Page 7 of Iron Cross

Durante would have insured all the legal wares. But theillegalwares were worth a hundred times more. He’d be on the chopping block for that.

Good luck, Durante. You filthy scum.

That night, I went home and drew Kira as the maiden carved onto the bow of the ship, her long curls disappearing into its rails, as her luscious figure arched forward, leading a crew over the troubled water of a rough sea. I drew her face with utter care, capturing the exact curve of her cheek, and the twinkle in her eye.

She had a brave face, as she always did in the one thousand and one images strewn along the floor of my office, and in the corners of old books, the bottom of a ledger, and scribbled in ink on the bleach-white linen of a dinner napkin.

But today, her eyes had a sparkle of mist. A hint of fear as she looked up at me from the page.

Save me,her expression cried.Protect me, Husband.

Chapter two

Because We Were Friends

Eoghan

Istared at the stem of blooming orchids on my desk - three blooms in total.

Three. Fucking. Years.

It had been three fucking years since I had touched her skin, or felt her sweet curls rolling through my fingers. Over one thousand days since the last time I had tasted her lips. I wanted to feel her warmth beneath me. I wanted to taste the salt of her tears of pleasure again.

I had a son I had never seen - who I had never kissed. I had never held him in my arms, and my soul was hollower for it.

“Why do I still feel you everywhere, Kira?” I asked the ghosts that haunted this wretched house.

I could feel the touch of her skin, the feel of her curves beneath my palm. I still half expected to go upstairs and find her waiting in bed. I expected to see her in the shower, hidden behind the steam, slowly drying her hair with a towel, scrunching her glorious curls.

Even the Gallery was a mausoleum of misery.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I would turn the corner and find her there, leading a crowd from piece to piece, fleecing them for their hard earned coin.

Even the sound of a woman’s high heels reminded me of her.

My mother’s ghost, which had haunted my vision before, had disappeared after my father died. I imagined that they went to their eternal resting place together, as they were meant to. Somewhere, my mum had soothed the monster of my father’s soul, and he had found peace, crossing into the afterlife together.

It made sense to me, even if it was old world superstition. If I were to die first, I would linger in the dark to make the crossing with my Muse.

My soul could not find peace otherwise.

“Where are you, my sweet wife?” I swear I could hear her laugh in the air. “How long must I wait to get you back?”

I stared at the glass of absinthe in my hand, swirling it before taking its sticky sweet liquid in my mouth. It had long lost anysatisfaction or taste. It may as well have been gasoline. Since she’d disappeared, the world seemed dull and colorless, more sepia toned by the day.

I savored the loneliness, as I stared at my scarred palm, missing the diagonal line that would bind her to me. The longer she was gone, the more I regretted not handfasting, because somewhere in my soul, I knew that when she agreed to it, it would be eternal. We would spend our evenings together forever, even when parted by death.

She still had my blade, but that wasn’t enough to protect her. However, a diagonal line on her palm would have identified her as a member of the Irish families - here, or in Boston. It might save her life.

“Dairo sent me to check on you.” The familiar shadow of Shiny Flanagan darkened my office door. She looked around, her arms crossed. “It’s creepy seeing you in your dad’s office.”

I chuckled, taking out my blade from my hip and casually cleaning my nails with them.

“You’re free to leave,” I crooned, “And it’smyoffice now.”

She had been gone for almost ten years, and had walked in like she owned the place, even more so now that I had given her the rank Captain – a sort of underboss for the Irish. She’d put on her mantle like she’d put on a familiar pair of old blue jeans.

“Not until I get you out of your funk.” She crossed the threshold into the room. “Tell me, Eoghan, is the painting outside really made of blood?”

---