Corrupted Union: Chapter 3

“I didn’t realize you’d come up here yesterday. We could have made the trip together.” I tried not to sound annoyed as I followed Stetson up the stairs of his father’s ten-thousand-square-foot brownstone. The place wasn’t five minutes from where my parents lived, which meant I’d made the trek two days in a row from the West Village to the Upper East Side. It was only a half hour, but still. The travel time had eaten up a chunk of my weekend.

“It was a last-minute thing. Dad got back from a trip and asked if I’d stop by for dinner. It was just easier to stay here.” He turned around at the top of the stairs and pulled me into a hug. “I’m glad you came, though. Our schedules haven’t meshed up well lately.”

He was right. Though, to be honest, neither of us had made much of an effort to align our busy schedules. We’d known each other so long that it made our relationship different from other people’s. Even though we’d only started officially dating a year ago, we weren’t ridiculously obsessed with spending every minute together. I’d known Stetson since middle school. Our fathers were longtime friends, so we saw each other regularly growing up. Dating had felt like the natural progression of our relationship, and our fathers hadn’t exactly been shy in their hopes that we’d get together. When I told Dad that Stetson had asked me out, his smile could have turned night to day.

“I had hoped to do some studying today, but I figure I can squeeze in a few hours in the morning before class.” I gave a hint of coyness to my smile, peering up at him through my lashes.

Stetson was cute in a boy-next-door sort of way. His light-brown hair was thick with short curls, and his golden-brown eyes lit with a mischievous glint I found endearing. Tall and lean, he was surprisingly athletic for his height. After being on his varsity team all four years of high school, he now played field hockey for a club team. More than anything, though, Stetson was comfortable. Easy. We both knew what to expect from one another and seemed to like it that way.

“You always ace your classes,” he teased. “One night off won’t hurt anything.” He gave one last squeeze, then released me to walk down the hallway. “Come on, Duke is about to play. Preseason starts tonight,” he called back to me.

I stood for a second and glanced down at the outfit I’d spent too much time picking out. A forest-green cashmere sweater that accented my hazel eyes, cut short to hint at an exposed midriff above skinny jeans that were damn near painted on. Stetson hadn’t even noticed.

Sex wasn’t exactly the cornerstone of our relationship, but it had been a week, and I’d at least hoped to catch his eye. After my run-in with Keir the night before, I’d been so strangely turned on that I couldn’t sleep until I’d relieved the aching need pulsing between my thighs.

Adrenaline did funny things to the body, or so I told myself. It was the only logical explanation.

I shook myself out of the memory and followed Stetson to the swanky TV room. The three-story home, plus the basement, was opulent in every way. My parents’ house was just as old as this one, but they’d updated to a modern design that was light, open, and inviting. Stetson’s father insisted on keeping the austere feel of the traditional decor in his home. Black-and-white checkerboard marble floors ran throughout the main level with wainscoting, dark paneled wood, or richly colored fabric lining the walls. The crown molding was ornate, the fixtures an ostentatious gold, and the furnishings could have come straight from a palace. Not exactly my idea of homey.

At least the second floor was a bit more updated since that was Stetson’s domain. He had the entire west end of the second floor to himself, which was why he frequently came home. His place wasn’t bad, but he definitely preferred the lush Upper East Side to campus.

I was surprised to see several soda cans on the coffee table and the normally neatly folded blanket wadded into a ball instead. The house was always immaculate, which meant that even a few out-of-place items seemed odd.

Stetson saw me eyeing the uncharacteristic disorder. “Dad told Hannah not to mess with my wing. Something about her getting older and me being too spoiled.”

“You do something to piss him off?” I teased.

“Who knows with that man,” he grumbled playfully, settling into the large gray sectional.

We watched the start of preseason basketball for a half hour before I had to get up and relieve my boredom with a trip to the bathroom.

“While you’re up, can you grab me a beer?” Stetson asked, eyes trained on the TV.

A frown tugged my mouth. “Yeah, sure.”

This was not how I’d envisioned spending my evening. At least dinner would be soon, and then we could spend a little time together.

“Hold up,” Stetson called. “I forgot that the bathroom in here is having issues. Use mine or the one off the guest room.”

I rerouted to the hallway, rolling my eyes as Stetson whooped at the television. The guest room was closest, so I let myself inside. The drawn drapes and the navy-themed decor made the room feel eerily solemn, like one of those old Victorian-era movies when a room was boarded up after its occupant had died of some contagious disease. I couldn’t imagine why his father didn’t update things, except that the place sort of suited his personality. I’d never felt comfortable around Lawrence Wellington. I didn’t know what it was, but my skin itched with the need to escape when he was nearby.

That was how I should have felt when Keir held that knife to my throat.

Your intuition told you he wouldn’t hurt you, and he didn’t. That’s not so strange.

I rolled my eyes. Right. And you’re not remotely biased.

Crossing the room to the en suite bathroom, I turned on the light and paused in front of the gilded mirror for half a second—just the briefest glance. That was all I ever allowed. Only long enough to check that my heavy cat-eye liner was on point, black mascara fully coated my blond lashes, and a flawless layer of foundation made every last freckle invisible. I performed the spot-check in a blink but otherwise avoided mirrors whenever I encountered them. I didn’t like to see what stared back at me. Who stared back at me.

While I couldn’t totally escape the truth, I could avoid summoning the resulting dark emotions by removing mirrors from the equation. I wasn’t a fan of emotions in general. I’d always been able to keep mine in check, which was the reason my response to Keir had been so unsettling. What kind of person was aroused by a man holding a knife to their throat? It was a question I didn’t want to answer.

I shook my head to clear the intrusive thoughts and finished doing my business. After washing my hands, I reached for the door when an odd sound caught my ear. Was that … crying?

I looked up and studied the antique vent cover on the ceiling as another feminine wail drifted down, no mistaking it. No animal or inanimate object made sounds so saturated with emotion. The soul-crushing despair reached inside my chest and clutched my heart with rabid desperation until I could hardly breathe.

Who could the sounds be coming from? Stetson’s parents were divorced. No other woman lived in the house, though the housekeeper, Hannah, worked at the house full-time. The old row-style homes were built without space between them, but I didn’t think it was possible to hear the neighbors. Could it be a television?

I listened for another solid minute. The sobbing continued without interruption, and my gut told me this was real. Someone was in horrible distress, and every fiber of my being ached with the need to help.

I left the bathroom and returned to Stetson, making sure to grab him a beer from the mini fridge on my way.

“Thanks, babe.” He popped the top and continued watching the game.

“Your dad’s housekeeper isn’t a live-in, is she?”

“No, why?”

“Does she work on the weekends?” Hannah would be the most logical answer, though I couldn’t imagine the demur older woman making such sounds.

“Nope.” He finally turned to look at me. “What’s up?”

“I know this sounds strange, but I could have sworn I heard crying from upstairs.”

His brow furrowed. “Crying? Like a baby crying?”

“No, it was a woman.”

“That’s strange.” He shrugged. “There’s no one here except Dad and us. Last I saw, he was in his office, but he’s been up on the third floor a bunch lately working on some project. It could be him or even just the old pipes whining or something. You know how ancient this place is.”

I thought of Stetson’s father and internally shivered. I might have been sparring with my emotions, but that man was a machine. Could he have a woman up there? Maybe he’d had a date that had gone badly. But why would she be upstairs? None of it seemed to fit, but I felt awkward pressing Stetson about it. His father was a sensitive subject. I could understand. If Lawrence Wellington were my father, I’d have issues too.

I kept my worries to myself and nodded. “You’re probably right.” I smiled weakly, hating the helplessness that filled my veins with lead, weighing down my entire body.

You’re overreacting. You don’t even know if someone’s actually up there.

I know what I heard.

You know what you think you heard.

Whose side are you on?

I made a mental promise to the wailing phantom that I wouldn’t forget her and tried to carry on with our evening.

An hour later, we sat at the dining table with Stetson’s father as we finished eating dinner. I’d hoped Stetson and I would have dinner alone, but that wasn’t to be. Instead, the three of us sat at a table for twelve beneath a crystal chandelier and a blanket of silence.

“I’ll be back in Norfolk this week,” Mr. Wellington said, placing his napkin on the table. “I told Hannah not to worry about coming over until Thursday. I wasn’t sure what your plans were.”

He didn’t usually tell the housekeeper to stay away when he was gone, which was often. Had something happened between them, and he was giving her time away as an apology? It was a possibility.

Stetson took one more sip of wine before setting down his glass. “That works for me. I don’t think I’ll have any need of her while you’re gone.”

Lawrence Wellington nodded, his gaze shifting to me. “So, Rowan, are you still planning to graduate in December?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And then you’ll join your father’s campaign staff?”

“That’s the plan.”

“You’d do well handling the press. Not sure what Evan thinks, but a girl as pretty as you would be an asset in front of the cameras. Everyone loves a pretty face, and when you smile, they’ll forget whatever they meant to ask.”

Damn, this was awkward. I wanted to shove his chauvinism up his ass but knew he thought he was relaying a compliment, so I just smiled thinly.

“Dad, come on. Ro is way more than a pretty face,” Stetson chided. “One of these days, she’ll be the queen of New York society.”

All my gratitude toward my would-be champion soured. The last thing I wanted for myself was to be the ringleader of a bunch of socialite housewives. I knew I’d signed up for that by dating one of the richest men in the city, but I didn’t have to like it.

“She’s certainly suited to the role.” Mr. Wellington raised his glass toward me and winked. I suddenly felt the need for a scalding-hot shower. “You two both have class in the morning?”

“Yeah,” Stetson answered. “But my first class doesn’t start until nine, so I think I’ll stay here one more night.”

I set down my napkin and stared at him. “You’re not going back with me?”

“Nah, I’m already here, so I might as well stay another night. You okay going back alone?”

“Of course.” Getting around the city at night didn’t scare me. I was more bothered by Stetson’s lack of interest in joining me than anything.

“I can always have my driver take you back to campus, if you’d like,” his father offered.

I’d rather have walked the entire distance than sit in a car with his creepy driver for half an hour. “That’s not necessary, but thank you.” I forced a smile. “And I actually think I’ll head on out now. I still have some studying to do.”

“I’ll walk you out.” Stetson placed his white linen napkin on the table and joined me with his hand at my lower back. “Shoot me a text when you get home,” he said when we reached the front door.

“I will.” I grabbed my purse from the entry table and gave him an uncertain smile.

Stetson cupped my jaw, angling my face to his, and placed a quick kiss on my lips. I was out the door and two houses down before I realized two things. One, I was headed north to my parents’ house rather than south to my apartment, and two, I felt absolutely nothing when Stetson kissed me.

Granted, it wasn’t a passionate kiss, but Keir hadn’t kissed me at all, and my insides had swum with feeling.

That’s how you wanted it, remember?

Yes. This was the path I’d chosen for myself, and I’d done so intentionally. I needed to remember that feelings weren’t supposed to play into the equation.

My parents lived a short ten-minute walk from the Wellington mansion. When I rounded the corner onto their block, I realized I was scanning the area for a short-haired, tattooed version of Thor lurking in the shadows. Even more unexpected was the disappointment that tugged at my shoulders when I reached the front entrance without any sightings.

Had I honestly expected him to be chilling on the sidewalk outside the house? Of course not. That would have been ridiculous. Why would he show up again one day later?

I took a deep breath and rang the bell. The security guard on duty answered, greeting me with a smile.

“Hello, ma’am. Come on in. I believe your father’s in his office, and last I saw your mother, she was cleaning up in the kitchen.”

“Thanks. I’m just popping in to talk to my dad for a minute.” I smiled and made my way upstairs to the room Dad used as his office. The governor’s title came with a home we could have moved into when he was first elected, but my parents had declined. They insisted on staying for the same reasons I couldn’t wait to leave. Too many memories.

“Well, isn’t this an honor,” Dad beamed. “Two visits in a row. What did we do to earn such a treat?”

I crossed the room to hug him, not entirely sure how to answer the question. “I was over at the Wellingtons with Stetson and thought I’d stop by.”

“Works for me. Have you eaten?”

“Yeah. We had dinner with his dad.”

“How’s Larry doing?” Dad sat on the corner of his desk, motioning for me to take one of the chairs.

“That’s actually who I wanted to talk to you about.”

His brow furrowed with concern.

“Nothing bad, I don’t think. I mean … I heard something strange at his house and wanted to run it by you.”

“What did you hear?”

“I would swear I heard a woman crying. Stetson said the three of us were the only ones home, but I would bet my life that the crying I heard came from the third floor of the house.”

Dad’s brows slowly rose to peak in the middle of his forehead. “And…?”

“And I don’t know. It felt … off. I’ve always gotten a strange vibe from him. I thought I’d ask if he was into anything … nefarious.”

Dad choked on a laugh. “Nefarious? I think your imagination has run away with you.”

I frowned, fighting back frustration. “I’m telling you, my gut says something’s not right.”

“If he was into anything bad, sweetheart, I would have cut ties long ago. My career is too important to associate with anyone questionable, even an old friend. And I certainly wouldn’t have encouraged you to go out with Stetson if I didn’t think highly of their family.”

I knew that’s what Dad would say. I wasn’t sure why I’d even brought it up. He genuinely trusted Lawrence Wellington, but I wasn’t sure that trust was well-placed. Though the two were friends in college, they hadn’t been close in a long time. Not like when they were younger.

“Okay,” I conceded, knowing I was fighting a losing battle. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Always.” He wouldn’t be so obliging when he heard who I wanted to talk about.

“Who was the man here last night?”

Dad stiffened. “That was Keir Byrne. His father runs one of the largest Irish crime families in the city.”

Oh shit. That explained a lot. Keir wasn’t just a thug—he was the real deal. A modern-day mobster. I knew that stuff still existed, but it was so much more discreet than it was in the movies or in the past when the Italian Mafia ruled the city. I wondered how much had changed from their perspective.

“Are they dangerous?” I would figure they were, though I’d never heard reports of assassinations or other gruesome crimes associated with organized criminals from the past.

“Absolutely, though times are different now. The internet especially has changed the nature of criminal activities. People can obscure themselves and make evidence tracing a nightmare.”

“Do people like that come to you often?” If so, that was one part of his job he had kept from me.

Dad’s head tilted a fraction. “Is that what this is? Are you worried about me? Because you shouldn’t be. I’m not scared of him or any others.” He stood and pulled me into his chest, holding me tight. “They try to intimidate on occasion, but they’re just posturing. I’ve faced far more dangerous men over at the capital, I’m sorry to say.”

“Is that my Ro?” Mom’s voice carried up the stairs before she came into view. “Two nights in a row. This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I just stopped in for a second,” I explained. “I have an early class in the morning.”

“My driver can take you back—and don’t even try to argue,” Dad insisted. “It’s dark out, and I’m already paying him to be on call. Might as well make use of him.”

I smiled and shook my head. Dad knew me too well. I hated having people do things for me when I was capable of doing stuff myself, but in this instance, a quiet ride home hidden behind tinted windows sounded like a welcome reprieve.

I said my goodbyes and slipped into the back of the governor’s official black Escalade. Thirty minutes later, I was in the elevator on my way to my apartment, eyes on my feet to avoid the mirrored walls. One mirror tonight was enough.

Once in my apartment, the quiet seemed to amplify the sound of sobs in my head. Why the hell couldn’t I let it go?

You know why.

I groaned aloud and flopped back onto my bed. Just because someone was crying didn’t mean anything. People cried all the time.

But what if she needs help?

My gut twisted, igniting a spark of anger. What was I supposed to do? Call the cops and tell them I thought I heard someone crying? They’d tell me just how ridiculous I was being.

Wouldn’t you rather look ridiculous than risk knowing you could have prevented something awful?

“You’re being insane!” My hollered words rang in my ears long after the walls absorbed the sound. “That could have been a damn TV playing for all you know.”

I desperately tried to quiet the maddening inner voice only to leave room for the haunting sight of Lawrance Wellington winking at me. Something was off about him. Always had been. If he hadn’t gone to college with my dad, I couldn’t imagine the two being friends, but Dad was loyal to his past. It was what made him such an excellent politician. I was far more suspicious by nature.

Who was Lawrence Wellington? Had I ever truly asked that question? His presence in my life had always been a given, so I’d never thought to look beyond what I’d learned growing up.

I went back into my living room and grabbed my laptop out of my backpack. Once it was booted up, I typed Lawrence Wellington into the Google search bar. The first search result was a Wikipedia page, followed by an article in Business Insider.

Lawrence Wellington left his job in venture capital to buy out a failing shipping business. Decades later, he has one of the world’s largest maritime fortunes thanks to his company, Atlantic International Shipping (AIS).

Wellington’s savvy financial background enabled him to restructure the company in a way that kept business afloat. And after a twenty-million-dollar investment in rapid growth strategies, he soon forged one of the world’s largest container lines.

“The company grew like wildfire,” said Marshall Cranston, a London-based cargo analyst at research firm Venture Vessel. “AIS took decisive action in executing its growth strategies.”

A representative for New York-based AIS didn’t respond to a request for comment.

The article continued with details about the size of the company and outlined its recent endeavors. The Wellingtons were obnoxiously wealthy. I’d always known that—it was a big part of why Stetson didn’t take school seriously. I came from money as well, but I had decided on working with my father years ago, and that necessitated an exemplary school record. Stetson didn’t have any particular ambition. He didn’t see the point in school, but his father had been adamant that Stetson get his degree.

I didn’t necessarily learn anything new from the article, but it did make me wonder about Wellington’s initial move into shipping. I couldn’t recall if he’d come from money, and if so, how much. Had he invested his own money for the project, or had a bank been involved? Or maybe private investors? Dad might be more open to telling me what he knew about Wellington’s background than he had been in discussing possible criminal activities.

I skimmed a few more articles before abandoning that line of inquiry to pursue one I had even less business looking into. I typed the name Keir Byrne into the Google search bar. Nothing. This time, I entered Byrne family Irish Mafia. Was that what it was called? Wasn’t the Mafia an Italian thing? I had no idea, but the internet seemed to understand. The first result was an article dated only a few months ago titled “Coincidence or Assassination?” It had my attention.

One of the leaders of the powerful Byrne family was shot and killed last night outside a club owned by his Irish family, a known faction of organized crime in the city. Brody Byrne, one of three sons to the notorious Patrick Byrne, was fifty-eight when bullets from a passing car ended his life.

While Mafia-type criminal activity hasn’t been in the forefront of the news in recent decades, the death certainly has all the hallmark indications of a hit. Byrne left behind a wife and three grown children. Authorities are looking into the death, but according to Police Commissioner Paul Cooke, drive-by shootings have one of the lowest rates of prosecution due to the evidentiary challenges.

The man pictured bore a striking resemblance to Keir. Similar blue eyes. Same ruthless glint. Would that be Keir’s fate one day? How dangerous was the life he led?

Dad said he wasn’t scared of the Byrnes, but I wondered if that wasn’t bravado talking. Keir and his family were unquestionably dangerous. It was only logical to fear them.

You didn’t fear Keir.

Yeah, but I’m different. Broken.

Or … hear me out … maybe your intuition told you he wouldn’t hurt you. Remember that whole survival instincts, hunter and prey monologue? If you could tell he was watching, maybe you could intuit that he wasn’t dangerous.

You’re awfully opinionated.

I rolled my eyes and continued to scour the internet for information on the man who had jump-started my pulse after years of flatline. My curiosity was insatiable, and that wasn’t the only thing. For the second night in a row, the thought of turquoise eyes and the unrelenting dominance of an iron will had me coming within minutes of touching myself. Faster than I’d ever climaxed before and hard enough that I successfully avoided thinking about his effect on me before falling blissfully asleep.