Marauder (Gangsters of New York Book 2)

by Bella Di Corte

  When the man showed his face in the light, I cleared my throat. “It wasn’t her. I forced her into it. Take her.” I tried to lift her, but my arms felt like they were weighed down with lead. “She needs help.”

  “I know you forced her,” Scott Stone said, kneeling to feel the pulse in her neck. “But I also know she’s not the kind of woman to be forced into anything. She fell in love with you.” He sighed. “Get me my job back and I’ll get help. You’ve said it enough. We can’t exist without each other.”

  “Done,” I said, but I wasn’t sure if the word actually left my mouth.

  “I’m not sure about you, Kelly.” He sighed again. “But I need something to live for besides myself.”

  “The fucking truth,” I said, holding on to her tighter. If she didn’t survive this, neither would I.

  A second later, it seemed, people were running through the rain with lights, coming toward us. Too soon for him to have just called someone.

  I heard Scott Stone say something about how he had been following me after I clipped the car. He’d lost me at some point, but then figured out where I’d been going. I heard Mac. I heard Rocco. I heard him say they left the Hummer for me in case I wanted to go after Raff when I was healed. The Hummer had been tracked.

  I heard Tito Sala cursing in Italian at all of them.

  Pulling my wife even closer to my chest, I said two words that I never remembered coming out of my mouth before. “Thank you.” Then I closed my eyes.

  35

  Keely

  7 months later

  The evening sun poured in through the windows of the library, highlighting all of the stories on the many shelves.

  I tugged at the pendant around my neck, studying all of the crevices with a narrowed eye. Some were still stained with blood.

  His and mine.

  Two bodies that shared one heart.

  Love is never easy, because true love, the kind I made vows to, meant that the days would be long, the years short, and not all of them good. One thing I knew for certain, though. It would be worth it.

  It already was.

  No matter how hard our road became, I would always make the choice to walk beside Cash Kelly and our family in love.

  It took me time to get to that point. It wasn’t easy to heal after what Raff had done to me. He had beaten me senseless. Beat me until I’d passed out from the pain. He had broken bones and torn muscles.

  The one he almost killed—my heart—still beat. He left me bruised and tattered, and he left my husband the same way, but he was still here. And so was I.

  Any sacrifice to have him would be worth it.

  He was enough for me. And so was our family.

  Ryan giggled and ran into the library, my arms open as he crashed into me. My arms were full, and so was my heart, even if I still had no clue what filled the metal one against my chest.

  CeeCee ran in right behind Ryan, pretending like she was the dragon on her wall, going to eat him up. Her speech was getting better and better with each day. She picked books from the children’s section of the library each night, and it was Cash who read them to her.

  “Grand,” she would say as he tucked her in. “Just gra-nd.”

  It wasn’t easy for her to lose Maureen—it wasn’t easy on any of us—but she flourished with us, and I was thankful every day that Maureen had the foresight to see that ahead of time. She’d made the transition easy for CeeCee, and in a lot of ways, she had prepared me for the family we had.

  Father Flanagan had told us that Maureen wasn’t sick, like everyone assumed, but she wanted to be certain that no matter what, her grandchildren would be loved beyond measure and taken care of.

  When I’d told CeeCee to run, she did, straight to find Father Flanagan. He caught her in the street as he was heading to the fire, and she’d told him what had happened.

  Even in death, Maureen was directing CeeCee, and I was positive she always would.

  Ryan settled into my lap, the sun highlighting his dark hair. CeeCee grabbed a book before she took a seat next to me.

  “No one invited me,” Cash said, striding into the room. “I’m offended.”

  My tiger was riddled with stripes, but it only made him more beautiful. I took great pleasure in licking each one every night, tasting the sacrifice he made for these children, for me, on my tongue. Letting it settle in my bloodstream and go straight to my heart. Reminding me of how bittersweet a time it was.

  “Grr!” CeeCee growled at him. “You are mad. You will get happ-y.”

  Ryan lifted his arms for Cash to take him. Cash held him close to his chest for a moment, stroking his head, and then sat next to me. We stared at each other for a minute, getting lost in all we had, before we both grinned.

  The marauder was still stealing my fucking breath. Maybe because I had nothing else for him to steal. He had me, all of me, for the rest of my life.

  “Here,” CeeCee said, shoving a piece of paper at me. I looked away from Cash to take it. She’d drawn four dragons, all different, but each one represented each one of us.

  Under Cash’s dragon, the scariest one, the name said Daddy Cash. Under Ryan’s was Baby Brother Ryan. Under hers, it said, Big Sister CeeCee. Under mine, it said simply, Mom.

  My eyes rose slowly to meet hers.

  She shrugged. “We are a famil-y. I pick you as my mom. And—” she touched Cash’s shoulder “—Daddy Cash.”

  Cash’s face lit up when he smiled. “Has a nice ring to it.”

  I pulled Connolly to my chest, crying into her hair but laughing at the same time. “I pick you as my baby girl,” I said, kissing her on the head even harder. “And you as my baby boy!” I tickled Ryan on his belly and his shoulders came up, his nose wrinkling, as he laughed.

  “Me,” Cash said, pointing to his chest. “Do you pick me?”

  “As long as we both shall live,” I said, placing my hand against his heart. He set his over mine, pressing it even harder against him. “You bled for this—for me. You conquered my heart. You can write that on your stone.”

  Ryan tugged on the chain around my neck, gazing at the pendant. His eyes narrowed for a second, before he took his finger and tried to stick it where the little lock would go. His nail came between the crevices that would open the locket to reveal what was inside of the heart.

  And it did. It opened.

  A simple gold ring fell into my lap, one that was too big for my finger. I held it up, looking through it, letting the sun move through the everlasting circle.

  “‘You proved me wrong,’” I said, reading the inscription.

  “You did, my darlin’.” He grinned at me, but there was nothing cocky about it. For the first time, it touched his eyes. “You proved me wrong. You prove me wrong. Every day.”

  “You love me,” I breathed out.

  “More than life itself.” He looked me in the eye and then turned his eyes to Connolly Kelly. “More than life itself.” He looked at Ryan Kelly. “More than life itself.”

  I took his hand and slipped the band on his ring finger. “A leash on a tiger,” I said.

  “Grand,” he said. “Just fu—” CeeCee put her hand over his mouth, and he pretended to bite her. She laughed and moved it. “Just grand. You’ll never lead me astray.”

  We kissed and then started dinner.

  Epilogue

  Cash

  Two Years Later

  “Get the door!”

  I grinned at my wife before I went to answer it. Ryan was on her shoulders, hitting at the balloon animal she had around her head, laughing his ass off. Her hair was full of glitter, and she had a tigress painted on her cheek. Connolly ran around with her friends, hyped up on too much sugar.

  I had warned my wife about the dangers of sugar and kids mixing, but she ate it with them, so she said there was no excuse not to give it to them. She was of the mind that we should practice what we preach.

  The grin was still on my face when I opened the door. It fell when I was fa
ced with three people.

  “We were in the neighborhood.” Killian shrugged. “Thought we’d stop by for my niece’s birthday party.” He was wedged between his wife and Saoirse.

  “This house is invite-only,” I said.

  “We have an invite,” Kill said, looking behind me.

  I turned and found Father Flanagan, but he shook his head. He didn’t invite them. I’d told him about the situation with Saoirse after what had happened to my wife and me at the cemetery. He was as shocked as I was that Saoirse was still alive, and that Killian hadn’t told him. When I asked him if he was mad or was going to hold a grudge, he told me no.

  “Holding a grudge only turns you bitter,” he’d said, “because only you can live with you. I’m not the one to judge.” He pointed up to the sky. “That’s a burden I’m blessed not to have to carry. When I chose to walk in love, I chose the hard road. It’s not the path of least resistance, but in the end, it’ll be worth it. Because when we go, Cash, we all go alone, and our sins are our own. I’ll only be judged for what I’ve done. ‘He did it first’ or ‘he hurt me first’ will not be good enough. Not for—” he nodded up again. “And not for me.”

  That was that—until this moment. Until his eyes connected with Saoirse’s for the first time in years.

  Kill cleared his throat. “Father Flanagan didn’t invite us.”

  I looked at my brother, and he nodded behind me. My wife stood there with our children. She smiled and waved at me.

  “After I spoke to Kee, and she told me that someone refuses to sing for her, I decided that someone—” he pointed to his chest “—has to teach those children how to sing.” Kill grinned. “Properly.”

  “Daddy two,” Ryan said, lifting up two fingers, trying to figure out why there was another me on the other side of our door.

  “Daddy,” Connolly said, coming to take my hand. She had dropped the “Cash” part a week after she decided to give me the name. “Who are they?” Her eyes jumped between Kill and me, focused on the same thing Ryan was—how much we looked alike.

  “I’m your uncle,” Kill said. He introduced his wife, whose name was Megan. Then Saoirse.

  “You can call me Gran,” Saoirse said, “if you want.”

  Connolly smiled. “How about Grandee?”

  “I’d love that,” Saoirse said, wiping her eyes. “Very much.”

  Keely slid her hand around my side and Ryan took my other hand. After a tense few minutes, I sighed and moved back some. Keely gave a low whoop and moved aside so the three could enter.

  Before they did, I stuck my foot out, stopping Killian from entering. I looked each of them in the eye before I spoke. “For my children,” I said, “since you played on their sympathies. But not for me.”

  Killian met my eye, reminding me of myself when I was determined to get whatever the fuck I wanted. “We’ll wait,” he said, and then he rolled into our home.

  The kids ran after them, excited to get to know new people. We were an unconventional family, but our connection was even stronger than blood. Even Keely’s mam gave Saoirse the evil eye when Connolly introduced her as her new Grandee. Those children belonged to all of us.

  Keely stared at me for a minute and then wrapped her arms around me, looking up. “Life doesn’t always go the way we want, thief of hearts,” she said. “But no matter what, good or bad, it goes. It moves forward. Bad times come. They go. Good times come. They go. But forever. That’s us. You and me. And them.” She nodded behind her at our children laughing in the background.

  I searched her eyes, my entrance to heaven, wondering what I’d ever done in my life to deserve her. The truth was, nothing. Not a fucking thing could ever be compared to her. I’d never be worthy of her love. It was mine, though, and I’d never let anyone else get fucking close to it. We couldn’t even mess it up, and we’d been chaos and spite in the beginning.

  “Good bones,” she said. “Remember?” She tapped my temple.

  “Forget the bones,” I said, giving her a tap on the chest. “Strong heart.”

  “You should know,” she said, taking my hand, leading me back to the party. “You stole enough of them. And I’m not only talking about men in the game. I’m talking about women, too. Molls.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Only one that counts, my darlin’,” I said. “Yours.”

  “Grand,” she said, laughing. “Just grand! Now it’s time for you to sing for me. La de daaa.”

  “No way in fucking hell,” I said.

  “Been there, Marauder. Have to do better than that.”

  I stopped her before she made it to the crowd, turning her toward me. No room between her body and mine. I started slow dancing with her. And then I put my mouth to her ear and started to sing.

  “Your voice is like a lullaby,” she breathed.

  “You sing me one and I’ll sing you one,” I said, grabbing her ass.

  “Shh the talking. Sing for me again.”

  I did.

  When the song came to an end, she inhaled and then exhaled. “Sing for me only,” she whispered, her eyes closed, tears slipping down her cheeks, “until the day that I die.”

  “Until the day that I die,” I said. “You, and only you, my darlin’.”

  “You bled for this heart, Cash Kelly,” she said. “It’s yours until the day you die.”

  “Grand,” I said. “Now put the arrow meant for me away for good, archer. Because we’re finally even.”

  Afterword

  Do you remember this question: How do you see me now?

  Villain or hero?

  More animal than man?

  A modern-day Robin Hood?

  Perception.

  It causes two people to see the same situation in two different ways, even though they’re looking at the same thing.

  If you read Scott Stone’s story, which he doesn’t have, you’d undoubtedly see me differently, but at least in this story, I fucking tell it like it is.

  I don’t give a fuck what people think of me. Never have. Never will. Those who scream the loudest have the most to hide. Remember that.

  Me.

  I hide nothing.

  I hid nothing.

  I am who I am.

  Niccolò Machiavelli said, “Men judge generally more by the eye than by the hand, for everyone can see and few can feel. Everyone sees what you appear to be; few really know what you are.”

  Even if you see me for something I’m not, my wife never will. She feels me. And if you have one person who feels you, compared to a million who see you—consider yourself one of the lucky ones.

  I do, because a woman did something no one else ever could. She proved me wrong. She let me steal her heart.

  Yeah. She fucking let me.

  She made me think I was stealing it without her permission. What Father Flanagan told me about a woman’s heart was true. But he forgot to mention one thing—her mind was designed to outsmart any man’s.

  Remember that. It’s coming from one of the smartest men I know—myself.

  My wife gave me the key long before I “stole” it. I just didn’t realize it until the truth was something I couldn’t ignore anymore. When I said some hearts had to be stolen, what I meant was, some hearts had to be worked for.

  Before I ever laid eyes on her, she had claimed mine. I was always a cheap date, though, and she knew that just as well as the devil did.

  As the old saying goes, that is fucking that.

  Preview of Mercenary

  Gangsters of New York, Book 3

  Cash

  A knock came at my office door. I looked up and saw Harrison standing in the doorway.

  “Got a man here to see you, brother,” he said, nodding toward the waiting room. “Goes by the name of Corrado.”

  “Last name,” I said.

  “Scorpio.”

  Corrado Scorpio. I’d heard of a Corrado Palermo before. He was Mari’s father, and if rumor was true, Mac had killed him. I didn’t know any other man by the nam
e of Corrado, though, and that last name sounded fucking bogus.

  “He said he’ll wait, if you’re busy,” Harrison said.

  “Never too busy to find out what side I’m going to end up on this time,” I said.

  Harrison grinned at me and disappeared. A minute later, the man who called himself Corrado Scorpio entered my office. I believed Corrado was his first name, but I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that his last name was Scorpio.

  He had vengeance written all over his face, a purpose, and whatever the fuck he was doing here, I was about to find out. I hadn’t had an issue since Lee Grady, the Scarpones, and Raff. I wasn’t looking for one, either. After my wife’s near touch with death, mine too, I refused to be the devil’s cheap date any longer.

  I stood and we shook hands. I nodded to the seat across from me. He took it.

  “I’m going to be brief,” he said. “Word on the street is that you know a man that goes by Mac Macchiavello.”

  “Know him,” I said, studying him a bit harder. “Or can get close to him.”

  “I don’t need you to get close to him,” he said, sitting up some, fixing his suit, before he relaxed in his seat again. “I’m here to confirm that you know him.”

  “That he exists.”

  He waved a hand, as if to say, tomato, tomahto. He pulled out a picture of a woman and slid it across the desk toward me.

  Late sixties, maybe a bit younger, but well taken care of. I recognized her from the news. The Scarpones had slaughtered her in her house, supposedly, before the same fate came to claim them.