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“IVY, if you—”
“Don’t give me a reason,” I warned Pierce as he struggled. “At least she’ll live.”
Cillian said nothing.
“Ivy…” Rory reached up, grabbing her dress with her bloody hand. “Please…please…” She sobbed out.
“Do you know what I learned in prison?” Ivy asked, staring down at her. “That everything that happens to you is your own fault.”
“I…v…y…we’re…sis—”
“Stepsisters,” she reminded her, ripping her hand away and then looking at the revolver to read the inscription. “Che sarà, sarà. My husband says it means what will be, will be.”
She spun the barrel once before she stepped on her shoulder, holding her down.
“IVY!”
She fired.
People jumped, gasped, turned away. Startled, one man even puked, but it was in vain.
“Apparently this is willed to be,” Cillian stated when no bullet fired.
Ivy smirked and so did I.
“My mother meant what I will be, shall be. That at all times the choice is mine. If you live it is our will,” I said, reaching for her bag, and her heels, before rising to my feet. “If you die…it is our will.”
Ivy fired once more, this time the bullet hitting her in the spine. Kneeling, I placed the heels in front of her. She took her bag and said to all of them, “Now I’m done. We won’t take up any more time.”
She stood at my side, and I looked at him.
“How much longer do you think I’ll let you stand in that spot, Cillian? How much longer will I let you believe everyone here thinks the Callahans should leave Boston? When will I show you just how many people have turned against you? How much longer will I let this city destroy itself?” I asked before glancing down at my watch. “How about until dawn?”
“Any man who believes a word you say is a fool. You really think you’re God, don’t you?” He huffed, chuckling, though I could see the concern in his eyes. And the fact that I could see it meant he was nowhere as strong as he thought he was. But that was again my doing…I allowed his confidence to grow.
“Simon,” I called out to the teenager who sat at the picnic table, who wouldn’t move before. He rose to his feet.
“Yes, sir,” he asked, now much more respectfully.
Cillian looked at him obviously.
“How’s your grandfather?” I asked, though I hardly cared.
“Good, sir, thank you for your help.”
“You little disloyal bastard—” Elroy charged at him, but the boys around him all stood up, pulling out brass knuckles, a knife, one even a gun.
“Plot twist.” Ivy smiled at Cillian.
“Rory?” We heard her voice. Shay, Ivy’s stepmother, walked forward, people parting for her, in her hands two bags of groceries. Her eyes were large as she stared at the woman in the grass, in shock. “RORY!”
She screamed, dropping the bags and rushing toward her daughter. “Rory!” Her hands shook as she touched her. “Call for help,” she said softly at first until no one move
d. “SOMEONE CALL FOR HELP.”
“Call, but will they come?” Ivy asked her.
It was then that she saw the blood on Ivy. She tried to lunge forward, but Cillian grabbed onto her, pulling her back, and so all she could do was scream.
