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“Maybe ya should let me drive. At least until your balls drop back into your pants again.” She laughed, while I couldn’t help but reach a hand between my thighs to make sure those fuckers were still there.
They were—ya know,in case you were wondering.
I watched Dani’s face as she pulled up to the little shack my folks called home in the South Side, waiting for the judgment I was certain I’d see there. And for once, I couldn’t get a read on her. Her jaw was relaxed, her eyes focused and not wandering, her breaths pulling in and out at a natural pace.
I’d worked at Mollies long enough to know the mob life meant mob money. Even if she didn’t have it now, her family had it at some point. Which meant our upbringings were worlds apart. Mine more cabbage and potatoes, and hers more prosciutto and truffle oil.
I wasn’t embarrassed. What I didn’t have in my pockets, I made up for with the package between them. I was moreawarethan anything else of what this place might look like to someone who was used to the finer things in life.
Dani maneuvered us into the small spot left by my neighbors, killing the engine on our stolen car and pivoting her body in my direction. And I shuffled myself out of the passenger seat, rounding the hood with a slight limp in my step and opening her door before she could think up another aptly timed escape plan. Because if there was one thing I knew for sure it was the fact Danica Rossi didn’t like the idea of being brought home to meet the parents.
If the realization hadn’t sunken in yet, it would soon. And I didn’t have it in me to force my reluctant girlfriend through the front door with my guts five seconds from plopping out onto the concrete between us.
I grabbed her hand and guided her up the steps the best I could while clutching the rail and sucking in a sharp breath. I was never much for pill popping, but right now, I’d sell my leftnut for a swig of smooth whiskey and a fistful of those circular tabs Benny liked to stash in the back room of the club.
Before my knuckles could make contact with the door, it was swinging open and my ma was pulling me in for a hug. Pushing me back and staring at me with a scrutinizing eye.
“What d’ya do, boy?” She shoved an accusatory finger in my direction, then behind me when her glare landed over my shoulder. “That her?”
I grinned without bothering to turn around. I could already feel Dani’s eyes boring into my back. “Yup, that’s her, Ma.”
“Conny…” My mother started, and I cut her off at the pass.
“Ma, we have a guest.”
“Ye’ve got something all right,” she grumbled under her breath, pivoted in the small entryway, and reached inside the hall table. Pulling out a card and slamming it into my palm. “Those men, they left that for ya.”
I flipped the simple white rectangle over and then back again. There was nothing but a phone number embossed across the front.
“They say anything else?” Dani asked while snaking an arm around me to grab the card from my hand. I quickly tugged it out of her reach. I already knew what my girl was thinking, and I wasn’t about to let her go after those fuckers on her own.
“Just that ye were trouble. But I gathered as much by lookin’ at ye.” Ma pursed up her lips, her eyes narrowed in that way that would have most grown men shifting on their feet.
But not Dani. She just returned my ma’s scathing look with a grin. “If only some of that sense rubbed off on your son.”
And I saw it. The moment my ma’s tough shell cracked just enough to let my girl worm her way inside. The woman did that to ya. Got under your skin without you realizing it was even happening. And my mother was no exception when it came to Dani’s—let’s call it—charisma.
“If only…” Ma waved us into the house. Though I didn’t miss the way her eyes hooked on the blood seeping through my shirt before dropping again when she directed us over to the kitchen table. “Fill yer bellies before goin’ off to do something ye shouldn’t.”
39
My eyes dropped to the bowl of stew plopped in front of me. Accompanied by a look that said refusing wasn’t an option. Couldn’t tell ya what kind of meat it was, just that it was brown. Definitely not pork or chicken. And surprisingly delicious. Much better than the slop they served up at the local pub I would hit up most nights. Or anything I could dish up myself. Never really took to the whole being domesticated thing.
Who woulda guessed?
Pretty boy’s mother was warming up to me. I could tell from the way her scathing glare had simmered to something resembling slight distaste. Though something told me the man of the house would be a little more difficult to win over. Not that I cared if Connor’s parents liked me or not. I mean, Leo’s family had wanted me dead almost as much as he did.
Shit, six years later, and the fuckers were still coming at me hard.If anything, I should have been proud of that one.
“So, Dani, what do yer parents think about whatever’s goin’ on between ye and Conny here?” Mrs. MacCullagh was eyeing us from across the tiny kitchen table, her elbows planted wide in front of her and her time-weathered fingers clasped together.
The woman was a hair shorter than I was, her back slightly hunched—suggesting she was bent over a stove most of her life—and her tight bun peppered gray. Though none of it made her look any less formidable. Sixteen or sixty, I had no doubt she’d throw ya over a knee all the same.
“Not much, seeing as they’re dead.” I shrugged before shoveling another spoonful of mushy vegetables into my mouth. If I expected her to be shocked, it was clear she wasn’t.
“I had a feelin’ ye’d say that. Name’s not all that common 'round here no more.” She drew in a long breath and let it out on a sigh. “It’s a shame what happened to 'em, ye know. And that boy. Your brother, I’m assumin’.”
“Yup, Anthony. He was four.” My voice sounded dry even to my own ears. I could hear it. But when death surrounded you, you learned to become numb to it. Or else grief would find a way to pull you under and keep you there. Drowning you in shit you couldn’t change. I could also feel Connor’s eyes on me, watching my face, then flicking back to his mother’s.
