Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I can still feel the blood that covered his clothes when he pulled me into that embrace.
“I don’t know.” Adler stands behind his desk, palms flat on top, leaning forward as he glares at the room. There are more men I’ve never seen gathered around. I wasn’t introduced to them, but I can guess who they are: capos, captains of the family, mafioso from the darker sides of the Costa organization. Hard men, angry men. “How did an armed man get into my casino?”
“Gun was hidden under his jacket,” Zach says. “Kept in a special holster. We didn’t pick it up.”
“Fuck.” Adler’s seething as he meets each of his men’s gaze. “Nobody overreacts. Understand me?”
“Overreact?” Jayson’s voice is rage-fueled gravel. “My wife was nearly assassinated in our own casino. What the fuck do you mean, don’t overreact?”
“We don’t know—”
“She said it herself. He was Irish.”
Adler takes a long breath and lets it out. “That doesn’t necessarily mean—”
“It was the fucking Grady family,” Jayson roars, trembling with rage. “You know it as well as I do. There aren’t any Irish killers, none that have an accent at least.”
“You don’t know everyone in town.” But even Adler doesn’t sound convinced.
“Who else would want to hurt her?”
“The better question is, why the fuck would her own family want her dead?” Adler’s jaw works until he shakes his head. “Everyone out. Jayson and Fallon, stay.”
The men clear the room. I remain in my corner on a couch, my knees pulled to my chest. Jayson doesn’t look at me, he’s too busy glaring at his brother like they’re about to kill each other. Adler seems more resigned than anything else.
Once we’re alone, Adler turns in my direction. “Fallon. Tell me everything that happened.”
I give him the full story from the moment the guy said my real name to the moment Jayson saved my life. “That’s everything as best I can remember it.”
“And you’re sure he said Grady? You’re sure he had an accent?”
“Dublin accent. I’m positive.”
“Like I said, they tried to kill their own sister,” Jayson says with a look of disgust.
But I speak up. I can’t stay quiet forever. “It wasn’t Rian.”
Both men stare at me. I shiver under the combined weight of their glares.
“Explain,” Adler commands.
“Before Rian left, he told me something. He said he’s having trouble holding the clan together ever since my father died. He said there are people in the Grady family that don’t want me marrying a Costa. But he didn’t say that they’d try to kill me.”
Adler and Jayson exchange a look. “Why didn’t you mention this?” Jayson asks.
“Rian didn’t want me to. He doesn’t want to seem weak.” I stare down at my hands. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should have, I just—”
“You’re loyal to your brother and your family,” Jayson says.
I look up. He doesn’t seem upset about it. If anything, he nods his head in approval, like he wouldn’t expect anything less.
“This complicates things,” Adler says. “I need to speak with your brother to confirm what you just told me and find out exactly how much danger you’re in.”
“Please don’t let this ruin the truce,” I say, looking between the brothers in a panic. “It isn’t Rian’s fault. He’s doing all this in good faith. He’s never tried to hurt me.”
“We’ll see.” Adler nods at Jayson. “Take your wife home. Make sure she’s okay.”
“I want to talk to her brother.”
“Later, once you’ve calmed down. For now, let me do it.”
Jayson wants to argue. I can tell he wants to threaten my brother, but that won’t help anything.
“Alright,” Jayson says after a long pause. “Fallon. Come on.” He helps me to my feet, but he doesn’t release my hand once I’m standing. His grip is firm. “Stay close.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper as we leave the office together. In the hall, the gangsters are waiting. They stare as we walk past. Jayson nods to them but says nothing, only guides me to the elevator.
He doesn’t release me. Not for a second, and I’m strangely comforted by his grip. I want him to hold me tighter, pull me closer, because the crack of that gunshot keeps playing in my mind, the stare of the black barrel pointed at my skull, the end of me wavering in the hand of a man that might’ve known me since I was a girl, if only from a distance. A man of my own family, come to end my life because I represent something he didn’t want.
Peace. The end of the fighting. No more revenge.
Because blood only begets more blood. I understood that, sitting on the bar stool, staring at my husband beat a human to death with his bare hands. Killing only makes more killing, and if we can’t find a way to move past what happened, to accept that we all have good reasons to do the terrible things we do, then it’ll keep coming back. It won’t ever stop.