Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“In that case, please sever a limb or two from me,” I stated.
He choked on a chuckle. “I fucking love you. I can do that.” He paused for a beat before he spoke again. “Does that mean you don’t wanna get in on the action? It’s okay if you do, you know. Finn will allow it.”
I shook my head. “Tempting, but it’s best I never see their faces.”
“Gotcha. No face, no case.”
That was one way of spinning it.
I took another swallow of whiskey and checked the time.
Shan was due any moment.
I hadn’t showered. I hadn’t unpacked. I hadn’t moved any of the moving boxes in the hallway that’d sat there since we’d emptied the last of Alfie’s house. I couldn’t get up from the damn couch.
I’d fed Shorty and made sure he had water. That felt like all the accomplishment I could muster today.
It was a little past noon on a random Thursday, and I was going through the most sluggish identity crisis in my life. I just sat there and stared into space, while my brain did a slow relapse of what I’d sworn off on Thanksgiving. As in, no more wondering what made a good man. No more worrying about consequences. The only thing that mattered was that Alfie and I were happy and together.
Oh, and the small detail of me wanting to torture two no-good fuckheads for what they’d done to my mother-in-law and several other women.
Who had I become?
I’d never even been in a fight!
I contemplated texting Phil to ask if he and Giulia would mind watching the children tonight. Giulia wouldn’t be returning to work until after the holidays, so she’d called more frequently lately, wanting to have them over.
Oh, fuck it. I wouldn’t be a good dad today. I was too busy wondering how I went from boring TV producer to partner of a mobster who hid cash all over the house, handled deliveries for a criminal organization, was off to torture two men tomorrow, and, somehow, made me the happiest son of a bitch in the world.
After throwing back my whiskey, I pulled out my phone and messaged Phil. I knew he wouldn’t say no, but I still wanted to make it up to him. And the best way to do that was to offer up my access to the company club suite for the next Flyers game. One ticket was always reserved in my name, though I tended to give it away. Parking pass and food included. I bet I could arrange so that he could bring his brother.
Just as I sent the text, someone rang the doorbell, so I dragged myself up and headed to the hallway.
Shan was right on time.
I opened the door—ah, fuck me.
Of all the days of the year.
“Mom,” I said.
She didn’t look comfortable one bit, and that made two of us. Why on earth was she here? She’d been perfectly happy with my ignoring her calls for so long.
She sniffed and picked off her gloves. “Are you going to invite me in, son?”
Must I?
I opened the door wider, and she shuddered at the cold and walked in.
I didn’t have the energy for this.
“I’ll get right to the point,” she said. “Your father is thinking we should disown you.”
I furrowed my brow, waiting for the anger to surge forward, the hurt, the disbelief, but not a fucking thing showed up. I barely even wanted to ask why.
I stared at her, this woman who’d raised me—alongside a nanny or three—and I saw a stranger. But then, she’d always been that way. Hadn’t she? It wasn’t as if we’d ever sat down to have a heart-to-heart about hormones, college, feelings… The closest I’d gotten was one day in my senior year of high school when I’d come out to her and Dad.
“I assume this has to do with Alfie and me,” I said.
The corners of her eyes tightened. She wasn’t happy. “The fact that we had to hear about you getting back together through neighborhood gossip, West…” She glanced around herself, seeing the moving boxes, some toys on the floor—and it never ceased to amaze me how she always managed to come off as stuck-up and arrogant. Most people tried to hide that. She wore her holier-than-thou personality like a badge of honor. “Now we’re hearing all sorts of things,” she muttered. “That boy—he still lives with you. Well-known mafia members come and go.”
I needed a refill.
I walked into the living room and poured a new glass.
“Do you even care, West?” she pressed.
“I care about a lot of things,” I replied. “I care about finally being reunited with the love of my life. I care about our family, our children, our friends—”
“Your friends?” she laughed. “And who are they?”
“Oh, I’m sure Dad has a list of names,” I said dryly. “I take it that’s why he wants to disown me, then? Because Alfie’s in touch with his family on the O’Shea and Murray side?”