Page 6 of It Was Always You

Mum always told me she didn’t know who Dad was. That it didn’t matter. It was me and her against the world and who needs men anyway? Except if what Jonathan is telling me is true, and that photo is screaming the truth at me, then she spent my whole life up until her dying breath lying to me.

She chose to hide him from me. What the actual fuck. I’m shaking my head in denial while I choke around the lump in my throat. I want to tell him to fuck off. Scream that there’s no way this is true and call him a bastard for joking about something like this. But I can’t.

“There’s no way…just no. Mum wouldn’t lie to me,” I cry as I stumble and blindly try to find a way out of here, only to be stopped when Jonathan gently tugs me into his arms, holding me tightly as if I’ll fall apart. I just might.

“We never wanted you to find out like this. There are reasons why your mum never told you about me. But things are changing, and I need you to give me a chance and trust me to keep you safe.” He rubs comforting circles on my back, all the while my heart breaks into pieces.

This man is holding me like I’m his whole world. Like he’s waited a lifetime for this opportunity, and maybe he has. After all, I know I have. When I was a little girl, I used to cry myself to sleep, wishing I had a dad to love me the way my mum did. I never told her how much it hurt or how much I wished things were different. What would be the point in hurting her over something that couldn’t be changed?

Would it have changed anything had I told her then? Would she still have been here with us if only a few things were different?

My knees buckle under the weight of it all, and Jonathan holds me tighter as he leads me to sit down.

Everything I knew to be true is suddenly false in the most bittersweet way. I have more questions than answers, more confusion than certainty but one truth remains. A photo is worth a thousand words. And that photo is radiating pure and utter love from both of them. It’s clear that Mum must have trusted him, so he’s at least worth giving a shot. I owe it to her memory to hear him out.

With a final squeeze, I suppress my swirling emotions and pull back to meet his gaze. “I hope you know that once I’ve had some sleep, I’ll be quizzing you more on your history with Mum. And on what happened tonight,” I say.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, and if you’re comfortable with it, I’d like you to stay tonight. It’s late and there’s still far too many unknowns about what happened tonight for me to be comfortable letting you go home alone.”

At this unexpected revelation of his knowing I live alone, I’m momentarily taken aback, but my thoughts are interrupted as the elevator door opens. A man, who could easily pass for Jonathan’s grandfather, steps out carrying a medical bag, his stern face giving way to a friendly demeanour. Jonathan introduces him as Doc before stepping aside. As he makes swift work of checking me over, he offers me a kind smile. After some more poking and prodding and nearly blinding me with his little torch, he puts his tools away with a grunt and says, “Looks like your girl got lucky, Boss. Just a few scrapes and bumps but nothing a good night’s rest won’t fix.”

Jonathan thanks Doc and sees him out, then turns to me with an encouraging smile, indicating for me to follow him. He leads me through the expansive open-plan living and dining area, pointing out various rooms including his office, gym, and a bathroom on the ground floor. As we take the stairs, he supplies, “If you need anything, my room is just across from the spare room, but we’ll probably be in the office for a few hours. Spare toothbrushes are in the cupboard above the sink and there should be clean clothes in the wardrobe for you.”

With that, he leaves me in the most beautiful room. There’s a whole glass wall showcasing the beautiful sights of London lit up like a Christmas tree and the comfiest looking queen-sized bed with sky-blue covers. After a quick trip to the en-suite and changing into a shirt, I pass the fuck out, wondering if tomorrow I’ll wake up to find out this was all, in fact, a dream.

Chapter 5

Waking up to the fact that yesterday was, in fact, not a dream—it’s a toss-up of how I feel about that fact. But after a much-needed caramel iced latte, breakfast, and a shower to wake me up, I seek out Jonathan.

“There’s so much to tell you I’m not quite sure where to start,” he muses as he gets us both a glass of water and takes a seat behind his desk while I settle on the sofa opposite his desk. Everything about this office screams masculine and moody but the glass wall behind his desk and cream sofa helps offset the darkness.

“Did you love her?”

“More than anything. I was ready to walk away from everything for her, for you, for us. But my father had lung cancer. He only had one wish before he died, that the family business remain within the family. And as his only child, it fell to me. I was young and cocky and thought I could have it all…at least for a while,” he trails off, looking lost in thought.

“The family business? Like actual businesses or…” What business was more important than the woman he loved?

“Well, yes, they were part of it…but…sweetheart…have you heard of the Four Points?”

The Four Points was a notorious gang in parts of London a few decades ago. They originally formed in Northern Ireland but expanded to have a foothold in London as well. Rumour has it that their leader was highly superstitious and a devout Irish Catholic so when he kept seeing four leaf clovers before every successful business meeting, which are supposed to be incredibly rare, he became obsessed. To the point he renamed the whole organisation after them and swore by the luck of the Irish. A member of the Four Points is identified by the tattoo of a four-leaf clover to represent their core beliefs: faith, hope, love and luck.

They used to rule this city with an iron fist, controlling drugs, arms and business deals, until their leader died and then they fizzled out like a fire that burned too quickly.

“Yeah, but what have they got to do with this…” I stare at him in disbelief and horror as he undoes the top few buttons and tugs his shirt collar aside to reveal the black and white tattoo of a skull encased in a four-leaf clover. The exact tattoo that was synonymous with the gang to the point that if anyone was ever caught with this tattoo who wasn’t one of them, they’d soon disappear.

“Your dad was the leader of a gang?!” I whisper-shout, shocked.

“My father was the leader of the Irish mafia, the same as his father before him. The same way I am now too.” For a moment, all I can do is stare at him, speechless, breathless and nauseous, before blurting out, “The mafia is real?!”

“Very much so. Your Mum left before anyone knew about you to prevent anyone from using you against me. It was the only way to ensure your safety, though it tore us apart. My ties to the Four Points were too widely known. Even if I had left or pretended to be ousted, we would still be targets. That’s exactly what’s happening now.” His brows are lowered as he stares at me, waiting for me to say something but I can’t. I’m speechless. What do you say when everything you know is shifted and twisted into something you don’t recognise?

“She knew about the whole mafia side of things?”

“I’d told her everything. She took it surprisingly well, up until the fear of what would happen to you as threats of war rolled in.” It’s hard to picture my kind-hearted Mum being okay with a world full of violence and bloodshed, but then again, she lived a whole life before me.

“This is madness.”

“Believe me, sweetheart, I know. I’ll happily answer any questions you have. Anything I can do to make this easier, I will, all you have to do is ask.”

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