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“‘…the serial killer’s identity has been revealed as Amara Marino, an illegal Italian immigrant who arrived in the city last year. The FBI has confirmed that Marino is the perpetrator behind the six murders across Manhattan and beyond, including the death of real-estate mogul Connor O’Connell. Marino was found dead in a slaughterhouse in Jersey just hours ago, along with her most recent victim Sofia Fiore, a nineteen-year-old Italian-American woman from Queens. It seems New York can breathe a sigh of relief now that the monster has been caught. There is no doubt Amara Marino’s name will go down in infamy for her terrible crimes, but it’s important to remember the names of her victims as well. We will now take a moment of silence to honor those…’”
As Connor’s face flashed across the screen, I turned toward the wall. I gripped my hip in one hand, running the other through my thick hair. Relief nearly brought me to my knees. Because if my time in the panic room had taught me anything, it was that beneath all of my anger was a world of hurt. For losing Connor, yes, but also for myself. For being no better than Nicoletti’s assassin.
I screwed my eyes shut, focusing on that magnetic pull—the one that drew me to Emma, as if our heartstrings tied us together. It was with her in mind that I was able to face my family again.
I strode forward, stepping around the sectional, and turned the television off. Connor’s handsome features, along with the faces of five others, disappeared as the screen went black. The room was so silent, I could practically hear everyone’s hearts beating in tandem.
When I pivoted toward them, I glanced in Emma’s direction. She was staring at me with wide, terror-filled eyes. Had I put that look on her face? Was she scared of what I would do? That I’d go off the deep end again?
Eoghan placed his hand on her bare shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Swallowing back the jealousy at that tender act, I approached Shannon, who was holding the now-awake Charlotte. Those bright blue eyes—an exact replica of Connor’s—stared back at me, as if she too were waiting for my reaction.
“So, this is the poop nugget?” I asked, my voice snapping the tension in the room.
There was a visible sigh as everyone broke into shaky smiles. Everyone apart from Emma, who shrank farther into the couch. I wanted to grab her, haul her over my shoulder and take her home to start my amends. We had a long road ahead of us, but I still didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to destroy us further or, worse, scare her more than I already had.
Shannon stood, her arms outstretched to pass Charlotte off. Upon seeing me holding the tiny human, Emma left the room. I watched from my peripheral vision as Eoghan followed her down the hall.
I didn’t think Eoghan had it in him to swoop in after me. He wasn’t that type of person, but I shouldn’t put it past anyone. Emma was a fucking prize. Rules were broken when it came to her. Mine had been. Eoghan might be breaking them as well.
I’d have to keep an eye on them—monitor and assess. On a good day, I could woo any woman away from the young, boyish heartthrob. But I was already in Emma’s bad graces.
Eoghan was invaluable to the mob, but if my hunch was correct, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from tearing him to shreds.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jack
Members from the McKenzie, Sweeney, Murray and O’Connell families filed into the penthouse in droves. Upbeat techno music blared, a product of Kieran’s playlist. People had brought liquor and food, but Guillermo and a hired bartender were still working their asses off.
The August sun blazed through the eastern windows. Even with the air conditioner humming, everyone was dressed in light clothing. The liveliness of this gathering in contrast to Connor’s wake was striking. It was hard not to be affected by everyone’s bright mood, but I hid my skepticism behind an indifferent mask. I sipped at my glass of water, watching as everything unfolded.
When Peter McKenzie walked in, the party was in full swing. He clapped Emma on the back, pulling her in for a hug, which I was surprised she reciprocated. She’d ditched the beanie and her hair was tied into an artful updo, leaving tendrils to grace her thin shoulders. The stitches along the line of her scalp were immaculate but they made my stomach churn.
I kept my distance, watching and listening. For now, it was enough to be in her presence. I was enthralled but horrified by how she had integrated herself into the mob without my knowledge—and in less than a week. Everyone said hello, everyone knew her name, everyone adored her.
“This is the girl I was tellin’ ye about, love,” Peter said, speaking to his wife. She was small, warm and crass in a way only an Irish woman could be.
“Oh, so ye gave me husband a smacking, didja?” she asked, laughing as she swept Emma into yet another embrace. She had to be the fiftieth person to hug her, yet I couldn’t bring myself to go near out of fear of rejection. “Ye must have some green blood in ye, no?”
Emma’s smile was coy as she shook her head. “I’m not sure. I’m an American mutt through and through.”
The sound of her voice made my throat catch. She’d spoken so little, despite everyone wanting to engage her in conversation. The soft words that left her mouth were a gift in and of themselves. I watched her lips as they twitched, structuring themselves around her sentences. Her brown eyes gleamed every once in a while with something like happiness, but it was short lived. The haunted look would return and she’d glance around, searching for Eoghan.
He would meet her gaze. Occasionally, he’d smile back with reassurance, then his eyes would find mine. He knew I was watching them like a hawk. The glare I cast should’ve stilled him, but he simply sipped at his pint and continued chatting with Kieran.
* * * *
A couple hours later, Kieran was standing on the bar in the kitchen, using his foot to push aside dishes filled with a vast array of traditional Irish food. Emma stood near Shannon and, of course, Eoghan. Shannon had spent a majority of the afternoon on the phone with the FBI, who were a little behind the media on ‘alerting the family first.’ I situated myself so that I could keep an eye on the three of them while still watching my brother.
Someone turned the music down and all eyes drifted to Kieran.
“Ding dong, the bitch is fucking dead!” he yelled, pumping his hips on the last word. He held up his pint, smiling. The crowd roared, mimicking his salute. “This one’s to all the men we’ve lost because of that cunt.”
The people in the room drank collectively. Emma sipped at the mimosa in her hand, but she wore no smile. Neither did Shannon, whose cheeks were wet with tears.
“This one’s to the Emerald Angel and Mick for bringing my brother back to us.”
I looked to the floor as everyone toasted. Someone clapped me on my back, but I ignored the sentiment.
