Jaded Soul: A Standalone Irish Mafia Romance

by Fox, Nicole

  “I’m a wanted man in Dublin,” I point out.

  He smiles. “Doesn’t sound like that’s gonna stop you.”

  “I’d be a fool to go back.”

  “Well, if the shoe fits…”

  I guffaw and shake my head. For once, I don’t have a comeback ready.

  “Cillian?” Diego says after a while.

  “Hmm?”

  “Is there someone else you’re going back for?”

  I jerk my eyes up to meet his, a frown on my face. “Why do you ask?”

  Diego shrugs. “Sometimes, I catch this look on your face. It kind of reminds me of myself… when I think of Alayna.”

  I look into his eyes, wondering what to say.

  I don’t like talking about Saoirse. It’s too fucking painful. Even after all these years, the pain is still fresh every time.

  “There is a girl,” I admit. “Woman now, I suppose.”

  “Aha! I knew it. Smarter than I look.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not what you think. It was over before it even had a chance to begin. Last I heard, she’d married.”

  “But you still think about her?”

  “Yes,” I confess while I stare down into the depths of my scotch. “More often in the last year than ever before.”

  “Maybe that means something.”

  “Even if I go back, I can’t disrupt her life. She’s probably got the whole white picket fence, golden retriever kind of setup going for her. Bet she’s got a couple of kids, too. A whole life that doesn’t include me.”

  “You don’t know any of that for certain, son,” Diego points out gently.

  I smile. “Are you actually encouraging me to find her?”

  “If she’s still on your mind after all these years, you owe it to yourself to do just that. And if she’s happy like you’re assuming, then you can move on with your life. And if not…”

  “Never pegged you for a romantic, Diego.”

  “I used to be,” he admits. “Then Alayna died.”

  I understand what he’s trying to tell me. If Alayna was out there, somewhere in the world, he’d be searching for her.

  “Thanks, Diego,” I say. “For everything.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “No, I have to mention it,” I insist, meeting his eyes. “You gave me a second chance.”

  “Actually, Carla did,” he clarifies. “I wanted to leave you in the dirt.”

  “You’re right. I take it back, you bastard.”

  He laughs, but he sobers up pretty quickly. “You don’t need to wait to finish the roof or the fence, Cillian. You need to leave. You’ve made the decision in your heart already. It’s time to go.”

  “But Carla...”

  Leaving her really is weighing on me. Maybe in some ways, she’s become my best friend, too.

  “Carla’s tough. Tougher than she knows herself,” Diego says. “She’ll understand. Maybe not right away, but in time.”

  I sit there for a moment and weigh what he’s saying. I wish I could poke holes in the argument.

  But he’s right.

  I made the decision in my heart a long time ago. And I’ve denied it and denied it and denied it.

  There’s no denying it anymore.

  It’s time to go home.

  “I’m gonna get my stuff together,” I say quietly. “And then I’ll find her before I… before I leave.”

  Diego nods.

  We finish our scotch and then I make my way to my room. It takes me only a few minutes to gather up my things. I don’t have much.

  When I’m done, I head back into the living room, where Diego’s clearing away the table.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  He moves forward and offers me his hand. I take it, but then I use it to pull him forward, forcing a hug on him.

  “Did you really think you were gonna get away without a hug?” I ask.

  He clears his throat gruffly. “Okay, that’s enough.”

  “Kiss?”

  “Get outta here, pendejo.”

  Laughing, I give him a parting nod of thanks and head out of the house.

  The night outside is silent. I’ll miss Mexico, I think. It’s hot as hell and that doesn’t go too well with my Irish complexion, but I’ve mostly gotten used to the heat and the dryness and the dirt and the—

  Okay, well, maybe I don’t like Mexico all that much.

  But I’ll miss these people. They have good souls. They fixed me from nothing, from literal death.

  I owe them my life.

  The bus station is a couple miles away. I shoulder my pack and start the trek, happy to be alone with my thoughts.

  I get approximately three steps into the journey before a voice pierces the night.

  “Oye, culin!”

  Which means something along the lines of, Yo, butthead!

  I turn around to see Carla sitting on the roof, her legs dangling over the edge.

  “Who are you calling a butthead, butthead?” I demand. “And what are you doing on the roof? You could get hurt.”

  “Oh, since when do you care about that?” she snaps.

  She gives me a glare that’s meant to hide her tears and turns away pointedly, arms crossed in anger.

  “This is hard for me, too, kiddo,” I say softly.

  She sniffles. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be leaving.”

  “I have to leave. There’s some unfinished business I need to see through.”

  “You’re really going back to Ireland?”

  “After a quick pit stop… yes.”

  “It’s so far away.”

  “I know, but I’ve been gone too long. I have a family there. I have friends.”

  “A girlfriend?” she asks.

  I smile. “Not exactly.”

  Carla sighs. I see a single tear escape her right eye. “I don’t want you to leave, Poncho.”

  I smile at the old nickname. She only calls me that anymore when she’s feeling sentimental.

  “No, I don’t want to leave you either. But I gotta do this. I’ve been running too long. I’ve got to be brave now.”

  She turns her head from me again as Gaspar bounds up to from the backyard and licks my hand.

  “Will you come down here so I can give you a hug?” I ask hopefully.

  “No!” she retorts.

  I chuckle. “That’s fair,” I reply. “I’m gonna head off now. But I’ll keep in touch, okay?”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “I love ya, Carlita. Be good to your papa.”

  Then I start the walk towards the mountain road. The town glimmers faintly in the distance like a jewel in the night.

  The air is warm. Balmy. My bag is light and my body feels good—or good enough for now. I’m sure I’ll be limping by the time I finish the walk. But I have to do this. I want to leave here on my own two feet.

  “Cillian!”

  I turn to see Carla standing high on the rooftop. The wind brushes through her hair. She looks fucking magnificent.

  “I love you, too,” she announces fiercely.

  I smile and shoot her a wink.

  Then I walk away, feeling a little lighter.

  I’m doing the right thing.

  I’m going back to where I belong.

  24

  Saoirse

  Dublin, Ireland

  It’s happening.

  It’s finally fucking happening.

  Twelve months since I made the choice to leave, I’m getting the hell out of this nightmare.

  The wind is biting as I make my way through the streets, pulling my black suitcase behind me.

  I’ve managed to squeeze a lifetime’s worth of memories into this one suitcase. I’m pretty proud of the accomplishment.

  I’d been forced to shed a lot, too, but it was unnecessary weight at this point.

  I feel good about my decisions.

  I feel good about the amount of money I’ve mana
ged to save in the last year.

  I can feel it burning a hole in my pocket, but in only a few hours, I’ll be on a plane out of Ireland.

  Surely, I’ll start to feel safer then.

  Right?

  I checked to find a pawn shop open at all hours of the night. When I turn the corner, there it is—the Black Rook, looking just as grimy and inconspicuous as it had in the pictures online.

  I want a place that flies under the radar. This’ll do perfectly.

  I glance at my phone, but I know I don’t need to. No one’s going to miss me for hours.

  I took the day off from work and Tristan is currently passed out drunk on the sofa in the living room. He won’t be up for a while.

  Hopefully, when he does come to, I’ll be in the sky, headed towards a different life.

  I step into the pawn store and head straight to the counter.

  The man behind it is burly, bearded, and heavily tattooed.

  The mirrors on the ceiling offer a birds’ eye view of his weirdly shiny bald head. It’s a struggle not to keep gawking at the reflection as I slip the wedding ring from my finger and place it on the counter.

  The moment I’m no longer wearing it, I feel lighter.

  “How much can you give me for this?” I ask, trying to keep the excited tremor out of my voice.

  The guy takes the ring and examines it carefully. “Is this a genuine diamond?”

  “I was told it is.”

  “Small,” he comments with pursed lips.

  “The band is white gold.”

  “Whatever you can give me for it is fine.”

  I have enough money to start fresh. I don’t really need the money from this ring. It’s more a symbolic action on my part.

  “A hundred euros.”

  Okay, well, that’s a little insulting.

  “Seriously?” I ask, glaring at him. “Don’t rip me off here.”

  “Hundred and fifty, tops.”

  “Maybe I’ll go somewhere else,” I tell him.

  I extend my hand out for the ring, but he doesn’t give it back to me. He’s still looking down at it with interest.

  “It’s been inscribed.”

  I cringe, hoping he isn’t going to read the inscription out loud.

  “You belong to me,” he intones right on cue.

  I do my best to keep a straight face, although my insides are squirming from shame. “I’ll let it go for two hundred,” I mutter.

  “Bad split, huh?”

  “You could say that. Bad everything, really.”

  “You got a name?”

  I frown. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  He looks at me balefully, waiting for my answer. I’m starting to get a little nervous. A little more nervous, I should say.

  So, stupidly, I give him an honest answer.

  “Saoirse,” I say, but I catch myself at the very last second and substitute my married name with my maiden name. “Saoirse Connelly.”

  “Hm.”

  “I’m actually in kind of a hurry, so if you could…”

  “Fine, fine,” he concedes. “Two hundred then.” He pulls out some cash from the counter below and counts out two hundred in a handful filthy bills. “There you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  Then I get the hell out of there as fast as I can. I hail a cab, and I only allow myself to relax when I’m finally en route to the airport.

  The driver is a morose man who doesn’t look very friendly. But when he speaks, I realize his tone carries all the cheer that’s lacking in his face.

  “Airport, huh?” he asks merrily. “Where are you off to?”

  Where am I off to?

  It’s funny considering how long I’ve been planning this escape.

  Practically speaking, it’s been years. My whole life, even.

  But I suppose I can only really count the last twelve months. That’s when I started actively planning. When I started squirrelling away money, laying the foundation for my eventual disappearance.

  And through it all, had I really given much thought to where I would go?

  Not quite. Not consciously.

  But deep down, I had.

  I’ve heard rumors over the years. Rumors about where Cillian O’Sullivan disappeared to.

  I’ve heard he runs in the mafia circles of L.A. now. And part of me believes that.

  Which is why I’ve been thinking of America—but only in my dreams. Only when my higher brain can’t squash those little hopes that refuse to die.

  I tell myself there are other reasons. It’s a big country. There are plenty of little cracks where I can melt into the masses and be left alone. Be forgotten.

  Not that I expect Tristan to ever forget.

  Or for that matter, to forgive this betrayal.

  But I’m not after his forgiveness.

  “Hon?” the cab driver repeats. “You alright?”

  “Los Angeles,” I reply firmly. “I’m going to Los Angeles.”

  Just saying the words out loud makes me feel giddy.

  “Is that right?” he asks with an impressed whistle. “City of Angels. Very appropriate.”

  I smile at the compliment. It doesn’t feel skeezy in the slightest, which is rare for me.

  “Business or pleasure?” he inquires.

  “Both, I guess. I’m relocating.”

  He looks back at me with a frown. “You don’t have many bags for someone who’s relocating.”

  “Yeah, well, I like to travel light.”

  “You one of those kids that move from place to place?” he asks. “One of those nomad types?”

  I laugh at that one.

  Not least of all because he calls me a kid. I haven’t felt like one in so long that it’s kind of nice to hear it. Almost makes me feel like I’m changing already.

  “Not quite. I want to put roots down somewhere. I just need to find the perfect place to settle.”

  “And L.A. is it?”

  “Not necessarily,” I say, enjoying this conversation more than I thought I would. “But we’ll see. I’ve got the rest of my life to figure it out.”

  “You sound excited.”

  “I do, don’t I?” I say as frantic laughter escapes through my lips. It surprises even me. When was the last time I laughed like that about anything? A real, genuine, bursting-from-your-gut kind of laugh?

  I honestly can’t remember.

  “You got family out there?” he asks.

  “No, not quite.”

  “So leaving family behind then?”

  My elation dies down a little as my thoughts turn to Pa. I didn’t say goodbye to him. In fact, I didn’t give him any indication that I was leaving at all.

  It was the hardest decision I’ve had to make through this whole process. But it was necessary.

  If I had told Pa what I was doing, he would have blabbed to Tristan. That’s not a question. It’s a fact. He would have outed me. Not out of spite, but out of misplaced concern.

  But then, Pa’s never known what’s best for me.

  I’m the only one who’s ever known that. I’ve just never listened to my instincts.

  But that’s gonna change—starting right now.

  “Yes,” I reply. “My father’s here. But he’s being taken care of.”

  I posted the letter yesterday. It’ll be received by Dove Crest two days from now. It contains detailed instructions about Pa’s future and the care he is to receive, along with arrangements I’ve made to continue paying for his room at their facility no matter where I go.

  I’ve made it clear that the contents of my letter are not to be shared with anyone. And by that, of course, I mean Tristan.

  I may not be with him physically, but I want to make sure Pa’s being taken care of.

  It’s the only way I can justify leaving like this. The only way my conscience won’t prevent me from coming back at some point in the future.

  Because once I’m gone, I can’t ever come back. Not while Tristan is still drawing brea
th.

  And I already know he’s going to live forever. Men with black hearts and shriveled souls always do.

  “I’m sure he’s happy for you,” the cabbie tells me, and I jolt as I realize that I’m still in the middle of a conversation. “It’s right that kids should leave at some point. If you do your job right, your kids grow up and fly away.”

  I smile.

  If only I had a father who believed that.

  “Do you have kids?”

  “Five boys,” he replies proudly. “Always wanted a daughter, but it never happened for my wife and me.”

  “That’s a lot of testosterone,” I chuckle.

  He laughs. “It was chaos. My youngest is twenty-two now.”

  I want to ask more about his family, but I notice the airport coming into view. I lean forward and crane my neck a little so that I can get a better look.

  As I do, my heart starts pounding immediately.

  The conversation has distracted me from my nerves. But now they’re back in full force.

  The cabbie pulls up outside the departure terminal and I take a deep, steadying breath.

  “Good luck, young miss,” he tells me. “Hope you find your home in the States.”

  “Me, too,” I say. “Thanks for the ride.”

  I pay him with a generous tip and step out of the cab. My lungs fill with trepidation, but there’s excitement just beneath that.

  I can do this.

  Deep down, I’m still that fearless eighteen-year-old girl who fought back every chance she got.

  I’m still brave. I’m still a warrior.

  I have to be.

  25

  Cillian

  Thirty-Six Hours Earlier—Los Angeles, California

  Artem shakes his head, trying to wrap his head around the story I’ve just told him.

  I’ve already been through it twice, but I know he needs more time to absorb it all.

  It’s not always easy to process your best friend returning from the dead.

  “You were fucking alive,” he marvels for the dozenth time. “The whole damn time, you were alive.”

  I take a swig of my half-empty drink and nod. “Yup. I watched Esme drag your fat ass into that vehicle,” I explain. “I made my peace with death. But apparently, life wasn’t done with me yet.”