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“Come on.”
I lead him back to the elevator. We have maybe ten minutes before cops are swarming this place. I feel bad about Barry and Melissa, but at least I didn’t pull the trigger on Molly’s cousin—I hope that counts for something at least. And the girl, well, we couldn’t leave her alive. Not another witness to all this.
We reach room 416 and Carlo knocks. We wait a minute, and he knocks again. A voice calls out from inside, and Carlo knocks more insistently. We step to the side and press ourselves to the wall, hiding from the peephole.
“Melissa? You forgot your fucking key again. Jesus, how many times—” The door clicks open and Carlo moves first. He rams his shoulder against the door, but Finn has the chain latched. It catches, but it only holds for a moment until I kick the gap as hard as I can, wrenching it out of the wall.
“Fuck,” Finn shouts as he runs back toward the beds. “Fucking hell, oh, motherfuckers—” But Carlo barrels in after him. I’m right on his heels, my gun drawn.
Finn’s in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. His hair’s messy, and there are a bunch of empty beer cans on the window sill. The man’s been busy, and he’s barely been in here for a half hour.
“Don’t,” I warn as he reaches for a gun left on the nightstand. He stops inches away from it, staring back over his shoulder. “It’s done, Finn. Don’t fucking do it.”
A smirk splits his face. “Is she dead? How’d you find me?”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s finished. You’re done.”
His smile gets even bigger. It’s unhinged. “Like hell I am.” Then he lunges for the gun.
Carlo shoots first. I fire next. We light him up, emptying our guns into his flesh. It’s overkill, but we tear into him until we’re both firing dry with nothing left to give. Finn slumps to the side and slips onto the floor, his blood splattered all over the wall and the bed. He doesn’t move.
In the silence that follows, Carlo walks over to the windowsill, picks up a beer, and finishes it. “That’s done,” he says and shoves his gun away.
“That’s done,” I agree.
It’s an ugly and fast end to a long, brutal war. I stand and stare at the corpse of the man who’s been haunting my family for so long now. Finnian Lynch was clever, ruthless, and efficient, and I’m not sorry to see him dead.
Except there’s something about the man lying there nearly naked, his corpse ugly and bullet-riddled, his girl dead for him.
What was gained by all this? His clan will fall apart now. Without Finn holding them together, what’s left of his people will give up and leave the city or else they’ll kill each other trying to take control of the territory they have left.
What a waste. What an ugly and stupid waste this has all been. I hate that dumb dead Irishman and all the people that followed him. Greed and stupidity brought us this far, and violence was how it had to end.
I send a text to Dante. Don’t come inside. It’s finished. Then I nod at Carlo.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Fine by me.” He holds up the end of another drink. “To the fallen.” He pours some on the floor. “You’re good and dead, and I’m happier for it.”
Once we’re in the hall, he puts his arm across my shoulders, and a grin splits his face.
“So, who’s Molly, and why did that Irish guy think you married her?”
Chapter 28
Molly
I hold Saul’s hand and grip it tight. The car jostles as we slowly drive up a long, narrow road through trees, heading toward a massive house at the far end of the forest. It’s an incredible sight: three stories, multiple wings, decorated with Italian art and Roman-style columns. A fountain gurgles out front. He parks in a line of other cars, and I do my best to ignore the big guy with the gun standing near the front door and watching us closely.
“You’ll be okay,” he says, squeezing my fingers. “I promise. Nobody’s mad at you.”
“No? Aren’t I related to the enemy?” An ugly little laugh squeezes from my chest. “Well, I used to be anyway.”
“Not anymore. The Lynch Clan’s already falling apart. It’s only the Aslanov Bratva standing in our way, but that won’t last long without Finnian. The war’s going to be over soon.”
I want to tell him that’s a relief, but nothing can make me feel better right now. Truth is, I feel bad for Barry, but I don’t exactly miss him—my cousin was a fuck-up and an idiot, and it sounds like Saul gave him every chance to escape, and he didn’t capitalize on it. I wish he weren’t dead, but I’m not exactly upset that he’s gone.
No, the thing is, I was never part of the war. I knew something was going on because of the news, but it didn’t really touch my life. The war ending isn’t a relief for me the way it is for him.
