by A. Zavarelli
“But there’s one last thing.” Scarlett pulls a card from her pocket and fiddles with it. “I didn’t mention it before.”
Storm crunches some of the sucker between her teeth, eyeing off the card. “What is it?”
“There’s a fed. And he’s got it bad for you.”
“Oh yeah, that guy.” Storm nods. “He’s been asking around.”
“I didn’t give him anything,” Scarlett tells her. “I won’t. But he wanted you to have this. In case you ever need help, I guess.”
Storm takes the card and gives it a curious glance before shoving it into her own pocket.
“Thanks. He might be fun to play with.”
“No,” Scarlett says. “Not him. He’s one of the good ones.”
Storm looks at me, and I nod. She doesn’t believe it though.
“Fine,” she sighs. “I’ll leave the poor little federal agent alone. You never let me have any fun.”
“I guess that’s probably for the best,” Scarlett agrees. “But what do you want me to tell him?”
Storm runs her tongue over her teeth in a playful gesture.
“Just tell him to catch me… if he can.”
Storm is long gone, but she definitely left her mark.
The two blokes strapped to the table have been sliced and diced and burned and god only knows what else. Because their eyes are practically begging for death at this point.
What Scarlett doesn’t know is that Alexei has his own way of dealing with men who assault women. And before Storm ever laid hands on them, Quinn and Duke enjoyed a long, passion filled night with Boris.
Boris is over two hundred pounds of pure muscle, and he likes his men submissive and leather bound.
Which explains the assless chaps lying on the floor, I suppose. Along with the empty bottle of lube.
Scarlett doesn’t miss them, of course, but she doesn’t ask about them either.
She’s staring at the first bloke. Quinn.
And he’s looking at her too.
He knows what awaits him.
“I’m sorry,” he tells her. It’s a plea for mercy, but it won’t be found here.
If I had it my way, I’d be the one to tell him that. While I bled him out, I’d look into his eyes and tell him that he never should have touched my Satan.
And if I could kill him a thousand different ways, I would.
But this is what Scarlett wanted.
What she asked for.
And even if I don’t agree with it, I have to respect her for it.
She showed me yesterday, how fierce she really is. She was fearless, crazy, and hot as fuck with that AK-47 in her hands, blowing up the place.
But today, she is placid.
Soft, and… vulnerable.
She’s beautiful either way, but I’ve never seen her like this.
She’s clutching the knife in her hand too tightly, her knuckles are white, and she isn’t moving. I don’t even know if she’s breathing, she’s so still.
We stand there like that for a long time, and I don’t say a word.
This is a process she needs to work through on her own. A decision she needs to come to on her own.
I don’t want any lingering resentment from her. And I don’t want to push her.
But it turns out, I don’t need to.
The knife in her hand clatters to the floor and she turns into my arms at the same time I pull her towards me.
“I can’t do it,” she whispers into my chest. “I don’t want to do it.”
“It’s okay, baby doll,” I assure her. “I will.”
She nods against me, but neither of us moves for a long time. And then gradually she pulls away, leaning up to pull my face to hers and kisses me.
That kiss conveys the words she can’t tell me herself.
Thank you.
A part of me always knew it would come to this.
I have no guilt for what’s about to go down in this room, and there will be no guilt after. I would kill a thousand men for Scarlett. I would torture them and bleed them dry if it brought her peace.
“Go upstairs,” I instruct her. “Take a bath. And when I’m done, we’ll go home.”
“Okay.”
She turns, and I stop her.
Unbuckling the watch that has weighed me down all of these years. The ever-present reminder that I wouldn’t become like him.
I don’t need it anymore. Because I know that I will never be like him.
I protect the people I love.
And sometimes, that means getting a little bloody.
“Take this too,” I tell her. “And get rid of it.”
She doesn’t know. She can’t know, but somehow, she does. She reaches up to touch my face one more time.
“You are a good man, Rory.”
She gives both the blokes one last and final glance, and then nods, leaving me to it.
42
SCARLETT
ALL MY YESTERDAYS mean nothing if my tomorrows aren’t with you.
Peace is a foreign thing.
A feeling I can’t recall ever knowing.
But that’s the only word I can think of to describe the calm that’s washed over me since we’ve come back to Boston.
Rory’s been busy, cleaning up the loose ends of the mess we’ve made. I’d like to believe that’s why he’s been gone so much, sneaking in late at night when he thinks I’m asleep.
He’s giving me space, and I was grateful for it, at first.
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.
43
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 mor
e 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.
44
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.