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“Ask me a question.”
I glance over long enough to scowl at Lorcan. “Go away.”
He steps into the room, eyes trained on me. “I won’t offer you the opportunity again.”
“Okay. Why are you such an asshole?” I mumble into the glass, closing my eyes again.
“A few reasons. Mainly because everyone’s always bowed down to me upon hearing my last name and that’s given me an ego the size of Africa. I’ve never been told no. I’ve never had any real responsibility, and there’s more money in my bank account than the GDP of Malta.”
I turn to him so fast that my neck cricks. His face is stone-cold serious. He takes another step towards and says, “I’ve always been an asshole but when my father and brothers were killed, I became a bitter asshole. A mix of grief and the weight of the organization’s future on my shoulders, I suppose.”
My mouth falls open. “W-wait,” I stammer, swinging my legs around. “I didn’t think you were serious. That was a practice question.”
Lorcan narrows his eyes but they never leave me. He takes three, silent strides and perches on the end of the window seat. “Fine. I’ll grant you another.”
“And you’ll answer it truthfully?” I whisper back.
His face is stern when he speaks. “I’ve already proven I will.”
My mind races with a million questions. I struggle to fish for the most important one. Eventually, I say, “Okay. Who was my father?” He rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs. “You said you’d answer truthfully,” I press.
A heavy silence swirls between us, softened only by the rain. He looks different today, and for once it’s not because he’s drunk. It’s because he’s in casual jeans, running sneakers and a soft cream sweater I just want to bury my face in.
Eventually, he turns to stare out the window, showing the sharp lines of his jaw in a side-profile. He focuses on a spot far away and speaks. “A long time ago, your father was my father’s right-hand man, business partner, and best friend. A second father to me and my brothers. He had it all—both of them did. They collected protection payments from everyone in this city and no other family on the East Coast would dare put a toe on their territory without being invited. But it all changed for Murphy. Fuck knows why, I guess one day he woke up and decided that the power wasn’t enough for him anymore. He went behind my father’s back and formed an alliance with the O’Sullivans, the Irish family on the West Coast. His idea was that they’d team up, Cedric O’Sullivan on the West Coast and Murphy on the East, and they’d work their way in-land and take over every city and state in between.” He pauses to swallow and rake his fingers through his hair. I notice his knuckles are swollen but I don’t dare speak. I don’t think the hand around my throat would let me, anyway. He continues. “We never suspected a thing. Even when Murphy turned up at our gates with twelve of O’Sullivan’s men, we thought he was bringing them in for a business meeting.” He laughs bitterly at the memory. “No. They were here to overthrow us and make it as known as possible.” When he chews on his cheek and shakes his head, I want to throw my arms around him and take the memory away. Almost. Instead, I sit and stare, open-mouthed, waiting for what happened next. “Six dead, including Cathy.”
“Cathy?” I choke out.
“Orna’s mom.”
His words snatch my breath away. “Then what happened?” I all but whisper.
“Turns out, the O’Sullivan’s wanted power over the East Coast, but they had no intention of bringing Murphy in on their plan. They turned his gun on him in the final hour. We shot them all dead, apart from Cedric. He got away.
My head is throbbing and not just from when I slammed it against the window minutes earlier. There’s so much to take in… I knew my father wasn’t who he said he was, buta ruthless mob boss?No. He was the exact opposite. His tatty clothes, quivering demeanor. Now that I’ve experienced what life is like on the top rung of the ladder, there’s no doubt in my mind that he belonged firmly on the bottom.
Out of all my burning questions, one forms on my lips. “Why didn’t your father kill Marcus? He betrayed you.”
Now, he drags his eyes back to mine. They are misty with memories, ones he’s probably used to repressed with whiskey. “Because he’s a better man than me. Instead of killing him, he stripped everything from him. Money, cars, mansions. Why? Because he didn’t want your mother to grow up without the father of her child.”
“You knew my mom?” I whisper.
After a moment’s silence, he leans over and strokes my cheek. A small part of my heart melts under his thumb. “You look just like her,” he murmurs, studying me with suffocating intensity. “You know that? The same fire-red hair, pale skin.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and lean into his palm. “Did my mom know?”
“About your father planning a coup? No. She was pregnant with you at the time. She divorced him straight away and my father made sure she was taken care of.”
I shake my head, feeling the tears brimming. When one escapes, Lorcan brushes it away. “But she died. She killed herself.”
“I know. I’m sorry, China Doll,” he murmurs, sadness swelling in his eyes. “She couldn’t handle the stress. Everything was ripped away from her in an instant. Everyone in the city knew what her husband had done, and she couldn’t live with it. When she… passed, my father made a vow that you’d never find out and suffer the same embarrassment. He lived with the guilt of what happened to your mom until the day he died.”
We lock eyes. “But you told me.”
He grinds his molars, nostrils flaring. “I was meant to leave you alone. But when I found out it was Murphy’s stupidity that let the package bomb enter the warehouse, I couldn’t leave you alone. My father took everything from him except you. There was nothing left to hurt him with, exceptyou. Death would have been too kind for everything he’s done to my family. I wanted him to feel the same pain I’d felt every fucking day since his failed coup.”
I pull away from his warm palm and he doesn’t stop me. “Only it didn’t hurt him” I’m sobbing now. Hard, ugly sobs that rattle my rib cage. “It didn’t hurt him at all. He doesn’t care.”
In one quick movement, Lorcan lunges forward and pulls me into his arms. I don’t have the energy to resist. And even if I did I don’t think I would. His chest feels warm and safe, his tree-trunk arms swallowing me up as I cry against his beating heart. His lips brush against my hair as he says, “It doesn’t matter, China Doll. I care.”
