One More Night

by KB Winters

  “Good to see you, Conor.”

  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 Conor 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,” Conor 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?”

  “Ma’am,” she began in that bored tone that only served to piss me off even more.

  “No! Don’t ma’am me. Just get on your damn computer and tell me where my brother is. His name is Ian Anders, and I am his sister and emergency contact. Ivy. I-V-Y.”

  If looks could kill I’d have dropped dead right there just ten feet from the automatic sliding doors.

  “Look,” she started to say in a tone that the Queen of England might use.

  “No, you look,” I shot back at her. “You people called me and told me to get here right away. Said the doctor might have questions while my brother is in surgery, so I’m not waiting and I’m not fucking looking. For anything. Ian Anders,” I said again, staring at her until she rolled her eyes and went to her computer, tapping until she found what she was looking for.

  “Ian Anders is in the Intensive Care Unit—”

  “And you had me waiting here, for what exactly? So you could finish a riveting game of Candy Crush?” I let out a long, loud growl of frustration and walked away. “You should really be working in the morgue, lady, because your attitude fucking sucks!”

  I hauled ass up to the ICU, taking the stairs because I didn’t have enough patience to wait for the elevator to stop on every floor, to offer up a fake smile to other friends and family of people trapped inside these walls. I couldn’t do it. Not any of it. But even as I took the steps two at a time, killing my lungs, I couldn’t help but pause and do a sweep around me, in every nook and cranny, because it happened again. That feeling of someone watching me.

  It was creepy as hell. I shook the feeling off after it became clear that the stress of my life was too much for me to handle, and I made my way to the reception area of the ICU.

  “Miss, how can I help you?”

  The voice belonged to a younger woman dressed in pink scrubs with a high ponytail and a reassuring smile. She clearly h
ad gone to the compassionate school of nursing.

  “I’m looking for my brother, Ian Anders.”

  “Ivy, right?” She smiled and I figured she was the mysterious Candace so I nodded. Because at that moment, I was too terrified to even speak.

  Candace walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder to guide me to the end of the hall. “Let’s talk right here for a moment,” she said quietly.

  “How is Ian?” That was my only concern right now, making sure he was all right. Even though in my mind I knew he was all right, I wondered if I’d even feel it if he wasn’t. Was there some feeling you got when you were all alone in the world? Did other orphans feel it?

  “He’s not good and he’s not in critical condition either. He’s in the ICU because security is tighter here and there was some concern, based on his friend’s statements, that he might need enhanced security.”

  She kept talking but her words just bounced off me as I wondered what exactly his friends, so called friends, had said. “The surgery has just finished and he’s in the recovery room. You can’t go in there, but once he comes out of the anesthesia and is stable, they’ll bring him here, and you can see him. Shouldn’t be too long.”

  Candace had a nice smile and a calming way about her that I appreciated. “Thank you for telling me, Candace. You’ve been a big help.”

  “Let’s grab a cup of coffee while we wait. It always makes things seem a little less crappy, don’t you think?”

  I did and more than that, sitting here with Candace made me think that I really needed to get some friends of my own.

  “Sounds good, thanks.” She led me to the cafeteria where we sipped hot black coffee that tasted like it had come from the bottom of a pot that burned all day long. But it was hot and a nice distraction. Eventually though, it was time to head back upstairs and my legs grew heavy.

  “Thank you, Candace,” I said, willing myself to get up from the table. Who knew fear and anxiety could make me turn into a rag doll? “You made me forget all about the hag at the front desk.”

  She laughed, a musical sound that was contagious. I couldn’t believe that I sat in the cafeteria while Ian was laid up in the hospital, laughing.

  “Macy isn’t what you’d call a people person,” she said, screwing up her face.

  That was the understatement of the century but hearing about Macy’s bad attitude was exactly the mindless distraction I needed before going to see Ian.

  He was in the ICU when we returned and Candace showed me to his bed, one of several in the ward for seriously ill patients. I tried to stay calm, I really did, but seeing him in bed like that nearly took out my knees. “My God, Ian!”

  He looked frail and beaten to a bloody pulp. One side of his face was bruised and his eye was swollen shut. His broken leg was in a new and much bigger cast and now two fingers were in splints. I couldn’t really tell because of his bed covers, but it looked his midsection was bandaged. What could I say? My sweet brother looked terrible. About as bad as I felt.

  “Who did this to you?” I knew it was a pointless question since he was still out of it, but it was the obvious question. Ian wasn’t a troublemaker, he was a geek. An even bigger geek than I was. All of his friends were geeks. Super geeks. It had to be a random act of violence, because if it wasn’t, that meant there was a whole lot about my brother I didn’t know.

  “Why did you leave the hospital, Ian?”

  That was the part that didn’t make sense. It was a stupid move and Ian was a lot of things, but he was rarely stupid. Impulsive, sure. Spontaneous too, but not stupid.

  The door opened and a doctor, recognizable by the white lab coat and stethoscope around his neck entered. Handsome, with soft brown eyes, silver hair, and a kind smile, his presence helped put me at ease.

  “Mrs. Anders?” he asked.

  “No, I’m Ivy. Ian’s sister.” It was a common mistake and I brushed it off easily

  “I’m Dr. Doherty, orthopedic surgeon.”

  Another surgeon. “What’s the verdict, doctor?”

  “The good news is that everything will heal in time.”

  Good news meant there was, inevitably, bad news. “The bad news?”

  Dr. Doherty gave a resigned smile. “The bad news is that healing is going to be a long, arduous process. Ian will need physical therapy and possibly another surgery for his leg, but that’s only after his fractured ribs heal. Only time will tell.”

  “Fractured ribs?” I said.

  “Yes, and some internal bleeding. We had to do some exploratory surgery to make sure his internal organs weren’t damaged.”

  I wasn’t sure if I was hit with a wave of nausea or dizziness, but something sent me reeling as the full extent of Ian’s injuries hit me. And then I realized that no matter how badly he wanted me out of his life, Ian would need my help for the foreseeable future. Sure I wanted that, to take care of him until he was well. But not like this. I wanted him healed. Safe.

  “Okay, thank you Dr. Doherty,” I managed to say.

  He gave me a polite smile, asked me if I had any more questions. But since he couldn’t tell me what I really wanted to know: who did this to my brother? I said no, thank you, and he gave a slight nod and left the room. My gaze lingered on Ian’s pale skin, covered with deep blue and purple discoloration, which told its own story of his night.

  Candace stopped in to tell me that I could go home if I wanted to, that Ian likely would sleep for the next several hours and would be in better shape in the morning. But I couldn’t leave him. I collapsed into a chair next to his bed, just to be there in case he needed me. And then fought back my fears for the next few hours.

  Who would do this to my brother? I came up with no answers. Not only did I have no friends, but Ian’s friends were a big unknown to me. I could recognize a few names, but nobody appeared in my thoughts capable of this violence. So I spent those hours beside his bed, waiting and praying to whoever was up there–clearly not listening from the way they were watching over him–that he would wake up. Soon. When it became clear he had no idea I was there, Candace urged me to go home and get some rest.

  When I returned, it was a different story. Recovery had started. The nurses had cleaned him up and given him some breathing treatments to prevent pneumonia. They didn’t waste time. Said they’d gotten him to sit up for a bit before he fell asleep again. I’d missed all that, so I took up my place by his bedside and drifted off to my own thoughts.

  “What’s with the long face?”

  The sound of his voice startled me and I turned to him. “Ian? Oh thank goodness you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

  Even though there was a large split in his bottom lip, Ian grinned. And winced.

  “Like I got the shit beat out of me. How do I look?” He gave me a woozy grin like his little escapade hadn’t just shaved at least ten years off my life and that, well, it pissed me off.

  “Seriously? You fucking leave the hospital in the middle of the night, get your ass kicked and you’re asking me how you look? Where the fuck did you go? And why?”

  It was too much all of a sudden, Ian’s smug attitude about getting attacked. Shae. The big ginger named Shamrock. It was just too fucking much. “You know what, Ian? Screw you!”

  “Wait, what?” He blinked and his brows dipped in confusion. “I don’t even know what you’re saying. I’m so fucked up. Can’t you just relax for a minute?”

  “Relax? No. Screw. You.” I pointed at him for good measure. “You bitch and complain that I won’t leave you alone, that I hover too much. That I smother you and you needed a break. From me! And I give you what you want and this is what you do. You aren’t capable of taking care of yourself! Look at you!”

  I wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Hell, what I wanted was to go home, lock myself inside and ignore the whole goddamn world. But I couldn’t. I was trapped. Leave my brother after his second near death experience? No, I couldn’t do that. But enough pampering him. He needed to know I was
finished with treating him like a kid.

  “Come on, Ivy.” He flashed that easygoing smile that I wanted to smack off his face. And I would have, if I wasn’t so damn glad to see his eyes open and his lips flapping. But I wasn’t a pushover for his antics.

  “No you come on, Ian!” I said. I was too tired of all this. Of the whole damn world. I dropped back down into the uncomfortable chair. “What will you do now that you have to start recovering all over again?”

  He shrugged. “Rehab and work. I can’t do much else.”

  “Yeah, well, I hope it was all worth it because the doctor said you might need another surgery on your leg. He also said you have a long road ahead of you before you’re fully recovered.”

  He gave me a face, one I knew well from the times he’d been caught getting into trouble. “I just wanted to get out of here for a few hours. Have some fun.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “You’re right, I wouldn’t. And it’s not because I don’t have fun like you seem to think. I just don’t understand how someone with a broken leg thought it was a good idea to leave the hospital when you were supposed to be released today.”

  “Ivy, stop. I’m injured here. And I can’t even think straight.” I heard the self-pity in his voice. His plea for mercy. Any other time, he’d get it. But now, after this stunt? I looked him in the eye.

  “And it’s your own damn fault!” Wasn’t he too old for this?

  “Ivy. Cut me some slack.”

  “I’m tired of cutting you some slack, Ian. I’m sorry this happened to you. But don’t come to me with your pity party that you were bored. It’s time to be an adult. I’ll help you however I can, but there are new rules.” I turned away to look out the window before I said more, something I’d regret. When I’d let off enough steam, I turned back to him and asked in a calmer voice, “Did you talk to the police yet?”