by B. B. Hamel
“None taken,” I said and took Ash’s hand, drawing her down to sit next to me. “Frankly, I’m just as surprised as you.”
Colm chuckled then pulled on his cigar. Smoke wafted around his face like a halo. “If that weren’t bad enough, you killed a few of my boys.”
“Only because they tried to kill me first,” I said. “And tried to kidnap Ash.”
“Ah, well, that.” Colm gestured with his cigar. “You’re quite in demand, young lady.”
“So I’m told,” she said and I could tell she was struggling to keep herself under control.
Colm had a presence. I hated to admit it but the man had a weight to him, almost an outsized glow. Being around him was like sitting at the base of a massive cliff, or at the edge of the Grand Canyon: the threat of violence or something terrible was always there, hovering in the air like fireflies, winking on and off.
“What can I do for you, Gian?” Colm asked. “I assume you didn’t come here to share a cigar, although they are quite good. Not Cuban, I’m afraid. Those are illegal.” He grinned, showing teeth.
“I want to discuss a truce,” I said. “A lasting peace.”
“Interesting.” Colm flicked his cigar. The ash dropped beside his shoes. “Why would you want that? I haven’t had much luck taking your territory. Although, let’s be honest, I haven’t tried too hard yet.”
I held his gaze for a few seconds and composed myself. I’d thought about what I’d say to that question ever since asking the Don for this meeting, and it wasn’t until this moment that I decided. I looked at Ash then and took her hand suddenly, holding it tight in both of mine. Colm’s eyebrows raised slightly, but he still said nothing.
“Ash is pregnant with my child,” I said.
Her eyes went wide with shock. I held her hands tight, trying to make her feel that I had this under control, that I was making a calculated decision. I could lie to Colm, but that wouldn’t get me what I wanted. I needed him to understand that this was about more than pride, more than the streets.
This was about family and revenge.
Two things he understood well.
“Congratulations then,” Colm said. “There’s nothing more important than a man and his children.”
“I agree,” I said. “Which is why I’m here. I want to kill Stuart Plight, and I want your help doing it.”
Ash pulled away from me. I hadn’t told her this part of the conversation because I knew how she’d react. I refused to look at her, refused to give Colm the satisfaction of seeing that little drama play out, but amusement sketched across his face as he smoked his cigar, puffing on it thoughtfully.
“That isn’t a simple request,” Colm said. “Stuart’s been quite good to the family.”
“I’m sure he has,” I said. “But I’m here to negotiate for his life.”
“And what would that get you?” Colm asked, leaning toward me. “You kill the Plight boy, and then what? You have a second rich family that hates you guts.”
It was my turn to smirk at him. I leaned in, staring into his eyes.
“I want the bastards to know that money can’t save them,” I said and let that hang in the air between us.
Colm laughed. He seemed genuinely delighted as he puffed away. “You think you kill Plight and that’ll scare the Adamson family, is that your play?”
“That’s the idea,” I said. “I want your backing on this. I know he’s involved with your family. I suspect he’s bankrolling what you’ve been up to lately.”
“You mean, trying to kill you and your pregnant girl here?” Colm shrugged and gestured with the cigar. “It’s no secret.”
“What do you want, in exchange for his life?”
“What could you possibly give me that would be worth a man’s immortal soul?” Colm’s teeth shone in the moonlight. “I’m not a religious man, Gian, but I do believe in sin. I grew up too Catholic to ignore the idea, you see. It’s been beaten into me over the years. And I do believe that when you take a man’s life, you commit a terrible sin, and a piece of you withers and dies like old fruit on the vine. Do you want that, Gian?”
I smiled and waved a hand. “Funny, coming from a man of your reputation.”
“Ah,” Colm said. “But I’ve only ever killed to defend myself. You’re talking about murder.”
“I’m talking about killing a man that won’t ever leave me and Ash alone.” I put my hand on her leg, and she didn’t pull away. Her breathing was fast and quiet, short little gasps.
Colm looked thoughtful. “I’ll help you,” he said. “I have no particular loyalty to Plight. His money’s as good as any other.”
“I can buy him out,” I said. “Whatever he’s been paying, I’ll match it. In exchange, you look away when I kill him, and we agree to a ceasefire.”
“I don’t want money,” Colm said. “I want territory.”
I clenched my jaw. Paying him off was bad enough—but ceding control of my streets was almost impossible. If I did that, I’d look terrible to my soldiers and all the other Capos in the family. There’d be hell to pay and I wasn’t sure the Don would have my back, not if I went that far.
But I had one goal, and only one goal. Everything else was a sideshow.
“Two blocks,” I said. “Right over the river. You can have two blocks north and south at the edge of the South Street bridge.”
“That’s a good spot,” Colm mused, and blew smoke into the air.
“It’s the best I’ll do,” I said, sucking the cool night air into my lungs. “I’d rather go to war than give up more.”
Colm nodded slowly. “It’s a fair offer. You give me that territory, I let you kill Stuart, and we both agree to a ceasefire.”
“That’s right,” I said. “And if I catch your men encroaching beyond what we agreed, then the ceasefire is over.”
“Understood,” Colm said and shoved a hand out into the night. It hovered there, and Colm showed his teeth in a strange sort of smirking grimace, like a skeleton showing its naked molars.
I took his hand and shook it. He blew out smoke up into the air and released before standing.
“Consider it done,” Colm said. “Stuart’s all yours. My boys will move onto their turf as soon as he’s dead.”
“Fine,” I said, nodding.
“Lovely doing business.” Colm tipped his hat and put the cigar between his teeth. He walked off, puffing away, his hands shoved into his pockets as the rain splattered onto the ground all around him. He disappeared down the paths until he was nothing more than the glowing cherry, then nothing at all.
I looked at Ash and squeezed her hands again. She took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out before moving closer to me.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked. “Maybe we don’t have to kill Stuart.”
“It’s the only way,” I said. “It’ll send a message to everyone in the city, including your family. I think it’s the only way they’ll leave us alone.”
She hesitated, and I wondered if she’d try to stop me. Stuart was an abusive piece of shit that deserved to swallow the barrel of my gun, but Ash still knew him and probably thought she’d marry him at one point. It must’ve been hard for her to imagine that I’d snuff him out like a rotten candle.
“I want to come with you,” she said, staring into my eyes.
I hadn’t expected that. I leaned back and studied her, not sure what to think. Her face was serious and hard, all angular lines and gorgeous lips. I leaned forward and kissed her softly before whispering in her ear, “You can pull the trigger, if you want.”
She sucked in a breath. “I don’t think I’m ready for that,” she whispered back.
I stood up and pulled her to her feet. “We’ll see,” I said, and led her back to the truck, and to the end of this.
21
Ash
Gian parked at the curb of a quiet, sleepy house in a dead-end neighborhood in the heart of the Main Line about ten minutes from my parents’ house. The front lights
were off, though something was on deep toward the back. Gian killed the engine and stared at the house for a few minutes before looking at me.
“You sure about this?” he asked. “It’s not too late to turn back.”
I looked at the house. I’d never been there before—this was Stuart’s place, and I’d only ever visited the main Plight mansion. This house was smaller, a bit more modest, though it had the columns, big windows and tall peaked roofs that marked it as one of the more expensive dwellings in the area.
Stuart couldn’t help but show off his wealth, even if most of it came from his family.
“You think this is the only way, right?” I asked, leaning my head back against the seat.
“We could come up with another idea,” he said. “Something short of killing him.”
I closed my eyes and thought about Stuart’s grabbing my wrists, about him pushing me against the wall, about the abuse and the fact that I was ready to give in to all that, ready to accept my lonely and broken life if it meant helping my family, and I hated him for it, hated all of them. If I could kill them all, I would.
“Let’s do it,” I said.
Gian nodded once and took a gun from the glovebox. He slipped it into the waistband of his dark pants and stepped out of the truck.
I followed him. The neighborhood was pitch dark and not a single person was outside this late. I scanned the other houses, looking for shifting curtains or any sign that someone was watching, but there was nothing but the night.
Gian skirted around the side of the house. He hesitated near the windows, but jumped the back fence. He helped me over, and we walked up onto a beautiful back patio with a pool sunk down into the earth. A blow-up giraffe floated in the deep end. The furniture was black metal and a massive built-in grill and oven took up the left side of the house.
The back door was locked, but Gian picked it. “I’m not good at this,” he whispered, his face screwed up in concentration, “but I get the job done.”
It took him a few horrible, anxious minutes. I jumped at every sound—at a neighbor’s dog barking in the distance, at the sound of the wind in the trees, at the flutter of owl wings. It felt unreal, that we were here to murder a man.
Gian got the door open. He hesitated inside the small mudroom, waiting for the sound of an alarm, but there was nothing. Typical of people out here—nothing bad ever happened to the rich.
We moved past piles of shoes and a washer and a dryer, and stepped into a large kitchen. Granite countertops, expensive cooktop. It looked like it had been professional staged, and for all I knew, it had been. Stuart probably never actually cooked.
There were no lights on downstairs. Gian checked the living room and I poked my head into an office. Bookshelves loomed, the desk was a modern wood-and-metal contraption that probably converted to stand. There was a home gym in the basement and a built-in bar that looked like a real pub, and the whole place reeked of rich bachelor indulgence.
As I followed Gian up the stairs, I realized that I was so close to making this place my own.
If things had gone differently, I would’ve moved in here. The decorations would’ve changed, the place would’ve softened a bit, but it still would’ve been Stuart’s. I would’ve been Stuart’s, my whole life owned and controlled. It didn’t matter that I was born into money—I was still born to marry for my family’s power.
The door at the far end of the upstairs hall was shut. The wooden floorboards creaked and crackled with every step. Gian took the gun from his pants and held it in both hands. He looked back at me and nodded once before turning the knob—
The lights flashed on. Stuart stood next to the bed with a gun in his hand. I threw myself sideways and bashed against the wall as he pulled the trigger. It sounded like an explosion, and Stuart let out a shocked scream.
Gian returned fire. I dropped to the floor, hands over my head, and stared as Stuart took a bullet to the leg. He groaned and staggered, and the gun fell from his hands. It was a small pistol, silver with gold inlays. Even the man’s home defense weapon looked like it was trying too hard to be fancy.
Gian walked over and kicked the gun away from his reach. Stuart wore a flannel pajama set with his initials embroidered on the chest. Blood spouted from a wound as he writhed and moaned, hands pressing against the red-bubbling hole.
I slowly got to my knees, then stood and walked to join Gian.
“Oh, god,” Stuart said, groaning. “You shot me. You stupid fuck, you shot me. What the hell are you doing here?”
“What the hell are you doing, shooting first?” Gian asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
“I heard someone downstairs,” Stuart said. “Oh, fuck. I’m bleeding a lot. I need a hospital.” His eyes were wild with fright as they stared into mine. “Please, Ashleigh. I need help.”
I looked at Gian and he looked at me. His eyebrows raised slowly, like he wanted to know if we should show him mercy.
“We’ve come too far,” I said softly, and kicked Stuart in the injured leg as hard as I could.
Maybe it was petty. He was already suffering and I didn’t need to make that worse.
But god, it felt good. He gasped in shock and let out a low animalistic whine as he curled in around himself like a creature hiding in its shell.
“What are you doing?” he sobbed. “Oh, god, please. I need a hospital. Please.”
“You tried to kill us,” I said, crouching down. I reached out and grabbed his hair and pulled, and marveled at how easily he bent to my will. I was afraid of this man for so long, afraid that he’d break me and hurt me and abuse me until my dying day, and now I saw how pathetic he was, how empty and vain and worthless. He was like that gun on the floor, a lot of noise, but no substance.
Nothing worthwhile inside.
“No, I didn’t,” Stuart sobbed. “I swear, Ashleigh, I never.”
“You hired those Healy men,” I said. “You sent them to gun us down. When that didn’t work, you had them try to kidnap me. You made that all happen, and now we’re going to make sure you never do it again.”
“No,” he gasped. “Please.”
I released his hair and stood. “Say you’re sorry,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, staring up at me.
I looked at Gian and put a hand on his shoulder. “Do it,” I said.
“Ash, please—”
Gian pulled the trigger. Stuart’s head snapped to the side and he fell limp as blood pooled and oozed around him, sinking into the floorboards, sliding under the bed.
I stared at Stuart’s dead body and wanted to feel something, anything, other than the insane and sudden elation that came over me like a sickness. I wanted to feel sadness or anger or repulsion, but instead I only smiled, and felt a flood of relief.
Gian turned and took me into his arms and kissed me as the blood flowed.
We broke off the kiss and he took my hand. “Come on,” he said, and walked to the dresser. He ripped out the drawer and threw the clothes onto the floor. “Make it look like a home invasion.”
I understood and together we fell into a frenzy. We tore the room apart, threw things on the floor, smashed a TV, ripped his clothes, broke his pictures, shattered his mirrors. I stole cash and rings and watches. Gian moved on to the other room, a wave of destruction, until we meet in the hall and held hands on the way down the steps. We left through the back door and got back into his truck.
He started the engine, but didn’t leave right away. “How do you feel?” he asked, looking at me closely.
I decided not to lie. “I feel good,” I said. “I feel like I’m free for the first time in my life.”
He leaned toward me and pulled my hair toward him. I kissed him in a wild rush of emotions, in a crazy, dizzy wave of lust and need. When he broke it off, he stared into my eyes.
“I love you, Ash,” he said. “You’re the most fucked-up girl I’ve ever met, and you’re perfect.”
“I love you too,” I said, grinning a
t him, a lump in my throat and a stone in my gut.
I had a future now. For so long, everything felt like it was happening to me, and I was simply drifting through my days. Decisions were made for me and I chose to drift past my own life, smiling sadly as it wafted away.
But now I had agency. I made choices, and I suffered the consequences. I didn’t have my family to protect me anymore, and I didn’t have them to control me, either.
I was with Gian. I found love.
And soon, I’d have a baby.
“Come on,” I said. “Take me home. I’m exhausted. Too many late nights.”
“Better get used to it,” he said, pulling away from the curb. “That baby’s coming soon.”
I laughed and stared out the window as the rich houses flitted by and we angled back toward the city and home.
22
Ash
Two Years Later
“Danny, hold on.” I hurried to scoop baby Danny up into my arms before he could grab my water glass from the coffee table. He laughed and banged his hands against my chest. “Okay, buddy, don’t hit.” I put him back down and he teetered off, his chubby little legs kicking up behind him and his arms still stiff down at his side like Frankenstein.
For a long time, I wanted him to walk. I thought, if only he could walk, things could be so much easier.
But now I wished he would go back to crawling.
“How’s it going down here?” Gian came down the steps and paused at the look on my face.
“That boy’s a terror,” I said, looking back at him.
He laughed and held up his hands. “What can I say? He’s my boy. Of course he’s a terror.”
I walked over to kiss him as Danny teetered over, squealing with delight. Gian scooped him up and held him against his chest as the boy hugged his daddy as hard as he could.
Watching Gian interact with Danny was the greatest thing I’d ever experienced. It was something magical, watching that tough-as-nails mafia killer melt down for his little baby, and I thought that I’d get used to it sooner or later.