Connelly Crime Family Trilogy

by Winters, KB

  “What are you looking for Ivy, marriage? I thought you were different, but you’re looking for a husband too. Right?” I could kick my ass for thinking with my dick. Again.

  “No Shae, I’m not. I just can’t sleep with someone I don’t know or keep sleeping with him. I think it’s best if you leave.”

  “Just like that?”

  She blinked her confusion. “What else is there? Are you hoping for another round of sex?”

  She sighed and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Yeah, well, so was I.” She turned then and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me to take the hint.

  Get the fuck out.

  Gladly.

  I didn’t need this shit. There was so much pussy in Rocket that would love to wet my dick.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ivy

  Goddammit, I did it again! After Shae left, I tossed my bedding in the washer and cleaned my bedroom from top to bottom. And my shower. And the kitchen. And the living room. Okay, I cleaned my whole damn house until the pine fresh and mountain air scents masked any lingering smell of Shae, no last name, hot as fuck, jerk.

  A stupid jerk. And an asshole, too. I was getting myself too psyched up, too angry. All over a guy who, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t matter. He was a good lay. A damn good lay, actually. He woke up parts of my body that I didn’t know were even dormant, goddamn him!

  I should have listened to my first instinct. I mean, who in the hell would even screw a guy they met because he was dumped from a van in the hospital parking lot? Me, that was who. And my long streak of going after the exact wrong kind of guy was in no danger of ending. He was bad news and that wasn’t even based on the business he was reluctant to talk about. To me, anyway. It was because of course he wanted to keep it casual. Because it was the perfect way to get what he wanted, sex, without having to share any parts of his life.

  He didn’t need a sex buddy or a mistress. What Shae needed was a steady stream of professional sex workers who would show up, suck his cock and leave without any expectations and a fatter purse.

  I deserved better than that and I knew it. Deep down in my heart I knew it, but that didn’t stop me from being angry and frustrated. I liked him, which should have been the first clue that things weren’t going to work out. It was the story of my life—guys who wanted to keep it casual. Who weren’t looking for anything serious. I couldn’t even remember them all, but what I’d never forget was all the creative ways men could find to tell me they only wanted to stick their dick inside me.

  “Stop!” I screamed at the bathroom mirror.

  I couldn’t let this thought process continue. It didn’t help me get to the point where I wasn’t angry or hurt. Thankfully, my house was clean, which meant I was able to put in a few hours of work to make sure when this week was over, I still had a profitable business. Since I had nothing else, my clients were doubly important now.

  From my office that overlooked the backyard, a large window gave me a glimpse of the outside world, reminding me what was real. Five hours straight sitting in front of a computer screen meant my shoulders, neck and back were stiff as hell. I needed to stretch, get my oxygen and blood circulating and as I did a few sun salutations and downward dogs, I began to feel renewed. My life was getting back to normal. Shae was a blip on the radar screen, receding into the distance. A life lesson. A reminder to keep myself centered and on course.

  No more getting derailed by men.

  Not Ian and certainly not Shae. Not anymore, anyway. I’d completed two projects this morning and taken on two more contracts. Business was still booming. Which meant my life wasn’t a complete and total failure. As pathetic as it was, that thought made me feel a little better because I knew there were women out there with no love and no career to satisfy them.

  “Then again,” I said to my perfectly equipped kitchen, “those women probably have friends to complain to and commiserate with on occasion.”

  Did women still do girls’ nights?

  That was what I needed. Friends. People who wanted to hang out for no other reason than to have a good time together. Not losers who needed to be taken care of, or only wanted me for my body. Just a few besties for simple fun and completely platonic relationships. Girlfriends to count on for those days when it seemed all the lights had gone out.

  “Might as well go unicorn hunting, too.” I scoffed to myself.

  Where had that snarky thought come from? It was definitely a mood buster, so I ordered a cheesy meaty pizza, cracked open a beer, and didn’t feel guilty about eating the slices straight from the box. On the sofa. In my pajamas.

  It felt good not worrying about anyone but myself. To just sit at home alone and binge watch crap on TV because I wanted to. Not to have to answer to anyone about the choices I made. Though I guess it would be nice to have someone around who actually gave a damn about me.

  Just then I heard my dad’s voice in my head. Don’t sit around feelin’ sorry for yourself girl, go out and make life happen.

  I didn’t know what he meant when I was a kid, but all of a sudden it seemed like after all these years, my father had whispered the secret of life in my ears. Thanks, Dad, I said to the last of the beer. And decided right then I was going to ace this course.

  I grabbed my laptop to see what kinds of activities Rocket offered to meet people. I had my choice of book clubs, knitting clubs, dance classes, strip dancing classes and cooking classes.

  Nothing sounded all that appealing to me, but I was determined to follow Dad’s advice, so I signed up for an Indian cooking class that started next month. In exactly two weeks my life would change and I’d cook fabulous dinners for all my new friends. I could taste the curry already.

  My cell phone rang in my office, and I jogged to the back of my small house but missed the call. I swiped it off the desk, assuming it was a robo call because who else would call me in the middle of the day. I didn’t have any friends.

  Within minutes it rang again, and I got that nauseated feeling in the pit of my gut that had nothing to do with the four slices of pizza and two beers I devoured while watching some Brazilian science fiction show.

  “Hello?” I said, nervousness spilling off me like the crumbs from the pizza.

  “Hi,” a firm, professional voice said. “This is Candace calling from St. Mary’s Hospital. May I speak with Ivy Anders?”

  “This is Ivy.” I was already looking around the room for shoes, and I spotted a pair of hot pink All-Stars near the door, my keys and bag hung on the hook three feet above my shoes.

  “You are the emergency contact for Ian Anders?”

  Slowly the blood drained from my body, leaving me feeling cold and numb. “I am. What’s going on?”

  “I’m afraid that your brother has been in an accident.”

  I looked at the phone and scowled. “Yeah, he was in an accident a few days ago. I got this call already.”

  Was this hospital up to helping people if they couldn’t even keep their shit straight?

  “That’s correct, Ms. Anders. But it seems that Ian left the hospital last night with a few friends and while they were out, something else happened.”

  “Is he all right?” That was the only question I had at the moment as I sent prayers up to every deity known to man, Mom and Dad and anybody else who might be able to intervene long enough for the doctors to save him. “Is my brother all right?”

  Finally, the damn nurse spoke as I shoved my feet into my shoes and hoisted my bag over my shoulder and ran for my car, just as I realized that two beers was two too many to get behind the wheel of a car.

  “He’s banged up and re-injured his leg, but he’s all right. Can you come up here in case we have any questions while your brother is in surgery?”

  “Surgery,” I whispered. “He’s in surgery? For what?” This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

  The nurse sighed heavily, and I dropped down on the steps of my porch. “The doctor would prefer to speak to you in person.”


  “I’m on my way.” As soon as the call ended, I called an Uber and sat out on my porch as the wind carried my buzz away. I cried as my mind replayed all the different ways Ian could have gotten hurt. Maybe he fell and broke his leg again, but that wouldn’t require a second surgery, would it?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shae

  “Shit, Shae! It’s about damn time you showed up. I called you more than an hour ago!”

  Eamon was beside himself, red in the face and damn near blowing steam out of his ears. He looked the same way he did when I stole his Corvette. I was just fourteen and best of all, he didn’t catch me. The fucking cops did. He figured it out when the three separate speeding tickets came in the mail.

  “We thought maybe the Milanos found you again, goddammit.” He raked a hand through his hair and blew out another breath.

  “Nope. Had to head home and change. Didn’t think ol’ Patrick would’ve appreciated me showing up to dinner smelling like sex.”

  I barked a chuckle to diffuse the tension in the room. Eamon was scared, worried, and I knew he hated feeling vulnerable about anything. Normally, I would’ve fucked with him just because it amused me, but between the shit with Layla and then me, he was probably close to losing his shit.

  “We all appreciate that,” Rourke grunted from the corner, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand and a smirk on his face. “How do you feel?”

  After spending the entire night buried deep inside Ivy, I felt damn good. And a little sore. And more than a little pissed off about how things ended with Ivy. Luckily, I wasn’t thinking about that right now. At all.

  “Like I’m ready to kick someone’s ass.”

  Before I showered, changed, and left my house, I set aside all thoughts of Ivy until we dealt with business because I couldn’t be distracted. Not now.

  “Sounds good, my boy. We’ll talk business in a minute, but first let’s see what your Aunt Fi has cooked up for us.”

  Patrick walked into the game room, cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth and a relieved smile on his face as he pulled me into a full-on hug. It was odd, since Patrick wasn’t known for his loving gestures, which only highlighted just how much the Milanos had us all worried.

  “We’re still gonna burn those fucks to the ground,” he promised. He wore his usual outfit of jeans, a blue button up shirt and a wildly colored blazer to highlight his lean frame. I fell in step beside my father, and he smiled at me again.

  “I’m glad you’re all right son. Now, tell me exactly what happened.”

  I took my seat to the left of Patrick at the head of the table while Eamon and Rourke took the two seats to his right. Aunt Fiona, my father’s sister, came in with one of her kitchen helpers following behind with a roast leg of lamb. She took her seat at the other end of the table, every graying hair in place, a coating of makeup masking her stern face, leaving an empty seat between us. She surveyed the table groaning with glazed carrots, herbed potatoes, salad and a few dishes that looked like something she saw on one of those cooking shows.

  The last guest strolled in, late with an arrogance sure to piss off Patrick, which seemed to be my cousin Gabe’s favorite past time.

  “Glad to see you could join us, Gabriel.”

  Gabe shrugged and dropped down in the seat beside me. “No problem, Uncle. Got here as soon as traffic allowed. You’re the one who decided to live all the way out in bumfuck Egypt.”

  Another familiar argument, which we’d all made at one point or another. Patrick laughed it off as he always did; digs like that never bothered our father in the least. Gabe was a cousin from Mom’s side of the family. We never hung out with him often enough on account of the Connelly family business. But Gabe had come to the family and asked that we put his special skills to use, and Patrick was happy to bring him on board. Gabe also provided some serious muscle, and when Patrick needed more than a little bit of muscle, Gabe was more than a simple threat. Gabe was the guy you called when you needed people to disappear. Quietly and permanently.

  “Good to see you, Gabe.”

  He grinned and smacked me on the back. “You too, cousin. You’re not as pretty as usual, but you look all right.”

  I was about to respond when Patrick banged his hands on the table. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I asked a goddamn question! Now,” he said, calmer, “is anyone going to tell me what the fuck happened?”

  I put down my fork and cleared my throat. “I was coming out of the Emerald Joker,” I said, aware of everyone’s eyes on me, “when I was hit from behind with something hard. It was Frank Milano. I’d know that fat bastard anywhere. Gio was with him, and that fucker got in a few punches too.” I sat back and stared across the mashed potatoes and peas at Eamon. “I already delivered the message. Twice.”

  “We got the fuckin’ message,” Patrick growled. “Looks like it’s time to teach Lorenzo Milano and his bastards what happens when you fuck with the Connellys.”

  “I won’t argue with that,” I agreed, feeling amped up like I could go out now and fuck some shit up.

  “I know you boys are eager to get your revenge,” Fiona began and automatically the table quieted in respect. “But it would be more prudent to send Gabriel to do his thing. Let them see they aren’t important enough to warrant a full out war.”

  Aunt Fiona was always the levelheaded one, but her pragmatism always included a thick vein of cruelty. “Just an idea.”

  “It is something to consider,” Patrick began in that tone most of us already knew meant he’d dismissed it outright. “But we have to make an example out of the Milanos. Let them serve as the cautionary tale for any motherfucker who’s thinking he might want a slice of Connelly pie.”

  Normally I would agree with Aunt Fi, but this time, Patrick was right. “If we just disappear a few of these Italian cleaners,” I said, “the message won’t be as clear, Aunt Fiona. We have to make sure it’s no secret what happens to them.”

  She wasn’t pleased with me, but Rourke had a way of calming his mother down, more than even Patrick. He refilled her wine glass like a good son and whispered to her while the rest of the table debated our options.

  Eamon spoke up first. “We need to go after Daniel. He’s Lorenzo’s pride and joy, the fucking heir, apparently. Taking him out will be a clear signal.”

  He had a point but I didn’t just want one Milano. I wanted them all.

  “That should be the end game,” I argued, reaching for the potatoes. If we took out Daniel first, everything would escalate too fast. “Take out Gio and Frank, then Angelo. Leave Daniel because it’ll give that old fucker Lorenzo, a false sense of hope.”

  The table fell silent, and I wondered, not for the first time, if this was one of those moments when the whole family looked at me like I was still the six-year-old kid with a face full of Superman cake. But Patrick’s loud voice boomed in the dining room.

  “Well, hell Shae, that’s positively fucking diabolical. I love it.”

  Rourke nodded his agreement. “One by one and they all fall down.”

  “Just leave Angelo to me,” Gabe grinned. “We got a beef that goes way back, and I’d love for mine to be the last face he ever fucking sees.” He was a crazy son of a bitch, but he was also damn good at his job.

  “Fine,” Patrick agreed. “But the first targets are Gio and Frank. Find them. End them.”

  With business out of the way, we got back to the Connelly family’s second love. Food and booze.

  All of a sudden we heard the front door open and Shamrock came busting into the dining room, interrupting the family dinner. This meal was sacrosanct, and this move risked Patrick’s wrath. A wave of uneasiness shot through me.

  “Shae!” he said, his face red from running or terror or some shit.

  “What’s up, Rock?” Now I was seriously alarmed. Normally, Shamrock was cool as an iceberg.

  It took him a minute to catch his breath, another testament to how serious his news must be if he ran here. “Went to find you
at your girl’s place but you weren’t there. She was waiting on an Uber, and I got curious so I followed her.”

  He paused to suck in more oxygen, gratefully accepting a glass of water from Aunt Fiona who did a piss poor job of hiding her annoyance.

  “And?”

  “She went back to the hospital. Her brother snuck out last night with his friends and got his ass kicked.”

  “Shamrock!” Patrick shouted. “You interrupted family dinner for this news?”

  Big green eyes darted to the man in charge and then back to me. The resolve in his eyes sent ice through my veins. “I overheard his friends talking and they said some Italian guys asked for him by name and then beat him up. Only him.”

  “So? What do we care about some fucker we don’t even know?” Patrick could be a stickler for tradition if it didn’t impact business.

  “Because,” I said, “a bunch of rich computer nerds and only one of them was jumped by a guy who sounds an awful lot like Frank Milano?”

  His gaze bored into mine; he got it. “It can’t be a coincidence.”

  I was on my feet. “No, it can’t. I need to check on Ivy.” For the first time in my adult life, I walked away from my family as they called my name to check on someone else. Someone not a Connelly.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ivy

  As soon as the Uber driver stopped in front of the main entrance of the hospital, I flung a tip at him and rushed inside the last place I wanted to be. Ever again. I spent the short drive over playing every worst-case scenario in my mind. My patience was thin when I raced up to the front desk and my nerves were so frayed I could barely think straight. “Ian Anders’ room, please?”

  A middle aged nurse glanced up at me with a bored expression on her face. “Take a seat and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  “I don’t think so, lady.” I sucked in a deep breath to keep from tearing this woman a new one, even though she could use a lesson in at least pretending to give a damn. “A Nurse Candace called to tell me my brother, who is already a patient here, by the way, somehow managed to get out and was injured again. Where is he?”