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Luca made a sound that might have been either a growl or a laugh, but the hand beneath my arm was surprisingly gentle when he helped me out of the car. I gingerly tested the weight on my leg as my head swam, blood squishing unpleasantly in my boot.
"Think you can make it the rest of the way?" he asked.
"Yeah...thanks for the ride."
"Don't mention it." The scowl was back. "Seriously, you tell anyone about this, and I'll put a hole in your other leg."
I waved him off, and I limped towards the bar.
My eyes fluttered open, the dull throb in my leg pulling me back from the haze of unconsciousness. The painkillers had left me groggy, disoriented, and unprepared for what I saw when I glanced over at Connor. He was pacing back and forth near the window, his face set in deep concentration. Something was off, and it wasn't just the lingering effects of the drugs in my system.
"Hey," I croaked, my throat parched and demanding relief.
Connor's expression snapped back to neutral. He handed me the glass of water next to the bed, so I didn't have to reach it. My hands were still a bit shaky, but I actually got most of it down this time without spilling.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Like I got hit by a fucking truck," I admitted, trying to shift my weight without sending a fresh wave of pain through my battered body. My leg felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Even sitting up took considerable effort. Walking was going to suck.
Connor chuckled humorlessly. He looked tired, dark circles beneath his eyes and a five o'clock shadow lining his jaw. "Yeah, bullets will do that."
Something was definitely wrong. "Con? What's going on?"
He leveled one of those inscrutable gazes of his at me, the ones that always felt like he was inspecting you right down to your soul. I couldn't read him at all. For the first time, I saw in my best friend the cold-hearted bastard that everybody else saw, and I felt an unfamiliar surge of apprehension.
Connor rested his forearms on his knees. "How much of last night do you remember?"
Last night? Arriving back at Lady D's was a pain-soaked blur of blood, accusations, and half-truths as Connor carried me into the back room and his wife proceeded to cut my leg off. At least, that’s the way it felt until the morphine kicked in. I didn't remember much else that night, just Connor pressing question after question upon me while Tommy and Teag glared at me from the corner.
Something was up. Given what I remembered from their line of questioning, I had an idea what that might be, and the thought made me sick to my stomach. Surely they didn't think that I was the mole. They couldn't. Teag, maybe; we weren't exactly close,but Connor and Tommy? They were my brothers. They were blood, or as good as.
"I remember most of it," I said, my stomach sinking. "Why?"
"You and Teag were supposed to be handling that bookie down on Bolton, and you never showed. Teag says you've been doing that a lot. One excuse after another, only this time, you didn't even bother with one. Instead, you show up with a bullet hole in your leg and some shite story about tupping some girl. So, you want to try your story again?"
The tension humming through my body wasn't doing my leg any favors, but I forced myself to lie back against the sheets and adopt a look of sheepish embarrassment. It wasn't hard. I felt like a chump for getting shot like I had, let alone for how much I had scared Emilia. I was better than that. "I really was with a girl, Connor."
"The date must have been one for the books if it ended up with her shooting you, Alfie. You're off your game." Connor's lips thinned. "Try again."
"We were up in Shawmut, walking home. A couple guys jumped us, and I got shot. Not exactly my finest hour. Too bad, too, because until then, things were going well. I'll probably never see her again, now." I was trying for humor, but the attempt fell flat. The truth was, I was well aware of just how fragile this thing between me and Emilia was, and I was terrified that last night had been enough to shatter it.
Connor's next statement knocked me flat.
"The camera outside Lady D's caught the vehicle that dropped you off. The plates are registered to an address in the North End."
Shit, shit, shit. "Her Ma lives up there. She wanted to take me to the hospital, but I know better than that, Con. I had her drop me here."
I vaguely remembered Luca helping me out of the car, and I prayed that the camera hadn't gotten a good look at him. He would be much harder to explain away.
Connor's stone wall cracked with the first hint of uncertainty. He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping like he was carrying the weight of the world on them. "Christ...I'm sorry, Alfie. Everything's been arse over teakettle, lately, and I..."
He drifted off, staring blankly down at the sheets. Guilt shot through me. With everything I had going on, I'd completely forgotten about how much Connor had on his plate. First that business with Johnny, then the mole. Moretti breathing down our neck. His impromptu wedding to the ice-queen of South Boston.
"You okay?" I asked.
Connor scrubbed a hand down his face. "Cass and I had a fight. A real scorcher. She ran off the other day, acted like a damn fool, but I lost my temper and said some things I shouldn't have."
"How bad did you step in it?"
