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Chapter Five
Finn
To sayI was pissed that Aidan had entered my apartment without permission was an understatement.
To say I was pissed that he’d also brought a fucking John to my home?
Yeah. I was raging.
Any other fucker would know how disrespectful that shit was, but the trouble was, Aidan wasn’t like ‘any other fucker.’ And you couldn’t approach him mad.
Getting my temper under control was difficult.
There were so many goddamn wrongs going down in my fucking home that I wasn’t sure which to process, and as I stepped toward my fucking living room and saw the puddle of piss and blood staining my rug, my nostrils flared in rage.
Eoghan cleared his throat, caught my eye, and shook his head.
I knew why he was warning me off.
Aidan was never very rational.
But clashing with him when he was pissed off?
I’d be asking for the same five-star service the poor bastard tied to one of my dining chairs was getting.
Christ.
Why had I even tried to make this place nice?
I’d spent a fucking fortune on it. Trying to make myself a goddamn home.
Why fucking bother?
“About damn time,” Aidan snarled as he finally sensed I was here.
In the corner, I saw Aidan Jr. leaning against the wall, phone in his hands. He looked bored, and from the way his fingers were flying over the screen, he was either sorting out a hook up tonight or he was playing some stupid game.
Unlike his da, Jr. hadn’t inherited the same zeal, and even though we all knew that Aidan’s heart wasn’t in the work, he was the eldest, and he’d inherit when Aidan Sr. died.
Truthfully, I couldn’t wait for that day.
I loved Aidan Sr. I did. Fucked up, yeah, but when he wasn’t off in his crazy head, he was a great guy. Knew more about the Knicks than any man still breathing. I swear, he was like one of those didacts. Knew so many statistics–could reel them off–that sometimes, it was like talking to Rain Man.
On Sundays, after church—which I only attended because it was required for those of us on Aidan’s inner council—we all headed back to the house, and Magdalena would have a huge Sunday roast ready for lunch.
We’d shoot the shit, chill out in front of Aidan’s big screen, which was on par with a screen at a cinema, and eat until we were blue in the face.
Magdalena was awesome.
She was a fighter, and I loved that about her.
Back in the day, word was that Aidan had been handy with his fists. Coming from his background? I didn’t outright blame him. You did what you’d been taught, after all, but Magdalena knocked that fucking lesson right out of him.
He had a huge ass scar marring the back of his skull to prove it, too.
He’dgotten handy with his fists,she’dclomped him over the head with a rolling pin.
It was the one occasion where Aidan had looked set to serve jail time, until Magdalena had turned a leaf and had told the cops Aidan hadn’t been beating her, but she had, in fact, thought he was an intruder.
