"Yeah."
"You didn't call. I was about to send Brennan to kick down the door."
"I'm fine." My voice sounds ragged to my own ears. "I'm leaving the penthouse now."
"How is he?"
I close my eyes. I see Alessandro’s face. The emptiness. The spreadsheet.
"Cold," I say. "Efficient. He made a schedule, Rory. He has our marriage on a calendar."
"Sounds like him." Rory pauses. The tone of his voice changes. "Areyouokay?"
The question hangs there.Am I okay?No. I’m a rapist. I’m a coward. I’m a man who sold himself to save his family and then proved he wasn't worth saving.
"I'm fine, Ror. Just a hangover. The whiskey was expensive but it still kicks like a mule."
"You're lying."
"I'm tired."
"Come by the shop," Rory says. "I'm working on a new piece. It’s... complex. I could use the company."
"Yeah. Maybe later. I need to go to Gallagher's. Check in with Da."
"Kill—"
"I gotta go. Elevator’s losing signal."
I hang up.
The elevator opens into the lobby. I walk past the concierge without looking at him. I can feel his eyes on me. Does he know? Did he hear anything last night? The penthouse is soundproofed, but guilt makes me feel like I’m walking around with a neon sign over my head.
My car is waiting at the curb. Not my Chevelle. The Falcone driver. Stone-faced.
I get in.
"Gallagher's," I say.
The driver nods and pulls out into traffic.
The drive is a blur of grey streets and rain. I stare out the window, watching the city go by. The financial district gives way to the industrial sector. The glass towers turn into brick warehouses. The suits turn into work boots.
I look at the wedding ring on my finger. A platinum band. Simple. Heavy.
It feels like a shackle.
When the car pulls up to Gallagher's, I don't wait for the driver to open the door. I’m out before the wheels stop rolling.
The pub is dark inside. It smells of stale beer, sawdust, and decades of cigarette smoke. It smells like home.
But it doesn't feel like home.
Brennan is behind the bar. Doyle is sitting at a corner table with two of the new recruits. They all look up when I walk in.
And the conversation stops.
It’s not the respectful silence I’m used to. It’s awkward. Hesitant.
