Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
It’s always been fire and death.
“The Gallaghers won’t let it go easily. They’ll want tribute. Probably more than you can afford.”
“If I pay them off, I lose face. I look weak.”
“Definitely can’t do that. But what’s the alternative?”
“I kill them.” I look at my glass, at the light cutting through the amber bourbon. “Burn them to the ground.”
“Maybe,” Marcus says but he doesn’t sound convinced. “They’re too important though.”
“The Gallaghers are old and entrenched, but they aren’t strong. They haven’t been for years. There’s a reason they agreed to marry Sinead off to me.”
He angles his glass toward me. “Fair point. Why sell her so cheap otherwise?”
“Don’t be a prick. The Gallaghers have some sway still, but they aren’t the powerhouses they once were. In a straight fight, I can win.”
“Where will that leave us? We have a good reputation right now. The other families think they can safely do business with us, but if you start murdering the Gallagher brothers in the street—“
I grunt in frustration. He’s right. If Deck were here, he’d be saying we could cut all their throats and nobody would even care, but Marcus is more strategic.
“I am not giving up Angelina, and I am not letting the Gallaghers break me. There has to be a way.”
“We’ll find it.” He takes a long drink. “Probably, eventually.”
There are no answers anywhere as I ascend the stairs of my overly large mansion and pause at the top. I look right, toward where Rowan, Dad, and Danielle are staying. I should visit them, check in, make sure everyone’s alright.
But I know the questions Dad will ask, the complaints Danielle will casually toss my way, and how hard Rowan will try to act like she’s perfectly fine even if this is all a fucked-up mess, and I can’t face it.
Instead, I turn toward comfort.
To my wife’s wing.
Colm nods as I pass. It’s late, nearly midnight, and I dismiss him until tomorrow. Another soldier will take his place overnight. The smell of weed is strong as I go by Dawn’s room and her television is blaring, but all that fades once I’m in my own room, away from the world, heart beating steady and fast as I think about Angelina.
I’ve been looking forward to this all day, since we spoke earlier.
She’s sitting with her back against pillows. Her hair’s up, a few loose strands around her pretty face. She’s reading a book and she looks up, biting her lower lip, smiling like she’s not sure if she’s happy. I don’t move, my eyes fixed on my wife, wondering how in the hell this woman really is here, in my bed, still waiting for me, how I remotely deserve her, how I’ll ruin her in the end.
“Long day?” she asks.
“Too long,” I grunt back and start to undress.
“Oh, sorry, I’ll just—“ She looks around wildly before sinking under the blankets. “I’ll give you privacy.”
I laugh despite myself. God, how am I smiling right now? “It’s fine, Angie. I don’t mind.”
“That makes one of us.”
I do my evening routine in my boxer briefs. I’d usually put on a shirt but I can’t help myself. I want to see how my wife reacts.
Her cheeks turn pink as I climb in beside her. “Lights off?” she asks awkwardly. “Right, yeah, of course, I’m sure you need rest. Lots to do. War to fight and all.” She turns away and flips the switch beside her bed.
Plunging the room into black.
It’s a simple thing, lying in bed. Millions of couples do it all the time. But for me, it’s like a revelation, having Angie beside me. It’s heaven, but it’s also hell, wanting her the way I do, but afraid that I’ll break her the way I’ve broken everything I’ve ever loved.
That’s the curse of being the boss. Anything I get close to burns.
And so I hold myself apart, like always.
“How is your mother acclimating?” I ask the quiet, too intensely aware of her steady breathing.
“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with her.” Her eyes are on the ceiling, hair spilled around her, and I resist the urge to reach out and touch her cheek. It’s smooth and pretty, and I don’t want to dirty it with my fingers. “She’ll find something to complain about no matter what you do.”
“You two don’t get along?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way.” She tilts her chin in my direction. “Sometimes I think growing up I was the adult and she was the kid. She had me running to the bodega when I was eight. I can’t remember the last time she bought groceries, went to the bank, cleaned a toilet, did anything.”
“It’s always been on you?”
“Always, and don’t get me wrong. I love my mother. But if there’s an excuse, she’ll find it.”
“Do you resent that?”
She doesn’t answer at first, but exhales and nods. “She’s my mom, you know? I feel so guilty, resenting her the way I do, but it’s hard not to. I didn’t go away to school, barely had a social life, mostly because I was too busy working to support her. I swear, sometimes I think the only redeeming thing about her is that stupid apartment, and I don’t even need it anymore.” She curses quietly and pulls at her hair, looking over with panic in her eyes. “I didn’t mean that. I love my mother.”