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“Maybe you won’t believe it, but I do, too.”
“Were you two close?”
I shake my head. “Not really. We were friendly.”
“What about you and Daley Halloran?”
“We were getting close, but Megan’s death ended that.”
He nods to himself and takes a long drag. “I’ve been bitter for years and years. Since before my daughter died, too. But losing her pushed me over the edge, and now I wonder what it was all for. All that sacrifice for the clan. All for nothing.” He spits on the ground. “All to get retired to some fucking bullshit bar serving beer to assholes.” Another drag. “What do you want, Rian? You got until the end of this cigarette before I try and kill you again.”
“I want you to know that me and Daley are close. I need you to know that.”
“Close to what?”
“Your daughter. What really happened that night.”
“Don’t fuck with me now.” The anger returns to his eyes, and I get a glimpse of the killer he used to be. He takes a big drag and half the cigarette is gone. I haven’t touched mine and the ash drops onto the ground. “You killed her.”
I only stare at him for a long moment. “Do you know the name Queenie?”
He frowns, confused. “The fuck does that have to do with my daughter?”
“It’s just a question. Do you know a girl named Queenie?”
“You’re coming around here saying cryptic shit, and now you’re asking about some girl named Queenie? I don’t know any fucking girl named Queenie.”
I sigh and lean my head back. I had hoped—but it was a long shot.
“All right. Sorry to have bothered you, Patrick. Next time you see me, maybe you won’t want to shoot me in the face.”
“Seems unlikely.”
I flick the cigarette into the gutter and step into the rain. I shove my hands into my pockets and try not to let the bitter disappointment overwhelm me. It’s like we’re so close, but everyone wants to keep us away.
I run my fingers along my phone and want it to ring—I want to hear Daley’s voice so badly it hurts. Last we spoke, she was on her way to dinner with Aiden, but that was a few hours ago. I can still feel her under my palms, feel the soft push of her dimpled skin, the sharp crack of my palm on her ass, hear her moans, taste her skin, her pussy, her tongue. I need her so badly right now I think I’d do anything to have her in my bed again. To make her mine for one more night.
“Rian.”
I stop and look back. The rain started up again and I’m getting drenched. Patrick finishes his cigarette, and I look around for cover, but he only takes another out and lights it.
He says, “There was a girl, years ago, named Queenie. I remember her now. You would’ve been young back then.”
“You know her?”
“Not exactly, just by reputation. Back then, the Halloran clan was in a turf war against the Italians, the Campi mafia. Vicious fucking bastards. It was a brutal war, worse than what’s happening with the Turks right now. I remember that their don had a daughter, and her name was Queenie.”
I blink a few times, trying to process. I’ve heard of the war with the Campi mafia before, but that was before my time, when we were much younger. I must’ve been thirteen or so when that was at its height.
“What happened to her?”
“Don’t know,” he says, taking a long drag. The smoke plumes out and disappears into the heavy rain. “Things were hot with them for a long while, then something happened. I hear Fergal made some alliance with their don. Something happened that nobody ever talks about, and we’ve been at peace ever since.”
“Something happened? Did it involve the daughter?”
“Don’t know,” he says. “I wasn’t important enough to know.”
The door opens behind him and an older woman pokes her head out. “Patrick, your fucking smoke break is over, you lazy fuck. The bar’s backed up. Get your ass inside.”
“Fuck off, Mary. I’ll be in soon, you fucking ball-breaking twat.”
“Old fucking wrinkly ball sack.” Mary disappears back inside.
“She’s lovely,” I say.
Patrick laughs. “You’d like her if you got to know her. Anyway, that’s all I know about a girl named Queenie. Daughter of the Campi mafia. Far as I know, she disappeared into history the second the don and our chief made their alliance.”
“Thanks, Patrick. That helps.”
“I don’t fucking care.” He flicks the cigarette, turns around, and heads inside.
I walk slowly back to the car, mind racing.
Queenie’s an Italian. I had no fucking clue—but how would she connect to Megan? If Q is Queenie like Quinn said, and Megan was running some kind of blackmail scam on her and S, what the hell would Megan have over an Italian mafia princess? One that apparently disappeared years before? Megan must’ve been ten or so around the time that war was happening, and she didn’t get killed until she was sixteen. What happened in those six years?
