by A. Zavarelli
But now I’m ready to talk.
I’ve been served up a big old slice of humble pie, and I realized in the end that I did need saving. Just once.
And Rory is the only one who I ever would have allowed to do it.
He is my rock.
The thing I’ve always come back to when I felt so unsteady in this world. I’ve used him as a shelter from the storm and a target for my misplaced anger and as a balm to my chaos. I’ve hurt him and loved him and hated him and wanted him. I’ve pushed him away relentlessly, and I have no right to ask him for a second chance.
But I want more.
I’m ready for more.
When peace exists within you, everything else becomes clear.
I am still his Satan. At my core, I’m probably always going to be a little evil. But Scarlett 2.0 is done with the games and the lies. And I want to prove to him that we make a good team. The best team. And that we should be fucking shit up together for the rest of our days.
But since he snuck out on me this morning, I’m sitting alone in his house with Whiskey. Again. And that little orange fucker is giving me the stink eye and I remind him that I’m the one who brought him here.
I’m going a little stir crazy.
So I decide to go visit Mack.
It’s unexpected, for both of us.
When she opens the door, her mouth literally falls open when I ask if I can come inside.
“Of course.” She ushers me in quickly, like I might change my mind.
I haven’t been over to her house since she had the baby. And now, she’s almost ready to have her second.
Admittedly, I haven’t been a very good friend.
But I’m willing to try.
To do better now.
“How are you?” Mack asks. “Now that the dust has settled?”
“I’m good.”
This time, it isn’t a lie.
The baby cries from a playpen in the middle of the living room, and Mack walks over to get her. As soon as she picks Keeva up, the fussing stops, and her little blue eyes lock onto me.
She smiles, and I try to smile back, but Mack is laughing at the expression on my face.
“You look terrified.”
I swallow and clear my throat before holding out my arms.
“Can I?”
Now it’s Mack’s turn to look terrified.
“You want to hold her?” she asks.
“Yes. Isn’t that what one generally does with babies?”
“It is…” she agrees.
We are at a standstill. And I think she’s still processing that this is happening. But eventually, she hands Keeva off to me, and she’s heavier than I expected. She looks so small, especially the way Rory holds her in his arms and bounces her around.
Her tiny fingers reach up and grab my nose before slapping me across the face and making some unintelligible sound.
“She likes you,” Mack says.
Another slap to the face.
“I guess so.”
“You look good with a baby in your arms.” Mack says, and I quickly give Keeva back.
Baby steps, after all.
“You want to go get some Dunkies?” I ask her.
“Sure.” Her face lights up because Mack never says no to donuts and coffee. “Just let me call Conor first.”
In the time that it takes Mack to get ready for our outing, she accumulates about five hundred pounds of necessities for the trip. Keeva is secured in the stroller, and Mack hands off the diaper bag and toys to Conor, who follows behind us as we walk.
“Crow says decaf only,” Conor tells her.
“Well it’ll be our little secret,” Mack tells him. “Don’t forget I have plenty of dirt on you.”
“Don’t you ever get sick of that?” I ask. “Having these guys around all the time?”
“Nah.” Mack glances back at Conor and smiles. “It was kind of annoying at first. But I like it now. An extra pair of hands and eyes is pure gold when you have a baby.”
We sit down at Dunkies and eat our donuts while Conor texts on his phone.
“He’s got a girlfriend,” Mack whispers. “He just doesn’t know it yet. It’s so frigging cute.”
“He doesn’t know he has a girlfriend?”
“I can hear you,” Conor says dryly.
“Conor and Ivy sitting in a tree,” Mack sings. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
Conor rolls his eyes, but there’s a goofy smile on his face. And I remember him telling me how Rory saved him from himself. Even though he’s been a little shit to me, I know he did it out of love for his brother and his family.
The syndicate.
It really is a family, I realize, as I watch the two of them banter back and forth like brother and sister.
“She’s a dancer,” Mack says.
“Was a dancer,” Conor corrects.
“Right. Until you pulled a Ronan.”
“I didn’t pull a Ronan.”
“Tomato, Tomahto,” Mack says.
After another hour of relentlessly teasing Conor about his new girlfriend, we head back to the house.
I’m smiling, and I feel lighter, and Mack can see it too.
“You should come around more often,” she says.
There is real emotion in her voice. Not a lot, but just enough to let me know she cares. It seems motherhood has softened Mack a little too, but oddly enough, it suits her.
“I will,” I tell her, and I mean it.
“And bring Rory too,” she says.
“Speaking of,” Conor cuts in. “He’s having a fit because he didn’t know where you were. He’ll be here to pick you up in a few.”
Mack rolls her eyes and hugs me.
And true to Conor’s word, I’m back in Rory’s car a few minutes later.
Forty-Three
Scarlett
Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar: but never doubt I love- Shakespeare
“Ye can’t just run off without telling me where ye’re going,” Rory says.
“What difference does it make?” I ask. “You haven’t been around.”
The car falls quiet, and he doesn’t say another word, even when we get back to the house. There is still so much tension between us, and this time it isn’t me who’s running away from it.
He tries to bail on me almost as soon as we get back inside and I’m secured.
“Stay,” I tell him when he gets to the door.
His back straightens, and his hand is on the knob, but he lingers there. Warring with himself.
“I’ll make pancakes.”
I don’t know why I say it, only that it seems like the thing to do. Because who can resist pancakes?
“It’s not breakfast time,” he says.
“They’re an anytime food, really.”
My voice is weird. And his is too, when he says, “okay.”
He sits down at the kitchen table, and I get to work. Rory’s kitchen is well stocked. He might be a perpetual bachelor, but he’s one who can cook.
Which comes in handy, it turns out, because I have no idea what I’m doing.
After splattering batter onto my face and burning the first two pancakes, he gets up to help me. And he makes it look so easy. His are golden brown and perfect.
Just like him.
“How’d you learn how to do that?” I ask.
“I moonlight as a pancake chef,” he teases.
But when we sit down at the table, he tells me the real reason.
“My mammy is a good cook. I liked to help her.”
There is reverence in his voice, and I wish I could say the same. My mother never cooked a day in her life.
We keep talking about pancakes, because it’s easy, and it keeps either of us from bringing up the elephant in the room. He tells me about some of the other things his mammy used to cook. Stews and traditional Irish breakfasts.
And then we’re both finished, and the awkward silence is back.
He’s
getting ready to bolt again, but I can’t let him.
One of us just needs to suck it up and talk about this.
“I’m still under construction,” I blurt.
He gives me a look, and I try my best to explain.
“I think I know why you’ve been avoiding me.”
He tries to argue, but I don’t let him.
“You have every right not to trust me,” I say. “All I’ve ever done is lie to you. And I won’t deny that I set out to hurt you. That I wanted to make you pay for fucking up my plans.”
He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, listening to me quietly as I ramble on.
“I’d like to say that I’m not that girl anymore. But we both know that would be another lie. I’m still a work in progress. But things are different now. I’m different. And I can’t think of anyone else on this earth that I’d want to be different with than you.”
He sighs and plows a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at me.
I still haven’t sold him on it yet, but I never expected it to be easy.
“I have a lot of making up to do,” I say. “But all I’m asking for is a chance. To show you that I’m changing. I’m evolving. And that I can be more than just a pain in your ass.”
This makes him smile, but he tries to hide it with a cough.
“I like fucking shit up with you,” I tell him. “But I like this too. Sitting here at the table and being all domestic and shit. And laying in your bed with you at night. God, I would kill the old me for admitting this, but that’s like the best thing ever.”
“Scarlett…” his voice is hoarse, and I’m scared he’s going to tell me no, so I keep rambling on.
“And I’m not making any promises, but I held a baby today, and she didn’t even cry. So maybe I’m not all evil. I mean, Satan was once an angel too. So there had to be both good and bad in him. I think there’s good and bad in all of us…”
Rory gets up and moves around to my side of the table, effectively cutting off my tirade by yanking me up from the table and kissing me. Hard.
“Fuck,” he groans as he pulls my body all the way against his. “Ye’re the hottest little psychopath I’ve ever come across, baby doll. And even if ye were leading me straight to my downfall, I doubt I could say no to ye.”
“But do you want to?” I ask, and he grabs my ass and squeezes.
“No,” he grunts.
He kisses my throat, all the way up my jaw to my ear.
That’s when more word vomit spews from my lips.
“Marry me.”
His entire body goes ramrod straight as he pulls back to look at me like I genuinely am insane.
“I’m not asking for leaps and bounds, sweetheart,” he says. “Baby steps are fine.”
And it’s there in his eyes. He doesn’t believe I’m over what happened. That I know what I’m asking for. And despite what he says, he still doesn’t trust me.
But that’s okay.
Because I always get what I want.
And this is no exception.
I didn’t think there was ever anything I could want more than my revenge, but I was wrong.
This.
This right here is what I want.
I’m willing to put in the work to prove that I’m right about us. To show him that I’m more than just a partner in crime. That he can trust me, and that I’m going to be the best goddamn mafia wife he ever could have asked for.
Starting with right now.
I sink to my knees before him and grab at his buckle, undoing his pants and kissing all over his cloth covered cock.
He smells so fucking good. And he tastes even better when I suck him through the material.
He’s an animal.
A caveman.
And he’s mine.
Forty-Four
Scarlett
They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered- F. Scott Fitzgerald
I didn’t think Rory could get any hotter.
Seeing him in the ring was pretty much tops for me. There’s nothing more primitive than a man who knows how to fight.
Seeing him with his weapons, and him showing me how to use them, well that was pretty hot too.
Seeing him as my hero when he emerged from that basement at Alexei’s, doing the thing that I couldn’t… it was something I’ll never forget.
But seeing him today, in nothing but a pair of ripped jeans and a tool belt around his waist… well I take back everything I said before.
This is the hottest.
And the best part is, the music is up so loud he didn’t even hear me come in. So I can just stand here for a minute to appreciate him in all of his glory as he hammers things and uses tools like a boss.
I set down the groceries and walk up behind him, sliding my hands around his waist and hugging him from behind.
“I could lose a finger if ye sneak up on me like that again,” he tells me when he turns down the music.
“Marry me.”
I can’t see his face, but I know he’s smiling.
It’s been a running joke between us over the last month. I ask him at least three times a day now. But his only response is to kiss me.
Today, though, he turns in my arms and hoists me up around his waist, kissing my neck.
“I have something for ye,” he says.
I must have a dirtier mind than he does because I’m disappointed when he walks down the hall and my present isn’t him.
He gestures to a bunch of boxes as he sets me down on his bed.
“The lads brought your stuff over today.”
“My stuff?” I ask. “Like from my apartment?”
“That’d be the stuff.” He nods.
I stare at the boxes and tap my fingers against my thigh. Rory’s watching me carefully, probably bracing for an epic tantrum since he knows how particular I am about said stuff.
But honestly, I forgot all about it. I haven’t been back there since Alexander was there.
I didn’t want to go back.
I’ve been buying new clothes, because it was easier. But it was a nice gesture, and I am glad I have some of my books and shoes.
“I had to get rid of a few books.” Rory approaches the subject like he’s disarming a bomb. “They were… well…”
“Covered in blood.”
“Aye.”
“So, you touched all my things,” I say. “You moved them, and packed them, and disheveled them.”
“Guilty as charged,” he says. And then, a little quieter, “so how bad is it?”
He’s still mentally preparing for me to come unhinged.
“You better build a fallout shelter.”
I get up and walk towards him, and he backs away. Until I grab the loops of his jeans and yank.
“So, I guess that means I’m going to live with you, huh?”
“I suppose. I need ye close so I can keep an eye on you.”
He gives me a kiss that’s entirely too short and tries to leave again.
“Stay and make out with me.”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” he says. “I have work to do, and so do you. Time to unpack, Satan. And then ye better be ready because I’m taking ye out tonight.”
“You should really see what I’m doing to you in my head right now,” I say, but he’s already gone and around the corner.
So, much to my disappointment, I spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking instead of fulfilling my hot carpenter fantasy.
Rory’s planned night out consists of a gathering at Niall MacKenna’s house.
The now retired and former boss of the syndicate.
It’s a big deal for him to bring me here, and I know it the minute we walk through the door.
Even though I’ve played it off like it doesn’t bother me he wouldn’t commit, this one little act cements everything I need to know about where we stand.
I’m in this world for good now.
You don’t go to Niall MacKenna’s h
ouse unless you’re a longtime girlfriend or wife of one of these men.
Rory knows very well that I know it too, because he’s staring at me right now, gauging my response.
I squeeze his hand to convey the words I don’t want to say aloud.
I’m not going anywhere.
Mack is here, and Sasha too, and I’m in their sights within moments of entering the room. They try to pull me away from Rory, which apparently is the thing to do, so the guys can talk shop and smoke cigars or whatever.
Rory swats me on the ass before I go and leans down to whisper in my ear.
“Be a good girl, Satan.”
I kiss him on the cheek. “I’d rather be bad for you.”
He’s all dimples, and Mack is making a hushed gagging noise behind me when she finally pries us apart and drags me away.
“What happened to you?” she asks. “You’ve gone soft.”
“Speak for yourself,” I tell her.
She glances across the room at Crow, all the while Sasha is seeking out Reaper with her eyes, and both of them are still just as love drunk as the day they got married.
Case in point.
We’re just about to sit down when there’s a commotion from the other side of the room. A feminine cry, followed swiftly by laughter and clapping.
“What’s going on over there?” Sasha asks.
I’m not sure, since I can’t see anything. All the guys are standing in a circle, and it isn’t until Conor moves out of the way that I see it for myself.
A short woman with the same ashy blonde hair and green eyes as Rory. She’s hugging him like her life depends on it, peppering his face with kisses.
His mammy is here.
Judging by the expression on his face, he had no idea. But within moments, his eyes find mine across the room and he’s pulling her over to meet me.
“Oh crap.”
“You’ve got this,” Mack whispers beside me before she disappears into the void.
I don’t do well with mothers.
My own mother hates me, so how the hell am I supposed to win his over?
I am not mentally prepared for this. When Rory introduces us, I’m on the verge of panic. I don’t know what to say or do or…
She leans in for a hug and squeezes the life out of me. For such a tiny thing, she’s an aggressive hugger.