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“I wonder what you’re going to do when you actually become Mrs. Callahan and come home.”
“No need to wonder, I’ll tell you.” I lifted a slice of tomato to my lips with the knife. “I plan on burning the place down and rebuilding it for me. Your mother’s time is over. I thank her for building the foundation, but when I step out from your shadow, I’m not going to hold back, and they will get used to who runs shit now.”
I bit into the fruit, winking at him.
“I have a monster in my shadow.”
“It keeps your monster company.”
He pulled me to him and even with the knife in my hand now poised at his throat he leaned in and whispered, “Everyone one talked about my parents like they were gods. I want to see their faces when they realize they have nothing on us.”
His lips were on mine and I pulled the knife back, kissing him just hard as he kissed me. Our time was coming, and then nothing would stop us.
Until then…
“I don’t like that your plaything looks a little like me,” I whispered, breaking away from him.
“What?” He frowned. “You look nothing like that idiot.”
“She has brown hair.”
“That’s the similarity?”
“I don’t like it. Tell her to dye her hair red or shave it off,” I demanded. “Or whatever the hell else.”
He looked at me as if I was insane but nodded.
“Good. Now go, I’m going to feed our child.”
Chapter 13
“Graveyards are full of indispensable men.”
* * *
~Charles De Gaulle
ETHAN - AGE 27
Chicago, Illinois
Saturday, November 11th
Idiots.
This world was full of idiots.
I knew this, but I often wondered—were they idiots at birth, as in God just forgot to give them a brain, or were they dropped on their heads as children and never recovered?
“It will never happen again Mr. Callahan.” The two men, my men, stood shivering, clenching t
heir balls, in the middle of Ms. McGlinchy’s ice and ice cream factory. Men and women would cut massive blocks of ice and wheel them to another machine, which smashed it into perfect pieces before funneling it into McGlinchy Ice bags. Everyone was on holiday today, which left us some space to talk.
I stared at the red-haired men, twins it looked like. They looked identical but there was not a single brain cell between them.
“It was our fault—”
“Of course, it was your fault. Who else’s fault could it have been?” I asked them, leaning back in my chair. “It couldn’t have been my fault, I’m not idiot.”
