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That night, I dreamed of green eyes and whiskey kisses, and the metallic tang of blood.
I didn't sleep well, and when I woke the next morning, the first thing I did was remove the brick holding open the back door to my shop and slid the lock firmly in place.
five
Alfie
"Don't come back."
Emilia's words taunted me all the way to the T station, across the city back to South Boston, and up to the front steps of Lady D's. My head was a mess. I thought a drink or three might help, but the thought of facing Teagan after I had bailed on him had me bypassing the pub and walking the five blocks back down to my apartment.
That wasn't any better. The walls started to close in on me as soon as I walked through the front door. Emilia haunted me--the softness of her curves, her scent, the taste of her on my lips. The emptiness in her eyes as she'd sent me away.
Don't come back.
It wasn't like me to be hung up over a girl. Not like this. Sure, I chased skirts, but it was fun, it was fleeting. It never meant anything. Emilia Russo, though, had gotten to me. She was the daughter of our sworn enemy, but she somehow seemed untouched by that world. Beautiful and pure. Honest. True.Selflessly protecting me not once but twice, even though she knew the potential cost.
I should stay away from her.
Ineededto stay away from her.
But I knew I wouldn't.
I paced around the kitchen, scrubbing a hand through my curls. I checked my burner phone. Teagan had texted. A lot. I didn’t bother to read any of the messages. What was the point? Connor was off on his honeymoon, and we were lying low after the whole thing with Johnny. It was just one drop. Teag and Finn could handle it without me.
I checked my personal phone--I'm not sure why, a certain doe eyed little bookstore owner sure wasn't going to be calling me--and only saw several missed voicemails from my mom. They varied in subject and sobriety, but the underlying message was still the same. She was still a drunk, she still wanted money, and I was still a shithead son. Love you too, Ma.
I took a mug out of the cupboard to make myself some coffee, but I ended up pouring whiskey in it instead. Christ, I needed to get out of here. I drained the mug, grabbed my keys, and headed back out the door.
I ended up driving down to the Cape and staying with a buddy of mine in Hyannis. Lucas Van Dina--everybody just called him Van--had done most of my tattoos. He was a wizard with the fine needlework, had an awesome place right down on the water, and, best of all, had zero affiliation with Boston's organized crime scene. He didn't even know about my ties up there. That was refreshing, for once, and it was exactly what I needed.
Two days later with a clear head and several new tattoos, I drove back up to Boston. I spent the drive trying to talk myself out of going to Emilia's bookshop again. I knew she didn't want me to, and if I was smart, I'd listen to her. The Morettis and the McTiernans had been feuding for years, ever since Callum McTiernan's son Aiden was killed during a gun deal gone wrong. The Bratva had pulled the trigger, wanting to take a piece of the pie for themselves, but it had been Lorenzo Moretti who put them up to it. Callum had never forgiven them, just as he'd never forgiven Connor for letting his cousin Aiden go to the deal in his place.
Emilia was forbidden. Lorenzo would slaughter me--literally--if he knew I was sniffing around his daughter. Connor would probably never forgive me. Tommy would tear me a new one. Callum...even Callum might put a bullet in me if he found out.
Nothing about this would end well.
That didn't mean I wanted it any less.
I parked the Charger a few blocks down from Emilia's bookshop and walked the rest of the way. It was late afternoon, the sun still shining and casting Emilia's shop in golden light. I leaned against the wall and watched through the front window.
Emilia wasn't hard to spot. She was bent over a stack of books behind the register, coal black curls falling over her shoulder. She wore another dress, deep forest green this time, and the color complemented her olive complexion. I could have watched her all day.
The bell to the shop's front door chimed as someone entered. Emilia straightened, a customer service smile plastered on her pretty face, but when she saw who it was, the smile dimmed. Angel Moretti leaned against the counter. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I didn't like the possessive heat in Angel's expression.
Angel said something, and Emilia ducked her head. She seemed uncomfortable, and anxiety pooled in my belly. I shoved off the bricks and walked around to the side alley, checking to see if the brick was still propping the rear door open. Gone. I tested the knob. Locked.
Don't come back.
Damnit. Emilia really was shutting me out, and Angel Moretti was sniffing around. Fear coiled in my stomach. The alley was dark, but it was enough to still make out the outline of the fire escape. It was old, but it looked sturdy enough. I'd only just put a foot on the bottom rung when I heard the bell to the front door again. Angel walked out, and I scrambled back down.
Emilia didn't lock the front door behind him.
I straightened my jacket and shoved my hands in my pockets, trying to look as casual as possible. I walked up and leaned against the doorway, schooling my face into a grin. "This is starting to become a habit."
"What are you doing?"
"The back door was locked."
