Maura grabs a wooden spoon from the counter and wags it in Aidan’s face, a warning. “Aidan McAlister, what have I told you about using that kind of language around me? Don’t make me get the soap bar.”
We both wince at the thought. Unsurprisingly, Aidan and I’s preteen years were incredibly angsty and filled with self-important moments where we both thought we could get away with murder (figuratively speaking, of course). Maura was always there to remind us who therealadult was. One of her favorite punishments was shoving a bar of soap into our mouths for a few minutes after she caught us swearing. Tattling to our father was no use. He would just laugh and say that he hoped we’d learned our lesson. We seldom did.
“Nope. No. No soap needed here. I can be a good boy going forward. Sorry, Maura.” The devilish smirk on Aidan’s face, paired with the wink he gives me once Maura has her back turned to him, tells me otherwise, but the simple apology seems to have done its job. She hands him a cup of steamingcoffee with two spoons of sugar in it a moment later, before taking a seat next to me at the breakfast table.
Maura gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “If the nightmares are keeping you up again, Dec, maybe it’s time you talk to someone…”
“Like who? I’m not sure there’s a therapist who specializes in treating mob bosses. Last thing I need is someone blabbing all my issues to my enemies. Voluntarily or otherwise.” Information was one of the greatest weapons someone could use against you. Which only makes it harder to talk about your feelings, not like I do that often either.
Society as a whole shuns men who show any sign of emotion that’s not anger or confidence. Those messages were only heightened by being raised within a mob. Though my mother and Maura tried their best to be a safe space for me to truly open up and be vulnerable, I could never bring myself to do it. It was too risky. If I revealed how affected I had been by the events of the past few weeks, I’d be viewed as weak. And the second a leader is seen as such, their days and the days of their loved ones are numbered. I refused to have any more of my family’s blood on my hands, so I stayed quiet. Silence is safer.
The sympathetic look on Maura’s face nearly kills me. I straighten my back and slap a smile on my face in an effort to appear less pathetic.
It falls almost as flat as Aidan’s joke that follows. “Would you feel better if I told you Declan was dreaming about a girl?”
Maura snorts. “No. I have no interest in whatever perverted dreams you two have.”
“While Declan’s dream wasn’t PG, it’s not for the reasons you think,” Aidan presses, waiting for her to take the bait.
“Drop it, Aidan,” I warn, though it comes off much less threatening than I hoped it would. Weird. Maybe Maura wasright. Maybe I do want to talk to someone about my recurring nightmares and the guilt that’s been weighing on me. No. I couldn't. It would be too dangerous.
What I can’t manage to force out of my own mouth comes flowing out of Aidan’s. “He dreamt he killed Dad and Naser again…” Maura places her small hand on my face, cradling my cheek, as tears start to form in her eyes. “...except he was also responsible for Zahra’s death.”
Maura’s eyebrows draw together. “Zahra?”
“Naser’s daughter. The new boss,” I answer, the words coming out choked.
A kaleidoscope of emotion rushes over Maura’s face. From realization, to sympathy, to something…else. Something I can’t entirely read at first. Something that looks an awful lot like curiosity and…excitement. That can’t be right. What the hell about me having nightmares could be exciting to her? I’m definitely reading her wrong.
Except her tone does sound lighter. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she almost sounded giddy. “And how often have you been dreaming of Zahra?”
“Just this once. And it wasn’t exactly filled with rainbows and butterflies. I dreamed that I accidentally poisoned her. Poisoned all of them.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on.
“I see. Have you been spending a lot of time together?” Maura asks, catching me off guard. While she had no misconceptions about what I and my family did for a living, she lived by a strict ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy. She loved me and Aidan, as well as my parents when they were still alive. But she didn’t necessarily approve of how we all made a living. I suppose that was the thing about love. It’s so complex that it can make it easy to ignore some of the worst parts of a person, because all of their best moments outshine everything else.
“About as much time as two bosses would.” I shrug.
“As much as your father and Naser did?”
“No. Definitely not.”
Maura gives me her first motherly smile of the day. The one that tells me she’s going to give me advice I won’t necessarily want to hear, which definitely means she’s right. “I don’t have to tell you how hard this lifestyle is, Declan. Your father only survived as long as he did because he had a confidant. A friend. Him and Naser relied on each other for more than just business deals. I think it could be worth you and Zahra forming that same relationship.”
The thought had crossed my mind more than once. While my brother and Maura were always here for me, they didn’t fully understand the complicated emotional and psychological web that was being a mob boss. Especially one who had become boss at the expense of losing someone irreplaceable. Zahra knew that hurt. The hollow look in her eyes is the same one I recognize in myself.
“You know, Maura, I think you’re right. I think I could use a friend. And I think she could too.”
9
ZAHRA
“Declan is being incredibly persistent.” Azula’s eyes flicker between her planner, which contains my weekly schedule, and my irritated expression.
“Just because he’s throwing a tantrum doesn’t mean he’s worth my time.” I roll my eyes.
“Well, in fairness, I wouldn’t say Declan is throwing a tantrum as much as his assistant is. Seems like Declan is adamant he wants to meet with you soon. Not sure about what.”
“Probably so he can take another shot at poisoning me.”
