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“Not yet, but I’m stockpiling. Who knows how long this will last?”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, Nana, I’ll tell him. Need anything else?”
“Paper towels. Toilet paper too. Hey, Jason, you need anything from the gravy train?” A muffled reply that sounds a lot like no thanks. “He’s fine.”
I want to invite her over, but I know getting around isn’t easy. I wish she’d tell me to come back home because right now I want nothing more than to curl up on the couch and watch Jason study while trying to read. I even miss the smell of smoke and Nana’s coughing. But she shouts something away from the phone again then says goodbye and hangs up, leaving me alone in the big, empty house.
It’s strange. I’ve lived with Nana and Jason my whole life. There hasn’t been more than a night or two where I’ve slept under a different roof. And now that I’m here, it’s like I’ve left my old life behind and they’re moving on without me. I know that isn’t true—they’re just doing what they always do—but I’ve never felt so distant from them.
I hate it. I wish it could be different. But this is what I chose, and it was the right decision. Nana and Jason will be taken care of. I’ll have help in raising the baby. Maybe stuff’s weird with Saul, but we’ll figure it out. Our marriage will be loveless and sexless, and that’s just fine.
It’s absolutely, totally fine.
Chapter 15
Saul
I step onto broken glass. It crunches underfoot as I make my way into the dark building. Bullet holes are torn into booths and bottles are smashed all over the bar. Blood’s splashed against one wall, and the stage is a mess of dollar bills and thrown drinks.
“How bad?” I ask as I hurry over to where Dante and Carlo are gathered around a body.
The dead guy’s Irish. Pale skin, light brown hair, angular cheekbones. He could be related to Molly, and he really might be for all I fucking know. It’s a goddamn mess.
“None dead,” Carlo says, kicking the corpse. “Except for this fucker.”
“He had two friends. We’re in the process of hunting them down.” Dante looks grim. “We got lucky. There were a few Rinaldo soldiers in the crowd tonight and they opened fire the second the Irish tried something.”
I nod slowly, taking a deep breath. “What were they after?”
“Money,” Carlo says. “Tried to go for the safe in the back.”
“We’ll have one hell of a time getting this shit cleaned up.” Dante shakes his head as he paces away. “I’m already making calls. We need to put a response together.”
“Tonight?” I’m already thinking about Molly back home. In two more days, she’ll officially be my wife. How many late nights will she have to deal with like this? But that’s part of the life and I can’t spare her from it.
“Tonight,” Carlo confirms with a grim smile. “Or do you have something better to do?”
I glance at Dante, but he’s already on the phone and ignoring us. “You know there’s nothing more important to me than burning down Irish safe houses.”
“That’s the spirit.” Carlo walks over to the bar, fishes out a couple of beers, and throws me one. I crack it open and we toast. “If we’re lucky, we’ll have the other two fuckers in caskets before sunrise.”
“When are we ever lucky in this fucking war?”
“Good point. Let’s say by noon tomorrow then.” He sits down on a stool and faces the bar. It’s a grim portrait: blood’s splattered on the floor, everything’s wrecked and ruined, and Carlo’s sitting there like he’s enjoying a nice night out.
I join him, because why the fuck not. “We can’t keep going like this.”
“No shit. It’s draining as hell.”
“The heat’s going to get bad. We’re lucky this time, but if a civilian got killed?”
“What do you propose?”
“We have to hit them hard. Kill Finnian Lynch then make their captains come to terms. Then it’ll only be Jasha Aslanov fighting alone.”
“I bet that fucker Orsino Milano would come join our side at that point.”
I grunt in reply. The Milano Famiglia, the third biggest Italian mafia in the city, has kept out of the fighting by some minor miracle. Our only ally is Rocco Rinaldo, head of the Rinaldo Famiglia, and he’s only lending grudging support because my brother Gian is married to his daughter. Shit’s complicated.
