Page 72 of Stolen Mafia Vows
I’m conscious that, while we’re standing here discussing a third party’s potential abduction of Emily, time is ticking.
I’ve had some dealings with the Noonans, and Pa is right, they wouldn’t dare touch us. And if they did dare, they certainly wouldn’t be contriving to pitch us at war against the Murrays. The peace agreement has been good for business in Ireland. Would it be worth the risk?
Then it hits me like a bright light being switched on. “Disregard the Noonans. I think we should look further afield.”
“Like where?” Uncle Sean has been quiet until now.
“Like New York. We’re assuming that, if there is a third party involved, they’re starting the war because of us. But what if this is all about the Murrays?”
Pa fetches a couple more glasses from the cabinet and pours drinks for everyone in the room, including Gran, who has been following the conversation in silence. Now, she examines the stitched bullet wound, squinting with her critical right eye. She doesn’t say it out loud, but I get the feeling that she thinks she would’ve done a better job at stitching me up.
Pa knocks back his drink and sighs. “Only one way to find out. Give them what they want and see who crawls out of the woodwork.”
“I’m not putting Emily’s life in danger.” I’m firm. “I don’t care who they are or what they want. They’re not getting my wife.”
Uncle Sean walks around the table and claps a hand on my back. “I’d have reacted the same way when I first met my wife.”
“And now?”
“Nothing has changed.” He addresses my father. “Give the lad a chance, Declan.”
“You’re all forgetting that my son is dead.” Pa’s voice cracks under the weight of his emotions.
I do something that I haven’t done in more years than I can remember. I fold my arms around him and rest his head on my shoulder. It shouldn’t feel this strange to hug my Pa, as if he is the son and I’m the parent, but there’s a vulnerability to him that I never noticed before, and it adds to my mounting sense of uneasiness. In this state of mind, he could be a liability, and there’s more riding on his leadership than ever.
I pull away but face him squarely, forcing him to look me in the eye. “No one is forgetting, Pa. I just want time tofind Emily.”
“She’s the enemy.” His voice is still cold, but it lacks the conviction he had when he first marched into the kitchen.
“Emily isn’t her family.”
“How long do you need, Eoghan?” Uncle Dermott asks.
“Till tonight. Her dad is flying back to New York, and he wants to take Emily with him.”
Pa pours another slug of whisky and knocks it back. “The fucker gets to go home while my son is lying in the morgue. Where’s the justice in that, eh?”
I wince. He’s hurting, I get it, but I’m hurting too, and no good will come from starting a war on a broken heart.
“We’ll get justice for Ruairi, Pa, I promise. But we’ll make sure we take down the right family first.”
Because now that I’ve found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, I don’t want to begin our new life together in a world where I’m looking over my shoulder for the enemy. I don’t want to start my own family during a bloody war. Both families have made peace work for all; there’s no reason why it can’t continue to work this way.
My phone vibrates with an incoming message.
I don’t recognize the number, but my pulse races when I read the text:
Emily isn’t in Ireland. She’s in the US.
15
EMILY
I wakeup in a comfortable bed.
Nothing is moving. No engines are humming. The only chemical smell is the one clinging to the inside of my nose and throat.
My eyes fly open, and I’m surprised to find the room in a gentle state of twilight.
