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“He’s too soft for this,” I muttered, shaking my head, now doubting if I could leave him to it.
“Maybe, but he’s smarter than we gave him credit for.” She whispered into my ear and it made me shiver. I leaned back against her as she showed me her phone. I wasn’t sure what she was showing me until I saw the flames.
“He cremated her,” she commented, her eyebrow raised as I watched the video. “Why would be do that? I’d expect him to want to throw her some grand funeral.”
Simple. “He’s still a child in a way. He wants the pain to go away. He thinks burning her body and getting rid of all evidence of her will make it hurt less. But it doesn’t hurt at all.” I turned and kissed her neck.
“He doesn’t know that,” she replied, pulling away from me. “Whatever the reason for it, his instincts are good. He’s smart; he’s thinking about what’s best for the family, what’s best for you, and that’s to make it look like you didn’t care about Ivy. That you were using her.”
“I didn’t care about Ivy. I was using her. They all picked up on it but couldn’t connect the dots.” I grinned.
“An animal works by instinct. We use reason.”
“Can a fish instinctively act like a lion?” she questioned before letting me go and getting off the bed. “You should hurry back before he checks in on you, give him one of your Oscar worthy performances and I’ll see you back here.”
“Is it sex or love?”
“What?” She walked naked towards the bathroom.
“Is it the sex or is it love that makes husbands slaves to the demands of their wives?” I asked with a small grin on my face. She just rolled her eyes, not answering me as she went into the bathroom.
I closed my eyes, trying to see how I was going to play this. How Wyatt would be if I wasn’t there. He hadn’t even been home for a month yet.
Can a fish instinctively act like a lion? Calli’s question came to mind. The answer was no. A fish cannot instinctively act like a lion. Only a lion could be a lion. Wyatt, despite everything, was a Callahan. Which meant whether or not he realized it like I did, he’d do what a Callahan had to do. Defend our own.
Let’s see what you can do, little brother.
Chapter 18
“Chaos is a friend of mine.”
~Bob Dylan
ETHAN - AGE 28
Chicago, Illinois
Monday, November 3rd
I might not have pulled the trigger myself, but I knew about and planned for Ivy’s death from the very day her name came to my mind. So why the hell was this old fool in front of me and not Calliope?
What is she up to? How much did her grandfather know? This wasn’t part of our plan for her or Gigi’s return. That was the reason I was shocked to find Gigi here already. Calliope hadn’t spoken to me of any change of plan, which meant something happened to make her change plans. I doubted she would have told her grandfather the truth, either. So she was using him too…but to what end? Why was he taking the blame for Ivy’s death instead of the Rocha cartel like we planned?
“Has anyone ever told you that you look like your grandfather?” he asked as he placed the cup down in front of himself.
“Orlando?” I leaned back in my chair at the head of the table. “No, no one has ever said that to me. Though I do often get told I look like my father.”
He chuckled and looked around the dining hall shaking his head. “Just like the Irish to take all the credit.”
“Apparently my parents’ marriage didn’t end this perpetual blood feud between the Irish and the Italians,” I replied, placing my coffee on the table. Watching him carefully I asked, “I wonder how they would feel if they knew all their hard work and sacrifice meant nothing.”
The corner of his mouth turned up and he pointed his finger at me. “Right there, that is your mother.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your demeanor, this conversation, that look in your eye…that’s your mother. The calm in the storm. The Irish don’t think like that. They are brutes, good at fighting, fucking, and drinking, but real genius, that is rare. Your grandfather Sedric was one of the rare ones…”
“And my father? He didn’t make the rare genius level?” He was insulting of half me and praising the other, so I didn’t feel either way. I’d met old men like him in both the Irish and Italians, holding on to past stereotypes of the other while uplifting themselves.
