Marauder (Gangsters of New York Book 2)

by Bella Di Corte

  “It’s just rude to scare someone like that,” I said after another minute had passed. “This is a place where people come to find peace. And it’s hard-earned. You should announce yourself, or at the very least, make noise. Clear your throat. Something.”

  He cleared his throat.

  Smart ass. “But no. You asked me if Roisin Ryan was my sister. She is my sister.”

  “She was little,” he said.

  At least he had a brain and could keep up with the conversation. I was trying to think nice thoughts, I really was, because I could be too hard on people. Especially men. My Mam always told me I was too hard on them. She said that I had probably told my soul mate to go to hell at some point in my life. Seeing as he was too scared to disobey me, he probably did.

  I nodded. “She was five. Car accident.”

  “Your twin.”

  This time I narrowed my eyes against his.

  Droplets of water collected on his long black lashes, making his eyes seem fiercer. In the smoky cold, they seemed emerald, but when the sun hit them, I was willing to bet they’d be closer to chartreuse. The oddest color I’d ever seen, but honestly, the most beautiful. And even though he’d only spoken a few words, something about him oozed charm. The same charm I was willing to bet matched his grin.

  It was hard to tell if he was trying to charm me or not, and what was even harder, was trying to explain the way he looked at me. He was studying me, but in a way that only seemed to bring up more questions. It was the oddest fucking thing I’d ever experienced. It took every ounce of my self-restraint not to pinch him, to make sure that one of the old ghosts around the cemetery hadn’t decided to talk to me.

  Or maybe one of the statues. He carried the strength of one—a perfect, carved stone in a graveyard.

  I would’ve called him a martyr, but he was far from it. He didn’t seem like the type of man to sacrifice himself for anything, even something he wanted. Because he probably always got what he wanted.

  “I had a twin, too,” he said.

  That brought me back to the present. To him. “Is he or she here?” I looked around, feeling foolish after I did, because it wasn’t like he was going to introduce me.

  “He,” he said. “But nah. My old man is. He’s buried—” He turned a little, pointing in another direction. “Kelly’s the last name.”

  “Ah,” I said, motioning to the bottle of whiskey and the glasses in his hand. “Come to have a drink?”

  “You can say that. It’s been a while since the Old Man and I had a chat.”

  “It’s cathartic sometimes.”

  “Must be the same reason you come to see Roisin.”

  For the first time in sixteen years, I felt a sense of warmth settle over me, and I shivered when it clashed with the cold. I’d never felt anything but chilled to the bone when I came here, but in that second, my blood heated, even if only for a second. I motioned to his hand again. “I might need a drink first before we get into that.”

  He lifted the whiskey bottle, set the two glasses on Roisin’s tombstone, and poured a glass. He offered it to me, but I shook my head. “It doesn’t seem right,” I said. “She was only five.”

  He gave a curt nod before he threw back the whiskey. His throat worked with the fire assuredly moving down his tongue. “I’ve always been the devil,” he said.

  It took me a moment to make sense of his comment. “Your twin was the angel—”

  “Yeah,” he said. “It’s all good, though. The old man had the best of both worlds. He had two different sides to consider before he made final decisions.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That you lost your brother and your dad.”

  “Life,” he said. “It’s the most unpredictable thing, but most still try to control it.”

  “It’s a wild animal,” I said, and meant it. “Sometimes it’s better to let it run wild.”

  “You let life run you?” It didn’t really seem like a question.

  “No,” I said automatically. “I’m a fighter.”

  “Knew it,” he said, and then the corner of his mouth turned up into a semblance of a smile. It was a grin that was as cocky as it was charming—a fucking winner that stole my breath.

  “Unless it comes to death,” I said, refusing to stop the conversation because he had somehow gotten underneath my skin, like the cold, for a brief second. “How can you beat death when it holds all the cards?”

  “Hundreds beat diseases every day.”

  “Those are fights worth taking on. But I think we all need a certain amount of grace, too. Grace to let go of things we no longer have control over. Let it run wild. Because when we do—” I shrugged “—sometimes we run to a better place.”

  “Remember that,” he muttered. Then he seemed to study me a bit harder. “Tell me about Roisin.”

  I turned to look at her space, seeing a picture of me on her grave, though it wasn’t me. We only shared the same reflection. “Like I said, car accident. I had thrown a fit about her getting the lead in some Broadway show. I threw such a fit that I held my breath and passed out. It was the first time I’d ever done something like that. So my grandparents offered to take Roisin so she wouldn’t be late. My parents took me to the emergency room because they thought something was really, really wrong with me. I was diagnosed with a temper tantrum. None of us made it to her show that night. They were hit on the way.”

  “Half of you died with her, and nothing’s been the same ever since.”

  “It’s almost unexplainable to someone who doesn’t share that kind of bond. You understand.” I looked up at him, and even though I expected it, it still shocked me—his eyes had softened some. Then, in an instant, they hardened. They were so hard that it almost felt like he was stoning me with his thoughts.

  I opened and closed my hands, feeling uneasy all of a sudden. Cold. Warm. Cold. Warm. I had thought it was the weather, and maybe having someone to share this moment with, but I came to the conclusion that it was him. He was sending me weird vibes.

  “I gotta run now, Mr. Kelly. Have a nice chat with your old man.”

  “Ms. Ryan,” he said, tipping his hat, watching me as I left.

  I hustled to get out of there, feeling out of breath by the time I reached my old car. Something about the way he said my name led me to believe that in his mind he was actually thinking, Take care, Ms. Ryan. I’ll see you soon.

  How the fuck was he going to see me soon when he didn’t even know me? I hit the gas harder than I ever had before, my old car wheezing with complaint, trying to outrun his memory, but even after I got home, I still felt like he was watching me. He was as beautiful as he was threatening.

  He’ll get an arrow in his ass before he comes close to me or mine.

  Then another thought slammed into me, harder than anything ever had before, and I had to sit down and catch my breath.

  Why would Roisin send someone like him to me?

  3

  Keely

  In moments of complete weakness, sometimes I had talks with Roisin in my head. After the accident, when she was ripped from my side, I cried nonstop. I couldn’t stop crying. I was five, and my best friend in the entire world had left me all alone with a house full of boys.

  Harrison, Lachlan, Declan, and Owen.

  Only twelve months after Owen was born, the twins, also known as RoKe, made our arrival into the world. If anything, Roisin and I had always irritated the boys, but it was always us doing whatever it was against them.

  My sister’s death came, and even at five years old, I knew that half of me had died with her. And I desperately wanted it back. I wanted to feel whole again. So I started having conversations with her.

  I refused to let anyone else hear me, so I carried the chats on in my head.

  It was about that time my Mam said that I stopped talking. I didn’t remember not talking. Maybe because the conversations in my head with Roisin were enough. But I did remember asking her to send me another sister, another her, so t
he hurt in my heart would go away.

  The spring after Roisin left me, I knew she had heard me. I had been outside with Harrison when I saw a little girl with a blue butterfly clip in her hair standing in our next-door neighbor’s yard. I had no idea they had kids, but Harrison told me they had adopted her. The little girl had been there since December, but she rarely came out of the house.

  Jocelyn, who was our next-door neighbor, stood next to her and introduced us. She called the girl Mariposa, and she told us that in Spanish mariposa meant butterfly.

  Mariposa shook her head and said, “My name is Mari.”

  I’d refused to answer, but she kept looking at me anyway.

  “When’s your birthday?” she tried again. Her words came out different from mine, and back then, I couldn’t place it. When I got older, I realized she had had an Italian accent, but she was trying not to. Jocelyn kept correcting her words when she said them in Italian, though she said Mariposa was fluent in Spanish. We never heard her speak a word in Spanish.

  “September,” Harrison had answered for me. “When’s yours?”

  “October,” Mari answered.

  “Oh, that’s right! You’re only about two weeks apart!” Jocelyn had said, trying to push us closer together.

  “You hear that, Kee?” Harrison nudged me. “You and Mari are only two weeks apart.”

  Harrison told me that my eyes had lifted after, and I took Mari’s hand and dragged her inside of our house.

  From that point forward, Mariposa Flores became my sister. And it was around that time that I started becoming what Mari called a “fixer.” Someone who had to fix all of the problems in the world, “the world” being my family. Mari included.

  I never told Mari this, but the reason I started talking to her that day was because I knew Roisin had sent her to me. To be my sister of the heart. I was older than Roisin by two minutes. And when Jocelyn had announced that Mari and I were only two weeks apart, in my heart I knew Mari had come to live on Staten Island because I needed her.

  Turned out, she needed me, too.

  Her parents had died in a car accident when she was five, and she had gone to live with Jocelyn and her father, who everyone in the neighborhood called Old Man Gianelli. Old Man Gianelli died somewhere in that time, and then Jocelyn died when Mari was ten. After that, there was no one to care for her, so the state put her into foster care.

  Again, half of me seemed to disappear. So I started holding my breath again. I refused to stop unless Mam found her.

  I had held my breath and lost my sister. Maybe if I held my breath again, Mari would come back.

  She did.

  My Mam found her.

  For the most part, though, my Mam tried to keep us apart. She was concerned that I was using Mari to replace Roisin, and she didn’t like it. She said it broke her heart that I’d found a replacement for my twin. Even as the years went on, Mam still kept Mari at arm’s length. She said Mari was trouble, and that she was going to bring it to our door. The tea leaves told her.

  Trouble or not, and even if Mam could never understand, Mari would always be the sister of my heart.

  None of us ever told Mari about Roisin, though. I didn’t want to. I worried that Mari would think I was trying to replace my sister, and then she would doubt what we shared was true.

  Mari had issues with kindness, but somehow, she accepted it from me. For the most part. I knew there was a story there, about why she rejected it so fiercely, but the beautiful thing about Mari and me—we were good at keeping our secrets, but they never broke us apart.

  For the longest time after Mari came into my life, the conversations with my sister came to an end, but every once in a while, when life felt extremely hard, we picked them up again.

  In a moment of uncertainty, after Mam had said she read something in the leaves, I’d asked Roisin to bring the right man to me. I told her when he was right, I’d know she’d sent him because he would understand my loss, my pain, in some kind of a way. He’d feel me.

  If Roisin had sent Mr. Kelly to my door, I had no idea why. Why him? Why the fuck would she send me a man that made me so uneasy? The more I thought about the way he stoned me with those green eyes, the more I leaned toward hating him for the judgment. I could tell he had something on his mind, and it had to do with me.

  Ulterior motives.

  Actually, that problem was only half of the battle and led me to another. The reason I’d asked Roisin to intervene in the first place was because I was starting to get serious with a man, but my heart was speaking from two sides of its mouth. One voice sounded a lot like my Mam’s. The other sounded like mine.

  Some days, I felt like I could love him (Mam’s voice).

  Other days, I wondered where the passion was (my voice).

  I couldn’t help but wonder whether I was too fucked up beyond repair to actually give love properly and receive it. Was the part of me that died with my sister my ability to love? Or maybe I’d lost my heart, where love was supposed to live.

  I loved my parents. I loved my siblings. I loved Mari.

  But men? When it came time to switch the light on love, it was always a burnt-out bulb. The men I’d dated always seemed to brighten the room we were in, but not me. Shouldn’t I burn for them when they were around?

  I couldn’t talk to Mari about all of this. Again, she had no clue about Roisin, and she had enough going on in her life. My twisted thoughts on love were the least of her problems. Hell, they should’ve been the least of mine, but Scott sort of fell into my life, and I’d been keeping him a secret from everyone. My parents didn’t know. Neither did my brothers. And again, I decided not to tell Mari.

  Things were moving fast with him, though, and I felt utterly lost in a strange place.

  If Scott was so right, why did I feel so turned around?

  I tried to put the brakes on a bit, slow us down, but when he loved, he seemed to love with all he had. Yeah, love. I’d met him in May, it was December, and he had already told me he loved me. He wanted me to meet his family. He wanted to meet mine.

  On paper, we worked out. He was older than me, but not too much older. He had a career, and even though it consumed his life, I could respect his drive. He treated me right and respected me. But…I always had a “but” when I thought about all of the things that were right about us.

  He’s good looking, but…not my usual type.

  He has a good job, but…sometimes he’s too high on his horse.

  He smells good, but…sometimes his cologne gives me a headache.

  His touch feels good, but…it never feels like he’s truly feeling me. Beyond skin and bone.

  I never missed a visit with Roisin in December, on the day she was killed, but it had never felt so important that I go. Maybe it was because I thought Scott was going to propose soon, and I wanted to see if she was going to answer me before he did. She’d been silent all those months since I’d asked.

  Apparently, she thought it was wise to send me an Irishman who sent fucking chills up my spine. He showed up and made me feel all weird inside. It was an odd mixture of excitement and fear I’d felt around him—a feeling I’d never forget, but I wasn’t sure why.

  Maybe Roisin had sent him as an example of who not to fall for. It made so much more sense.

  I had a hard time imagining my brothers around Scott. Around Kelly? They might tackle him at the door. The phrase “Fighting Irish” had nothing on me and mine. Though, judging by Kelly’s size, and something about the set of his face, he wasn’t a stranger to a good brawl either.

  Why was I still thinking about the bastard anyway? I should’ve told him to go to hell, but something told me he’d already been there, and he had frequent flyer miles.

  A knock came at my bedroom door. Before I could answer, Sierra peeked her head inside. She was my roommate, and even though we were total opposites, our rooming worked. She paid her rent on time. She minded her own business. And, the best part: she was gone eighty percent of th
e time.

  “You have company,” she said.

  I nodded, taking the picture of Roisin and me at our last birthday party together and slipping it back into the old hatbox I kept it in. Sierra usually didn’t ask questions, but who knew when she might start. If I couldn’t talk to Mari about Roisin, there was no way I’d talk to Sierra about her.

  Just in time, too, because Mari replaced Sierra in the doorway. Like magic, Mari never missed seeing me on the day Roisin was killed. She had no idea, yet she seemed to sense something was off with me on that day, and she made an effort to come and see me.

  A huge smile came to my face before I wrapped her in a hug.

  “Kee Kee,” Mari said, her voice strangled. “I know you missed me, but I can’t breathe!”

  I stepped back, letting her go, really looking her over. Mari was one of the most beautiful girls I’d ever seen. She had dark hair, hazel eyes, and the prettiest skin. She never got over the kid in our neighborhood making fun of her nose, though. She fixated on the one thing she felt was wrong with her, instead of everything that was right. Which was everything.

  But I always judged how she was doing (because she’d never truly tell me) by how skinny she looked. She always looked like she needed to eat for days without a break.

  “I haven’t seen you,” I said, trying to downplay my worry. It was a delicate balance with her. “Where’ve you been?”

  Mari adjusted the old leather backpack she carried everywhere before she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Here and there.” She grinned.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing!”

  I pointed at her. “Too fast!”

  She laughed, and it made me smile. Her life was hard, and with her being so hardheaded about letting people help her, she didn’t smile or laugh nearly enough. Her refusal of help actually frustrated me to tears sometimes.

  “No.” She drew the word out. “Nothing’s going on. Your bullshit detector is off. You need to see a handyman about getting that fixed.”