Bringing mine to my nose, I sniff it and wince. I’m not sure about this. My throat burns just smelling it.
“Drink,” she encourages.
Does she have an accent? Maybe it only comes out when she’s drinking. I haven’t noticed it before. One thing I know for sure: I’m not about to defy the woman.
I take a sip and gasp, then take another sip. Okay, it’s not horrible. The warming sensation is nice.
“You’re going to have to get used to drinking whiskey if you’re going to be with a man in the mafia, dear.”
Liquid spews from my lips, covering the coffee table in a mist of alcohol. Helen giggles and rolls her eyes.
“Don’t tell me you thought he was from the men’s church choir.” She smirks at me, and I try to process this information.
“He’s… he’s in the mafia?”
Panic has me lifting the glass to my lips again for a bigger drink. The mafia is bad. They kill people.
Patrick did have a gun, and so did the men he was with. My father and his men have guns, too, though they aren’t in the mob.
“Breathe, Ana. I know it’s a lot, but Patrick is a good man. He would never hurt you.”
I take several breaths and a couple more swigs, the burning sensation in my throat not as noticeable now. “He’s really in the mafia?”
She nods. “Yes. My husband was too. He died about ten years ago.”
My heart squeezes, and suddenly, I just want to hug and comfort her, but she must realize that because she quickly waves me off.
“That was a lifetime ago, dear. Besides, this is about you.”
“Me?” I down the rest of the drink, and Helen’s eyes go wide.
“Maybe let’s hold off on your second glass for a bit.”
I shrug and set it on the coffee table. “He traded me for my father’s half-a-million-dollar debt.”
Crap. I can’t believe I said that out loud. Oh, god. Patrick is going to be so angry.
Helen pats the back of my hand. “I know he did. He told me. He said there was no way in hell he could leave you there with your asshole father.”
Butterflies flutter in my tummy. “That was nice of him to say.”
“Patrick doesn’t like abusers. He has no tolerance for them.”
“Why?” I ask without thinking.
Why wouldn’t he just turn his head? Why would he give up that much money?
“Because his father was abusive to his mother. When his mother finally tried to leave, his father nearly beat her to death. So, Patrick did the same to him; only he didn’t stop until the motherfucker was dead.”
I stare at her, unblinking as she shrugs like she didn’t just tell me something huge. Is this what girl gossip is?
“I know you don’t know me very well. Yet. But I think we’re going to be great friends, Ana. And as someone who has worked for Patrick for the past decade, I can tell you that he is truly a good man. Believe it or not, most of the men in the Irish mafia are good. They play fair, and don’t seek out trouble. Just wait until you meet Declan and the rest of the guys’ girls. They’re a wild bunch, I tell ya.”
Helen pours us both another glass as she talks, giving the bottle a shake to get the last couple of drops out. Then she picks up her drink and holds it up again.
“To us, because we’re fucking fabulous.” She giggles. “You’ll have to excuse me, dear. I don’t normally drink quite this much, but I had to get you talking somehow, and I’ve found that whiskey often does the trick.”
I smile and raise mine to hers, clinking them together. We both lean back and sit in silence for a moment while sipping our drinks. I reach down and brush my fingers over my thigh, trying to figure out this fuzzy, weightless feeling. I like it. Almost like I’m floating.
