He left. He left and didn’t tell me. Didn’t warn me. Didn’t take me with him. I’ve been worried about him, trying to figure out any clues that might lead to his whereabouts.
And all the while, he’s been safe. Protected somewhere. Unlike me and Mom.
Pieces of the puzzle snap into place with disturbing clarity. “So the threats I’ve gotten,” I muse. “The shoot-out at my apartment, then again at the party his family threw. All of it was?—”
“Because of him. Cinco wanted their money. They were going to use you, then your mother, to draw him out of hiding. Whatever it took. They were banking on the fact that if he knew you were in danger, he’d step up. But he fucking didn’t.” Leon runs a hand over his face “I was supposed to deliver. That was my job. Find Briggs, or some leverage we could use against him. Or fucking else.”
“And I was going to be the leverage?” My voice is tight, a gaggle of tears lodged in my throat.
Leon’s eyes focus on me, spewing ire. “Yes.”
All this talk is making him unravel. Cracks in his composure widen with every minute that ticks past.
He paces. Checks his phone. Paces some more. Mutters to himself.
“I owe Cinco money, too,” he growls. “A lot. More than your father. I made dumbass mistakes. Skimmed when I shouldn’t have. Tried to get ahead, figuring I’d be able to call the shots in my own life, fuck my father.” His laugh is sharp, unhinged. “But they found out. They always fucking find out. And now they want my fucking head unless I can redeem myself.”
He turns to face me, the muscles in his jaw ticcing.
“They gave me a choice. Produce something valuable or die. Your father was supposed to be that something. I was going to use you to find him by gathering information. Old accounts, stories, names, where he liked to go, who he did business with.” A thin smile lifts his lips. “Offering to help you gave me an excuse to ask questions. To poke around with your consent.”
“I trusted you, asshole,” I hiss.
“I know. That was the point. If you trusted me, you’d freely give over any information you had.”
My stomach roils.
“But then your husband barreled in and ruined everything.” Leon’s voice rises and he kicks a nearby chair across the room. “That fucking Murphy. He was there in Queens that night at the truck graveyard. Fucking interfering with my business.”
The truckyard. I remember the text from Leon with that address. He was supposed to meet me there to meet with a guy who might have information on Daddy’s whereabouts. I’d been so hopeful going therethat night.
Memories pop between my temples like bullets. Like the gunfire that erupted there, trapping me with Declan.
Declan…
Tears sting my eyes.
“I set that whole thing up. You may as well know the truth now,” Leon says. “I gave the Cinco Cartel your location. They were supposed to grab you and then use you to draw your father out. A simple exchange. But Murphy showed up on some unrelated bullshit and decided to play hero. Fucked everything up.”
My heart swells. Declan saved me. Without a thought. He put himself in the line of fire to get me out of there safely.
“He ruined my plan.” Leon’s pacing gets faster, more erratic. “Then he killed my fucking stalker, the guy I was using to keep you scared enough to not suspect me in any of the shit happening to you. He was a great goddamn scapegoat before Murphy iced him. Shot him dead in that park without knowing who he even was.”
All those nights I couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares haunting me. The fear that lived in my chest since the first sick and twisted “gift” arrived.
Leon manufactured that. And Declan destroyed it to protect me. Always to protect me.
“You son of a bitch,” I growl, wrenching my body in an attempt to kick him. But my limbs are still like Jell-O.
“Yeah, Marlowe,” he bites out. “I am. So now you know. But you deserve everything coming to you because you fucking married him. You married a Murphy. Do you have any idea what that did to my plans?”
“You’re a selfish asshole. Did you ever think of what your psychotic plans did to my fucking life?” I yell, and it takes every ounce of strength I have to push out those words.
He turns a fierce glare on me,ignoring my outburst. “Your father ran. Disappeared. I couldn’t find him. Cinco gave me a deadline.” He’s almost shouting now. “And there I was, holding no leverage at all, watching you play house with Irish mafia royalty while my clock ran out.”
“So this is revenge.”
“This is survival. My survival.” He steps closer, and I force myself not to flinch. “A Murphy is worth more than a dozen Briggses. If I deliver Declan Murphy, heir, beloved baby brother, I don’t just clear my debt. I become valuable.”
