Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
And I think, maybe I’m more than rage. Maybe I can be more than hate. If there’s truth at the end of this nightmare, then maybe there’s a chance for me.
With Daley, I think I have a chance.
We head inside. Callum’s there waiting in the quiet of the foyer. “You look good,” he says, nodding to me.
“You, too. How’s Nolan’s nose?”
“Crooked.” He grins big time. “He’s pissed.”
“Ah, the pretty bastard will get over it.”
He pats my shoulder. “I think so. Glad you’re back.” He walks off, hands in his pockets.
Daley watches him go. “Second in command now,” she comments. “And already acting like it’s always been this way.”
“Clan life.”
She sighs and we head on toward her father’s office. “I hate the way we move on so fast, but it’s got to be like that, right? If every death left the clan crippled, we’d never survive.”
“It’s not normal, you know.” We pause outside of the office door, and I hug her close against me, speaking softly so we’re not overheard. “You can’t push it all down forever. Believe me, I’ve been doing it for a long time now, and no matter how hard you try, the anger and grief always escape, and sometimes in ways you don’t want. You need to mourn.”
“I am,” she says, tilting her chin up to press her lips to mine. “I can’t speak for them, but I am.”
“Good.” I nod once and turn. “Let’s go.”
I knock on the door. A voice inside calls us in. Fergal’s sitting behind his desk, swallowed by the massive mahogany tabletop and piles of papers, looking smaller than he ever has. I swear, the old man’s shrinking before my eyes. But he’s got that same intense stare as I limp along with Daley on my arm.
“Rian,” he says, standing. “I’m happy to see you. I heard you were getting out.”
“Chief Halloran. Thank you for taking care of the hospital bills.”
He waves that away. “The least I can do. How are you holding up?”
“Better every day. I’ll be back on the streets soon.”
He laughs and nods as he shakes my hand, glancing at his daughter. She doesn’t remove her grip on my arm. “I’m sure you’ll be raising hell.” He moves back behind his desk and sits back down, gesturing for us to do the same.
Daley helps me into a chair and perches on her own.
“What can I do for you two?” Fergal grins at us like he’s got no idea why we’d come to see him right now, and for all I know, maybe he did forget our deal. I take a breath and let the room settle for a moment before speaking.
“When I went to save Daley, you and I made a deal before I left.”
His smile fades. “I suppose you’re here to collect.”
“Dad, what do you know about Queenie?” Daley asks. I had hoped to do most of the talking, but I can see that’s not going to happen. “And why did Megan know her? What happened to Megan?”
Her father holds up his hands. “Please, slow down. It’s a long story, and I’m not sure Rian’s up for it.”
“You gave me your word.” I stare at him, hard and unyielding. “We’re here to make good.”
He reaches into a bottom drawer and takes out a bottle and three clean glasses. He pours drinks, taking his time, and nudges each one over. I take mine, but don’t drink. I’m already on enough pain medication to kill a fucking horse. I don’t need the whisky to make me completely out of my mind. Daley sips hers and makes a face. She hates the stuff but probably needs it to keep herself somewhat calm.
“Queenie was the daughter of Don Campi,” Fergal says, holding up the cut crystal glass to catch the light from the windows behind him. “Beautiful girl. Funny, charming. Everyone liked here. Even I liked her, and I hated her fucking father with a passion.”
“I thought the Halloran clan and the Campi mafia were on good terms,” Daley says, sounding confused.
“We are now, and I still hate the old fucking bastard. May he rot in hell.” Fergal closes his eyes with a sigh. “But back then we were at war, and it was ugly. This skirmish with the Turks is nothing compared to what we went through with the Italians.”
“I’ve heard stories,” I say, glancing at Daley. I wonder how much of this she knows. Her father has shielded her from some of the ugliest truths about the clan over the years, which is a minor miracle. “It lasted years. Lots of killing and reprisals.”
“Blood was spilled. Money was lost. Those were dark times. Then Queenie came along.” Fergal takes a long drink. “I don’t know how they met. Probably at some fucking bar, even though he was way too young, or maybe out on the streets, or at the mall. Whatever young people did back then. And God, he was so young, and so was she.” Fergal smiles a bit, looking off into memory.