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Romy
Some time after they dragged Mak away, the lights come back on, and a guard cracks open the door just enough to slip through a pitcher of water and a plate of Franco’s lasagna.
I don’t know why the change of heart, but I take it, wolfing down the food and gulping glass after glass. I’m not stupid enough to think Donnacha will care if I go on a hunger strike, and I know I’ll need my energy to even have a chance of getting out of here alive.
With food and water swirling in my system, I really can’t hold my bladder any longer. I take my chance, hammering on the door, and a sour-faced guard cuffs me and escorts me to a dingy water closet next to the elevator before tossing me back into the concrete block.
I’m curled up in the corner when the door opens again. Jesus, time’s flying if I’m due another meal already. But when I look up, I’m surprised to see Aisling in the doorway.
She runs toward me, and I stagger to my feet. As she draws closer, I realize she’s been crying. Of course she has. I’ve betrayed her just as much as I have her brother.
I’m bracing for whatever judo move she wants to throw at me. I won’t even fight back. But she flings her arms around me and sobs into my shoulder. “Jesus Christ, Romy. I’m so happy to see you.”
I pull away, confused. “Did Donnacha not tell you what happened?”
Dragging her sleeve over her mascara-stained cheek, she says, “I overheard your friend telling my brother everything. I had no idea…”
“Mak,” I mutter, cutting her off. “Where is he? Is he—”
“No! No. He’s upstairs, and he’s fine.”
Relief floods through me. Fuck. In the silence of this room, I’ve been going out of my mind wondering what’s happened to him. The skid marks from the chair they dragged him in on have been taunting me, as have the blood splatter pooled on the concrete.
Aisling brings me back with a squeeze on my shoulder. “Romy? Are you okay?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she pulls me into another desperate hug again. “God, I can’t believe all the awful stuff that has happened to you.”
I shake my head frantically. There’s no way she knows the entire story. Otherwise, she’d have me in a headlock rather than an embrace.
“Aisling, I don’t think you understand. My intentions were to kill your brother while I was here. You should hate me right now.”
She snorts, lip curling in disgust. “Girl, do you understand what grooming is? ’Cause that’s what has happened to you.” Her eyes darken mischievously as she adds, “Besides, it serves my brute of a brother right. He forced you into being his wife, and now he’s pissed off he chose the wrong bitch.”
I stare at her like she’s lost her damn mind. For a girl so deeply woven into the fabric of the East Coast’s most powerful Mafia, she sure as hell has a simplified outlook on it all. Grabbing me by the elbow, she says, “Come on, let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”
We cling to each other as she takes me up to her apartment. “You stink.” She sniffs. “I’m dunking you straight in the bath.”
As the doors to her apartment open, I dig in my heels in and scan the space with suspicion. “And Donnacha? Is he okay?”
She looks at me wearily. “After I teach you about grooming, I’ll fill you in on Stockholm Syndrome.” She pauses, chewing on her lip. “You’ve had a change of heart, though, right? Like, you don’t want to kill him anymore?”
My laugh is manic. “I haven’t wanted to kill your brother in quite a while now. Although, I’m sure he wouldn’t say the same about me.”
Nodding slowly, she fishes a towel out of her laundry pile and lays it across the sofa, then beckons me to take a seat. “So, will you help him take down Belsky?”
“What?”
She disappears into her bedroom and comes back with a camera. “He wants you to do something.”
* * *
It’s dark outside by the time we’re finished, but I know the night has only just begun.
“How are you feeling?” Aisling asks timidly, leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom.
Like I’ve peeled away all the layers of my skin, and the makeup and the jewelry and the tight dress I’m wearing are the only things holding me together.
That’s not what leaves my lips, though. Instead, I glance at her in the vanity mirror and force a smile. “Fine.”
I mustn’t look fine because she comes back a few moments later with a large glass of wine. “We can break out the shots if you need them, too,” she mutters, sinking on the edge of her bed.
