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Twenty-One
Aela
I grimaced through another hymn,trying to remember how long this would go on for.
The last time I’d been in St. Patrick’s Catholic Church was Deirdre’s funeral, so the memories weren’t great. That wasn’t my last time in church, more’s the pity. My grandparents had insisted on it when I lived with them. So it had been at least a decade since I’d attended a Sunday service, and in my opinion, a decade wasn’t long enough.
Seamus was in total agreement.
I’d managed to get him here on two conditions.
One, he could mess around on his phone throughout the sermon. Thank God Conor sat beside us. He looked as bored as Seamus and me, and together, the two were splitting a pair of AirPods and watching what looked to be some guy making mozzarella from scratch. Go figure.
Two, he was ‘owed’ a day. That meant we’d go wherever he wanted, eat whatever he wanted, and do whatever he wanted.
I was actually looking forward to that part because he wanted to go to Coney Island, and it had been a lifetime since I’d been there. I knew it would be a blast.
Mostly, I was touched he wanted to go with me at all. I figured that would be something he’d do with friends from school when he stopped psychoanalyzing them long enough for them to become friends, of course.
Barely refraining from yawning, and contemplating buying myself a set of AirPods to get through the sermon from the ever difficult Father Doyle—a man who astonished me by still breathing, because he’d been ancient when I was a kid—I put some of my weight onto Declan and tried not to tip my head onto his shoulder.
If I could have napped, I would have.
Man, if this wasn’t an order from up high—and no, I wasn’t talking from God—I’d have cut and run from today, but we were heading straight from here to the O’Donnelly’s house, and the kid inside me who’d been blushing and enamored of their power still found it hard to wrap her head around the fact she would be breaking bread with the rulers of our little kingdom.
I wished we could have gone straight there. I’d actually murder a Sunday roast, because I hadn’t had one in years, and from how Conor had waxed poetical about his mother’s cooking, I knew I was in for a treat.
Deciding to rest my eyes for a while, I thought about last night and the night before.
I was still sneaking out of his bed to get back into my room for Seamus’s sake, but damn, the man had learned some moves since I’d been gone.
I couldn’t even find it in me to be jealous, not when I thought about what he could do with his dick now.
Sheesh.
Just the thought started to get me a little horny, which was gross in church. Hell, even I had standards.
Before I could think about how perfectly his cock filled me, all around us, people started to move. I opened my eyes, widened them a few times to wake them up and make sure I didn’t look like I’d been sleeping, and watched as the rows in front filed out.
I knew, point blank, this had to be one of the busiest parishes in the city. Simply because of Aidan Sr. It was a part of the life to come here every Sunday, whether you were a believer or not. He didn’t care. His men had to go to confession too, because that was as integral as having loose morals where crime was concerned.
The hypocrisy never failed to amuse me.
But, as a result, the pews were full. Every single one of them. From left to right. Jam-packed like sardines in a can. Even the two naves were. I was pretty sure it was a damn fire hazard!
It helped that Aidan Sr. had his guys on a short leash. The first row filed out, followed by the second and so on. It was anal enough that the pews themselves walked out from left to right like it was some kind of simple dance.
Because we were in the second row, I nudged Seamus with my elbow, and taking the hint, he quickly turned off his video and muttered, “I’ll send you the link later, Uncle Conor.”
I smiled at that, not just at the fact he’d called him ‘Uncle,’ but that Uncle Conor wanted to finish watching the mozzarella video.
It fit that the two of them got on well considering Conor was an oversized kid and Seamus was an undersized adult.
Shay managed to tuck his phone into his pocket just in time for us to leave the pew. My ass was numb, and it was fucking freezing in St. Patrick’s as we moved down the aisle.
I kept my gaze locked and loaded on the back of Declan’s head, well aware that the masses would be watching Shay and me as we exited the church. With no desire to catch my parents’ eye either, I had no doubt that the women of the Five Points, and the Old Wives’ Club—the wives of fallen Pointers—would be chatting up a storm about me. It was a wonder my ears weren’t burning already, because I had to reason that they’d be calling me all kinds of crap behind my back.
It took a while, because Father Doyle stood and said farewell to every parishioner. At least, he did to the ones in the front pews which seated the most powerful members of the mob.
