed stare of a predator, to now was difficult to acclimate to.
Every frickin’ mommy instinct inside me was screaming to get my kid away, demanding I head for the hills with my boy, but hadn’t I just been saying what was the complete truth?
These guys wouldn’t kill family. They’d kill for family.
Maybe he knew what was going through my head, maybe he got it, because Declan was behind me all of a sudden. He was there, and I felt his heat, and he didn’t move as Aidan held out a hand for Seamus to shake.
The next few minutes were surreal. Lena fussed, Aidan stayed silent, and Seamus didn’t really soften that much. He smiled and awkwardly answered the questions Lena asked, and in the end, I knew that with Lena trying to force fourteen years of grandmotherly instinct onto him, she wasn’t going to get anywhere.
Filthy Dark: A SECOND CHANCE/SECRET BABY, MAFIA ROMANCE (THE FIVE POINTS' MOB COLLECTION Book 3) Page 29