The stain of red on Rizzo’s cheek explained it. He was fucking eating. I could smell the aroma of tomatoes and garlic coming off of him. It was the same dish the guys were eating inside of the house. And if I knew Rocco, and somewhat Mac, they’d just arrived after taking care of the massacre outside of our place in Hell’s Kitchen. Keely had slipped out before then. Or they wouldn’t have allowed her to leave on her own.
I removed the shoulder holster and slipped the shirt over my head. It rubbed against all of the slices, separate little fires, the material trapping the heat underneath the bandages. It reflected what was going on inside of me. I was a walking fire—about to combust from anger.
The day at the country club, after the attempted hit on my life, I knew.
It was someone who knew me. Someone close. But I’d had to find out how far the operation went before I could take action.
I knew the why, too, but it was hard to concentrate on the reason. Not when my eyelids were heavy and my head kept going under and coming back up. My skin battled hot and cold—I was feverish. My teeth clacked.
“Fuck!” I yanked the wheel of the Hummer to the left, clipping a parked car on the right, taking its bumper completely off.
I shook my head, trying to keep it clear, while I sped through the streets like a drunk. It wasn’t even from the drugs anymore. The pain was ramping up because the buffers were wearing off. The motherfuckers must’ve stabbed me numerous times, and deep. The one on my neck had the deepest pulse. And my face. I was starting to feel it again. My nose the most. One of them must’ve kicked me when I was down and broke it—again.
It all came second to the pure determination to get to my wife, though. The pain reminded me that I had a purpose.
A raindrop hit the windshield. I hoped it would hold off for a while, but I could smell it in the air. Humidity. Lightning speared across the sky, followed by thunder.
A few minutes later, the Hummer rolled over the lawn of the cemetery, coming to a hard stop with my heavy foot. I slid the shoulder holster back on and bent over to pick up the shoes. My head drowned before it came up for air and I could catch my breath. I put the motherfuckers on and almost fell out of the car getting out.
I was going to have to shoot him before he got to me. I was in no shape to fight; I could barely stand. He was a strong dude with quick punches. And I needed to get her out. Once she was, it was what it was between us.
Keely Kelly had become my life. My entire life. I was addicted to her peace, to her love, to her. I was in love with the life inside of the woman. When she restarted my life, she gave me a first breath again, and I’d give her my last if it meant she lived.
Following the beams of the Hummer, I made my way through the cemetery. The gaps between the markers became darker and darker the further in, until the light from a flashlight lit up the area in front of my old man’s stone. It wasn’t elaborate like some of the ones around.
My old man hadn’t wanted that. He’d said that all men ended up in the same place no matter where they’d been or what they’d done in life. A million-dollar casket or a five-hundred-dollar one, it made no difference, because what was inside was still going to perish.
“Ashes to ashes,” Raff’s voice carried. “Dust to dust… Is that you, Cashel Kelly?”
Yeah, fucking Raff.
Martin had told me that he’d seen Raff give a young guy a key that day at Sullivan’s, when Sal’s trucks were coming in and out. The guy gave the key to Susan’s grandson, Colin McFirth, but Martin didn’t think anything of it until Raff told him over beers that some guy had given Colin a key, and the key belonged to the truck that blew up with Colin inside of it. Raff had said the truck was meant for me.
I’d never told Raff what happened between Colin and me. I’d never even told him that I’d rigged the wrong truck and fixed the other one. And I’d only taught one person how to rig anything the way Colin’s truck was.
Raff was so caught up in his gloating that he didn’t realize he’d busted himself—because he and Colin were in on it. Colin had never sold Raff out. They had been working together against me. My guess was that Colin wanted to kill me off sooner than his partner, but instead, he got the fucked up end of the deal.
It took Martin a minute to piece it together, but when he did, he realized it was Raff behind it all along. Raff had been using me to eliminate all of his potential adversaries, before he eliminated me. It wasn’t going to be with explosives, though. Not like he’d taken out his friend. This was personal.
He wanted me to suffer. To beg.
I had the gun trained on him before he twirled out between two stones—one that belonged to my old man, and one that belonged to his—with my wife in his arms. Her head was tilted back, her eyes closed, her hair swaying whenever he moved her. When he turned, like he was taking a last dance with a dead woman, I saw the blood. It ran down her face from her forehead.
Her nose. Her mouth. Her eyes. He’d beaten on the doors to my heaven to get in. Her jeans were soaked, almost black, with blood.
“Keely,” her name came from my lips without thought. “My darlin’.”
He smiled. “You’re losing your edge, Kelly.” He nodded toward the hand that’d been holding the gun. It was down, not even trained on him anymore.
I couldn’t take a shot, not the way he held her in his arms. It might not even make a difference.
My wife, he’d already… I refused to even think it.
Something inside of me grew weak, but my hand tightened around the gun.
He winced, but then he grinned. “Your wife, Jessica Rabbit, she fought harder than you are right now. We all see who wears the pants in your family.” He ticked his mouth. “I shouldn’t say family. Maureen. The little girl. The little boy. All dead…and now your wife.” He turned a fraction, showing me her face. “I told you to come alone or she’d die. Since I knew you wouldn’t…” He shrugged.
I met his eyes as rain started to pour. Lightning forked across the sky, turning it purple for a second before thunder rolled.
