Chapter 25

Simon seems appreciative the next morning when he gives me a call while I’m at the home office at my mother’s house. There’s a line of people waiting to speak with me, but I make sure to take his call first.

“Word on the street is the cops haven’t been patrolling our neighborhoods as aggressively. You did something, didn’t you?”

“Elena and I might’ve made a visit to a certain cop bar last night.” I lean back in my chair and glance out the window toward my people. All of them need my help in a dozen different small ways, and yet I’m using my political capital on the Bianco family. There’s an irony somewhere. “Your sister’s a good politician.”

“I’ve been telling her for years that she should run for mayor. She’d get elected in a heartbeat.”

“I don’t know what your plans are, but you have some freedom to move around for a little while.”

“We appreciate that.”

“Just doing my part.”

“I’ll see you at family dinner on Sunday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

He hangs up. I stare at the phone until there’s a knock at my door and Seamus comes inside. He hands me a coffee and paces across the room, looking anxious. “Mom hasn’t been out of her room yet today,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair. “It’s not like her to sleep in like this.”

“She’s still mourning.” I lean back in my chair with a sigh. It creaks and sometimes I feel like it’ll collapse under my weight, but the thing’s been in here since the seventies, and I figure it’ll last a little bit longer.

“It’s been a while now, bro. Dad’s gone and it hurts everyone, but she’s got to start moving on. I’m getting worried.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“I don’t fucking know.” He gives me a hard stare. “Get her a goddamn shrink or something.”

“I can look into counseling, but she has to want to go. I won’t force her.”

“Then talk to her.” He sits down hard on the couch and leans forward. “I’ve been worried sick, man.”

“I’ll talk to her,” I say, softening my tone. Sometimes I’m too hard on Seamus because he’s abrasive and difficult, but he cares about our family as much as I do, if not more. It kills him, seeing Mom like this. It kills us all, but sometimes I think Seamus takes it the hardest. He always had a special relationship with her, even when he was younger.

He takes a minute to gather himself and I let him have the time. It’s good to have a little quiet before the storm starts up. I drink my coffee and stretch my neck and think about Elena at the bar in that pretty dress looking so fucking delicious I could eat her right there in front of a dozen different officers. Instead, all I got was a kiss on the sidewalk, then nothing, just her back to me at night and her slow, gentle breathing when she fell asleep.

I feel the gap between us and I want to cross it, but I can’t figure out how. She’s afraid that I’m getting too involved with her family’s war, and I’m afraid she’s distracting me from my responsibilities, and we keep on going around and around, except when we’re together, it’s so fucking good.

“Busy out there,” Seamus says and gets up, and he’s about to say something else.

That’s when the gunfire starts.

At first, I don’t know what the fuck is happening. The shooting is loud like someone’s lighting fireworks under my goddamn window. I get up to tell them to shut the fuck up, but everyone outside is scattering and screaming and hitting the grass, and I realize the explosions are coming from a black SUV parked in the street.

“Guns,” I shout and wrench open my bottom drawer. I grab the pistol I have there, make sure it’s loaded on the fly, and run to the front door, heedless of the danger outside. Seamus is right at my back, and despite everything, I’d trust him with my life in a situation like this a thousand times over.

I kick open the door. As I rush out, the shooting stops, and the car peels off as it speeds away. I level my gun to take a few shots but Seamus shoves it down and shakes his head.

“Check the people,” he says.

I curse but he’s right. The shooting’s done and they got away, and now it’s time to figure out if anyone got hurt. I shove the gun into my waistband and begin checking on the people lying in the grass, some of them curled up with their heads covered, a few of them hiding in the bushes. An old woman’s quietly crying to herself, but she’s not hurt.

Nobody’s hurt, as far as I can tell.

“Bro,” Seamus says from over in the driveway. “Check this out.”

It’s my truck. There must be a couple dozen bullet holes riddling the back. The windows are blasted out and the tires are ruined. “They shot it up,” I say, staring at the wreck. “Everyone else is fine.”

Seamus sucks in a slow breath and blows it out. He gives me a meaningful look. “This was a warning.”

I walk slowly around my truck.

This could’ve been bad. All those people were lined up in the yard like sitting ducks and they could’ve been slaughtered today. Whoever was in that car had orders not to hurt anyone, or else I’d have a lot of blood in my grass and bodies to deal with.

Instead, there are bullet fragments lodged in my truck.

And the war’s finally coming to my home.