5

AELA

NOW

WHEN SEAMUS’S head popped up at the door opening, I grinned at him.

He’d just turned fourteen, and while he was a precocious pain in my ass because he was a teenager, and he’d been overridden with hormones that made him a jerk, he was mine.

I was proud of him.

I mean, I’d known that before this whole shitstorm, but to be honest, I felt it even more so now.

I’d done this.

On my own.

I’d not only helped give birth to this wonderful kid with zero support system, but he was smart, well-rounded, and a good boy. He worked hard, was conscientious, and he gave a fuck.

Yeah, that was probably what mattered the most to me.

He gave a fuck about things that a lot of kids his age might not have cared about.

He was the one who sorted out our recycling, for Christ’s sake. He was the one who was planning on joining a walk next month to protest some Congress ruling that was rolling back ocean conservation.

I’d made this boy what he was, and I had to have faith that his father wouldn’t ruin fourteen years of tutelage.

“Mom!” he declared, his face lighting up with happiness now that I was home.

Of course, it was quashed a second later when he realized he was fourteen and he shouldn’t be happy to see his mom—it wasn’t cool.

But I’d take that one second of joy.

We were close, Shay and me. Even if testosterone was putting a wall between us that I wouldn’t be able to breach until he was back to being normal.

After the last few days I’d had, I needed a hug from my main man, so with him on his feet, I didn’t even give a shit that he backed away from me like I had pus-ridden sores on my face, like I was a frickin’ zombie. I just grabbed him, tackled him into a bear hug, and when he let me, when the struggle wasn’t too bad, I smiled into his hair, because he wanted this too.

“Missed you, butt face.”

I felt him snicker. “I inherited the butt face from you.” I grinned. “That’s why you’re so purty.”

He scoffed at that, and I let him, just enjoying the hug, enjoying the way his arms were so tight around me—

Fuck.

Was this going to ruin our relationship?

I’d never hidden who his father was from him. What was the point? Along the way, he’d ask, he’d find out, so I’d been candid with him. Just like I was about everything.

He wanted to know about sex at nine, so I told him. Not graphic things, nothing like that. I just explained it, and I did so in a way that wasn’t embarrassing because I wanted him to know that he could come to me about anything.

He was a curious kid, and he’d asked questions, just like he did about everything. I fostered that need to grow, and we were solid as a result. Sure, he was getting more secretive and his bedroom door remained glued shut for reasons I thought

were penis related, but what went down with him and his sock and hand were his own issues.

So long as I didn’t have to clean the socks.

Still, even though he was a little gross, and smelled a bit sweaty after a day at school, he was my boy.

Mine.

Not Declan’s.

Even though he was a teeny-weeny bit.

When he started to wriggle in my arms, I grinned and let him go, only after I’d kissed his temple and told him, “You need a shower, stinky.”

He wrinkled his nose. “This is the smell of honest, hard-earned sweat.”

I arched a brow at him. “What did you do?”

He raised his arm and did a bicep curl. He was still pretty small, but he’d been working out to try to get onto the football team. So far, he was on the squad, just not in the position he wanted to be in.

Something to do with him being too light to be a linebacker, or some crap like that.

I knew the basics of football for his sake, but the minutiae? Not even motherly love could make me embrace that particular game.

My son was a conservationist jock.

I’d done that.

I’d created the next hybrid.

Lips twitching at the thought, I listened in as he explained, “I worked in the garden.”

My brows rose at that, and I peered out of the kitchen window and into the yard I’d just passed. It was dark, though, and I couldn’t see anything in the meager light.

He huffed. “You’ll see in the morning.”

I grinned at him. “Should I be excited?”

“Only that we have a lawn now. It was just behind ten tons of crap.”

I sniffed. “I considered it a work of art.” “You just hate mowing—”

“You bet your ass I do.” I leaned back against the counter. “You been a good kid for Caro?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Taking him at his word, I nodded. “Thanks, Shay. I know it was last minute—”

He heaved a sigh. “I’m not a kid, Mom. I don’t need you to explain why you had to go away on business.” He rolled his eyes.

I wanted to sob and smile at the same time because he looked so grown up at that moment, it was heartbreaking.

Worse than that, he looked like Declan.

I mean, I’d have been a dumbass if I hadn’t seen the likeness between my boy and his father over the years. With Declan’s face imprinted on my retinas, a face I saw before I closed my eyes at night, and the first one I saw in the morning? That routinely made an appearance in my art?

You could bet your way to the bank that I thought about their similarities.

But it rammed it all home harder as I took him in now.

In four years’ time, he’d be eighteen.

He’d wanted to go to Harvard. Wanted to be a lawyer, for Christ’s sake. Wanted to change legislation from the inside out —get into politics even.

It blew my mind, but that was his goal.

He even had a five-year plan.

And now, here I was, about to wreck everything for him.

Did I do it now? Rip it off like it was a Band-Aid? Or should I let him think everything was normal, that nothing had changed?

Which was the greater kindness?

Before I could say a word, he scowled at me, then I realized it wasn’t at me, but something behind me.

He darted forward, past the whitewashed table that was shabby chic and a project we’d worked on together, and toward me. When he jerked me back, pushing me behind him, the motion not only stunned me, but it made me want to cry again.

Such a good kid.

“What is it?” I demanded, as tension soared through me. I peered at the window, trying to see what he had.

“I saw a shadow—”

A knock sounded at the door, making us both jump. I moved past him, heading to answer it as I called out, “Who is it?”

I wanted to groan when the voice called back, “It’s Rogan, Ms. O’Neill. Just wanted to assure you that the property is secured.”

Wincing, I muttered, “Thank you.”

The goons were more than just watching over me and making sure I obeyed… they were protecting us.

Protecting us because, as I’d learned on the ride home, the Irish were at war with the Italians, for fuck’s sake.

I hadn’t just brought chaos into my life, I’d brought war.

A war that was going to impact Seamus.

Fuck.

“We’ll be out in the car until you’re ready to return to the city.”

“I have a lot to pack,” I argued, tensing up at being bossed around.

“No. We have our orders. You’re to pack the bare minimum, then we’ll be returning to organize and put your things into storage.”

My mouth dropped open at the heavy-handed bullshit Eoghan was pulling, but then…

I scrubbed a hand over my face, unable to hide from the truth, even as I loathed being told what to do.

I’d been around for the war with the Colombians and the Haitians. Daddy had almost died, and Uncle Freddie had lost his life in a knife fight.

War was brutal.

It took no prisoners, not in this kind of battle anyway. Or, at least, if prisoners were taken, they were tortured and killed. No Geneva Convention or any number of Amnesty International rulings protected the Five Points’ men from being torn to shreds.

Hell, and I’d just brought my son into this universe.

What had I been thinking? Why hadn’t I just told Amaryllis to get gone when she’d seen my tattoo?

When I thought back to how this had all begun, I wanted to cry because it was so preventable. I’d been so stupid to get involved, and now Seamus was at risk.

But when a student had come to me, eying the tattoo, the tag, on my wrist like it was a lifeline from God himself? What was I supposed to do? Tell her to fuck off? Especially when she broke down, when she started sobbing in my classroom, telling me things about her boyfriend who’d just been kidnapped—using names I remembered. Phrases that I’d worked hard to eradicate from my brain by becoming as mainstream as possible.

Sure, I might have blue-tinted hair, and I might come across as a rebel for Sally across the road, but I was a suburban mom. I drove a minivan, for God’s sake. I wasn’t supposed to be getting involved with mafia wars anymore.

I’d striven long and hard to make a life for myself, a life for Seamus that was free from prejudice and free from violence. But one girl’s tears, her helplessness, the outpouring of love I’d heard in her voice for her man, had unraveled everything I’d spent years building. I’d been unable to say no. To back off. I’d pulled contacts I hadn’t talked to in years all to get her help.

And this was my thanks.

Jesus, it really didn’t pay to be kind, did it?

When Seamus asked, “Mom, what’s going on?” I bit my bottom lip, wanting to gnaw the damn thing off. Hell, that would be less painful than what I was currently going through, because admitting the truth to him was going to feel like I was taking a bullet to the belly.

And having taken one of those before, I knew exactly how painful it was.

Ironically enough, that had been by accident. Proof, I guessed, that violence was everywhere. Whether you were in the world I’d been raised in or not.

When the goon trudged off, evidently assuming I was pissed and that expecting an answer was dumb, I twisted around and whispered, “I-I…” I gulped, staring into eyes that were a bright blue, just like his father’s.

Everything about him was a mini Declan, so much so that it was painful to behold. At the same time, I’d never been so damn proud of him. When Declan saw him, he was going to shit a brick because it had to be like looking in a mirror, and since he was a handsome fecker, he’d passed on all the good genes.

There was barely any of me in Seamus’s face. That was why I called him ‘butt face’. Because he had a butt chin too, and that was literally my stamp on him. Great thing to pass on, huh?

“Mom? What is it?” His voice broke, and he winced. He hated how his voice kept changing, and I knew he was going

to be even madder when he faced his father with a squeaky voice.

I blew out a breath, decided to stop being a chickenshit, and rasped, “It’s about your dad.”

DECLAN

BEFORE

“YOU NEED to start pulling your weight more, kid.”

It was so hard not to roll my eyes, but knowing I’d get a backhander was the only reason I restrained myself.

Pull my weight?

I’d like to know how I could do more than I already was.

“Leave the boy alone,” Ma snapped, her gaze drifting over me. “He’s already got a lot going on with school.”

“School? School?” Da pshawed. “What the fuck will school do for him?”

“How many times have I told you not. To. Swear. At. The. Table?” she roared, slamming to her feet and smacking her hands against the table, making the cutlery and battalion of plates and dishes rattle, as the pair of them locked eyes and practically snarled at each other.

Ma was the only person, and I meant, the only person, who would ever get through to Da. It was impressive, considering

she was tiny, but it always made me feel like a jerk that I needed my mother to back me up.

I was sixteen, for fuck’s sake.

Sixteen.

I shouldn’t need a woman to get someone off my back, but Da had it in for me. Some days more than others, and today was worse than usual.

I had a bitch for a girlfriend who dangled me around her pinkie, teachers who wanted homework in even though I barely had time to attend school, never mind everything else, and then Da wanting more. Always wanting fucking more.

The only good thing was that Deirdre was terrified of me.

Sure, she liked to pretend that she wasn’t, but she was.

She was well aware that she had a lion by the tail and, as such, she knew to tread carefully. What she had on me could end me. Family or not, son or not, Da wouldn’t stand for it if he knew what she did. So while, technically, she had all the power in our relationship, she was still scared.

Rightly so.

“Are you even listening?” Da snarled, jerking my attention back to him.

I cut him a look. “I’m listening,” I rasped, shoulders hunched, head ducked down.

Unfortunately for me, the whole family was sitting around the table today. It figured Da would choose this moment to outright humiliate me. Aidan Jr. and Finn were here, with two giggling girlfriends at their sides—not that they were giggling now—and Brennan, though he’d just moved out, was eating with us as well. Conor and Eoghan were choking down food like the pigs they were as usual, but that my older brothers were here to witness this shit just put me in a fouler mood than before.

“I can’t make the men respect you,” he snapped.

“He’s sixteen! What kind of crew would respect him?” Ma growled, still on her feet. “You’re acting like he’s twenty-seven and should be acting as your general. But he isn’t. He’s still a boy!”

“Still a boy? Aidan, Finn, and Brennan had power at his age. Why do you always defend him? ‘Oh, he likes looking at paintings, Aidan, leave the boy be,’” he mocked in a high falsetto. “‘What harm is it that he likes to listen to Beethoven?’” he snarled. “I’ll tell you what, it’s turning him into a feckin’ fairy! No one will ever listen to him if they think he’s lifting shirts—”

I jumped to my feet at that, and pretty much like Ma had, slapped my hand against the table. “I’m not gay. For the millionth time, I’m not goddamn gay. I’ve got a bitch, haven’t I? I do everything you ask of me, don’t I? I do more than my fair share. You’ve got me running around Hell’s Kitchen like your personal lackey, and everyone knows to avoid me because I’m usually the bringer of your bad news. If no one respects me, it’s because they know I’m your gofer.

“You want me to get power, then give me something to do with power.”

He was bristling, but he folded his arms and mocked, “And what, pray tell, would you like to do?”

I scowled at him. “I’m good with numbers. Not the best, granted, but I’m good enough. I’m good at organizing. I’m good at matching things up. I know you’re having issues with the warehouses. Let me in there. I’ll get things sorted out. Why shove me onto the streets when you know that’s not my strength?”

“Because you’re my son, and every aspect of the business needs to be your strength.”

The injustice in that statement had me gaping at him. “That’s bullshit.”

He glowered at me. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” I growled. “That’s bullshit. The only son who needs to know every aspect of the trade is Aidan. He’s

your heir. But Finn’s good with money, and you shoved him somewhere he can succeed. Brennan’s good with his fists, so the girls and gambling are the best fit for him—”

“Aye, you’re right,” he intoned grimly, then cracking his knuckles, he ground out to Aidan and Finn, “Get your girlfriends out of here.” As they got them out of the house, without even questioning his order, Da kept his gaze glued on me. Only when the front door slammed did he rasp, “Finn’s never been comfortable with wet work. But he did it. He proved himself. And that’s exactly what you’re doing. You can’t do shit until you’ve proven yourself to the men.

“You can’t pick and choose what you want from this life. I put you where I need you after you’ve shown the men whom you’ll be ruling over that you’ve gone through the same shit as them. Do you hear me?”

“What more do you fucking want from me?” I screamed, the urge to pull my hair out a real and living desire. “You shoved me into this goddamn world two years ahead of time. I’ve done everything you asked, and it’s still not enough. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it!”

I knew I’d pushed it the second I blasphemed, but his speed always surprised me. Before I even finished my sentence, he was around the table and his fist connected with my jaw. As I sprawled on the ground, a position I was too accustomed to for anyone’s liking, he spat, “From now on, you’ll be with me. Whatever I ask of you, you’ll do. It’s time you grew up, boy.”

When he turned his back on me, I scrambled to my feet and, without a backward’s glance at my ma or my brothers, ran out of the room.

Working with Da… fuck. I knew what that meant.

My eyes pricked with tears that unmanned me, but I didn’t

—

I sucked in a breath as I pretty much flew out of the house and headed for my car. When I was behind the wheel, I put my

pedal to the metal and got the fuck away from my family.

From this fucking world.

Only then, only when I was away from them, did I take a deep breath as Mozart surged from the speakers at a volume I hoped would wreck my ears because if it did, then at least I’d be half-deaf when Da told me my first orders.

The urge to scream was real so I went where I always went when I was stressed, when I was scared, when I was lost… the Met Cloisters.

Traffic roared past me, and I didn’t notice. Thanks to a freak storm, the Hudson was like ice, the sky gray and grim, matching my mood to perfection, but I didn’t notice.

I needed escape.

I needed relief.

Washington Heights was, technically, Russian territory, but I didn’t care. I headed there often enough that the staff recognized me, and only when I’d pulled up and had parked, barely remembering to lock the door to my Spider as I headed toward the oppressive building, did I feel like I was in another place.

It was in a park, surrounded by trees, and the actual edifice made me feel like I was in another country. Several parts of the building were from monasteries in France, and the stonework had been transported to the States in the twentieth century. That set the tone for the rest of the museum, and with the integral courtyards from the ancient monasteries and the gothic and medieval artwork, it was like traveling in a time machine.

When I made it inside, I headed to my favorite part—the monastery. AKA, The Cuxa Cloisters. It framed a courtyard that was too miserable to sit in thanks to the weather, but that suited my mood to perfection.

I didn’t take any notice of the ancient stone arches that a stoic bell tower loomed over, I barely noticed any of it as I leaned against one of those arches and tried not to fucking cry.