I swung at the bag again, but Connor pushed it away at the last second. I pitched forward, nearly eating a mouthful of floor.
“If it’s power you’re after, let’s go hit some weights,” he suggested. “Lift them. Stupid American idioms.”
I didn’t want to tell him pumping the irons was out of the realm of possibilities for now. “Let’s go for a jog. We need to chat.”
Connor groaned, but cardio was one thing I could still outmatch him in. Thankfully. I turned the speed on a treadmill up to a grueling pace and leapt on the flying track.
“What’s the craic?” Connor demanded, matching me stride for stride. “Something’s on your mind.”
“I killed one of Morelli’s guys.”
Connor tripped and went flying off the tread. I snorted, bumping the speed up several notches.
“You’re just telling me now?!” he boomed, accent thick and clipped.
We’d both spent a good portion of our childhood on the Emerald Isle. The connection to our mother land gave us mild brogues that came out when we were agitated. In moments like this, we sounded more Irish than American.
I added salt to the wound. “It happened last night.”
“Why, Liam?” Connor banged his forehead against the arm of the treadmill. “Why on Mary’s bleeding earth would you do such a heinous thing?!”
“Knifed the fecker so he didn’t shoot me.”
Connor let out a long breath. “Well, I suppose that justifies it.”
“Suppose it does.” Sweat broke over my brow. It made the right half of my face burn, but I knew better than to itch the fresh pink scars. “You know what he said?”
“Hmm?” Connor leaned against the mirrored wall and stared at me.
“He was one of Deluca’s boys—”
“Your bonny bride’s da?”
“Yeah, and he said that Deluca was looking for an out. Said there was good reason for the bastard not to go through with it.” I stabbed the emergency stop button with my finger and slowed to a stop. “It’s odd.”
“Agreed,” Connor mused, a twinkle in his eye. “You think there’s a split in the ranks?”
“Possibly.” I shrugged. “Vincenzo was the son of the other captain.”
“Capo?”
“Fuck the Italians,” I spat. “Capo-captain, who cares. But it’s because of the one that we’re in this mess and the other wouldn’t have cared if his lad killed me.”
“We need to watch our backs with this shite.” Connor looked at me, really looked. “At least the wee cailín won’t want to get close enough to you to stab you in your sleep.”
He meant it as a joke.
But it gutted me. A fucking knife to the stomach. Those words hurt more than I let on.
“My ma told us a story, back when we were kids, about a lion and a mouse,” I mused, ignoring his jab. “Do you remember it?”
Connor gave me a perplexed look, eyes crossing and mouth twisted in high confusion. “What story?”
Eejit.
So much for stories instilling life lessons into children.
“Forget the story. What if the Morellis helped us, but only to lull our suspicions before taking us out?” I braced and arm on the workout machine.
