After that, dinner is fucking over. Hades takes charge of ushering everyone who isn’t immediate Drakos or Kildare family out. I stay with Neve where I’ve laid her on a couch in the parlor after she went catatonic.
When that fucking psycho shit-stain threatened on live television to kill her.
Something ties into in a knot of hatred and violence inside of me. And yet, for all the fury in me looking for a vengeful release, there’s more, a part of me that isn’t wreathed in snarling anger and vicious fury.
A part of me that can’t drag my eyes away from Neve as she rests sleeping on the couch.
Oh, that fury is still there. I know who Seamus O’Conor is. You’d be hard pressed to find someone in our world who hadn’t at least heard of him. I mean, Christ, we used to trade stories about “The Executioner” when we were kids, treating him like a real life bogeyman, trying to spook each other into not being able to sleep.
But what the fuck is he doing roaring at Neve through a fucking TV interview that he’s going to make her bleed? That’s a question that’s beyond me. But I’m going to get answers, and I’m going to get them now.
The door opens and closes. I glance up to see Calliope walking over to me. Her brow furrows as she approaches the couch where Eilish and I have been keeping close to Neve.
“How is she?”
“Still out, but she’ll be okay. How’s Ya-ya?”
My sister nods. “She’s all right. Spooked. But she’s up in her room on the balcony with a glass of ouzo. She said she wanted to be alone.”
I glance over to the other couch and to my brothers, who nod at what our sister’s just relayed.
Neve’s eyelids flicker, her brow furrows, and slowly, I watch her emerge into consciousness.
“Hey, you.” Eilish, who hasn’t left Neve’s side either, grins widely as she peers into her sister’s face. “How do you feel?”
Neve groans as she gingerly sits up and blinks more fully awake.
“I don’t know,” she mumbles. Her eyes slip to the side, and she tenses when she sees me sitting on the end of the couch, my gaze trained on her. Her brow furrows. “What?” she mumbles dismissively.
Before I can say a thing, the door to the parlor opens, and Cillian walks in, followed by Castle.
My jaw grinds as I stand.
“What the fuck was that?”
The Irishman’s supernaturally green eyes land first on me, then slide over to Hades, Kratos, Callie, and Eilish.
“That was Seamus O’Conor.”
“No shit,” Hades snaps. “But what the fuck was he doing calling out Neve—”
“Yes,” I interrupt, turning to Cillian. “I too would very much like to know what the hell The Executioner was just doing on TV threatening to kill my wife.”
Cillian’s gaze lances past me to his niece. I frown, turning to see Neve nod quietly at him, and then him nod quietly back.
“Well?” I growl.
Cillian is silent for a minute before he strolls over to the window and opens it a crack. He leans against the wall, pulls a cigarette from a silver case in his breast pocket, and slips it between his lips.
Callie frowns. “You can’t smoke in—”
Cillian lights his cigarette with the flick of his gleaming silver Zippo. My sister glares at him, then stares at me open-mouthed. I just shake my head.
Pick your battles. And right now, answers are my first priority.
Beside me, Hades snorts.
“Whatever. That old fuck is a ghost story anyway. And he’s in the most fucking hardcore prison in the country So fuck him. Let him even try to come at us with whatever balls he thinks he’s—”
“Seamus O’Conor is not to be trifled with,” Cillian growls quietly, silencing my brother.
My gaze swivels to where he’s standing by the window. He drags quietly on his cigarette, the cherry illuminating his face and his piercing eyes.
“The Irish Devil. The Executioner. He came up as a platoon captain in the IRA during the Troubles. Back in Ireland, he racked up thirty-seven confirmed kills, plus I would wager at least double that unconfirmed. That was before he was dishonorably discharged for—and I quote—cruel and barbaric conduct in the field.”
It’s quiet as the older Irishman slowly lets his lethal green gaze rake across every face in the room.
“Do you have any idea of the kind of horrible shit you have to pull for the IR fucking A to think you’re too extreme?”
Hades starts to open his mouth, but I shoot him a cold glare to shut him up.
“After that, he made is way Stateside, where his…specialized services were in demand. He became the top hired killer in Boston, New York, and Chicago, and over the next twenty or so years, his kill count was in the hundreds.”
Hades whistles quietly.
“Oh, I’m just getting fucking started,” Cillian growls quietly. “As you know, Declan—Neve and Eilish’s father—was my half-brother, through my father Brendan and his…improprieties.”
Hades snorts. “So, your dad fucked around a lot. How is this relevant?”
Cillian smiles thinly. “Perhaps we should break out a the ouija board and ask your mother how it’s relevant.”
Fuck.
I can see from the glint in Cillian’s eye that throwing that out there was less about insulting me and my siblings than it was about getting a rise out of us—because Cillian’s a prick like that.
I keep my calm. Calliope glares at him, but she keeps cool too.
Hades and Kratos, however, fall right into the trap. The two of them swear violently as they lurch to their feet to rush Cillian.
“Enough,” I bark tersely. My two brothers glare at me, but they do as I say and stop. I swivel my gaze to Cillian. “Think we could stop baiting each other for five seconds so you could tell us what the fuck is going on?”
A hint of a malicious grin teases Cillian’s lips. But he nods.
“Of course,” he continues. “Declan’s mother, my father’s mistress, was Sheila…” he takes a slow drag of his cigarette and then exhales as his brow deepens. “O’Conor.”
Realization hits me.
“You’re joking.”
Cillian shakes his head. “No, I’m not. Sheila O’Conor, as in that psychopath Seamus O’Conor’s sister. I’m going to assume you’re not a complete fucking idiot and did the research into our family and Declan’s legitimacy as a Kildare before any of us even arrived at this truce?”
I did.
Brendan Kildare, Cillian’s father, had a son—Declan—outside of his marriage, before Cillian was born. When Cillian popped out, he obviously became the next in line to inherit the Kildare throne. But the Irish Council of Clans—which is sort of the ruling body for the Irish mafia—agreed to legitimize Declan, the half-brother, as a Kildare and not an O’Conor, despite the fact that Sheila and Brendan weren’t ever married. Strange, but in their eyes it kept a “Kildare” presence at the helm in New York while Brendan—and later Cillian—saw to the empire in the UK and Europe.
“You mean how your half-brother was legitimized by the Council as a Kildare, in order to run things here in New York.”
Cillian nods. “Exactly. Declan, Neve and Eilish’s father…” his brow furrows. “Who also happens to be the nephew of Seamus O’Conor.”
Fuck.
Somehow, I missed this in my research into the Kildare family, before the arrangement to marry Neve moved forward. Obviously, I saw that Sheila’s last name was O’Conor. But, I mean fuck, there’s like a million fucking O’Conors, and Mc-Thises and Mc-Thats with the Irish. And it wasn’t exactly advertised that Sheila’s brother was the goddamn devil himself.
Sheila’s brother…and Neve’s fucking great uncle.
Slowly, I slide my eyes to where she’s still sitting stone silent and still on the couch. Her face has a paleness to it that’s not just because she just fainted. And her eyes have this cold, barely contained fear in them.
I don’t blame her. That fucking psychopath who just told national television that he wants to kill her is her fucking blood.
“That family connection,” Cillian growls, “is the only reason Seamus’…methods were tolerated as long as they were.”
My sister swallows uneasily. “What methods were those?”
“Callie…” I growl quietly.
She turns to me, her brow furrowing. “What? I want to know.”
Cillian shrugs. “Besides Seamus being an unhinged, deranged psycho—”
“Well, I bet you two have plenty in common, then,” Hades mutters, smirking at his own humor.
Cillian looks at my brother with a long, thin, cold stare that chills my blood, and I’m not even on the receiving end of it. Slowly, his eyes slide to Neve. I frown, watching a secret look exchange between the two of them. Cillian pauses. When Neve nods quietly, he clears his throat.
But my eyes linger on my wife. And all the things she’s not saying out loud right now.
“Seamus is also a religious fanatic,” Cillian continues. “It’s one of the reasons the IRA washed their hands of him, and the Council of Clans finally put their fucking foot down on his methods here in the US. Seamus wouldn’t just go after a target. He went after their fucking families. Their wives, their children—”
Eilish’s hand slides across the couch to hold her sister’s tightly.
“He saw his method of ‘bleeding the innocent’—and I do mean that quite literally—as making reparations to God for the wicked deeds of the people he was contracted to kill.”
Callie shivers, her face going pale. Kratos’ jaw clenches as he shakes his head, grunting something in disgust I can’t quite make out.
But quickly, I’ve stopped looking at Callie. And Kratos. And Cillian.
I’m looking at Neve, and very much wondering why she looks so fucking pale right now.
Empty. Cold. Like a ghost is dragging its nails up her spine.
“Unfortunately, by the time the Council acted, it was a case of too little too late. They’d let the devil loose and couldn’t send him back to Hell with a mere snap of their fingers. Seamus went rogue, started trying to build his own empire. And that’s when the Council really put their foot down. When he wouldn’t bend the knee.”
Cillian takes another slow drag of his smoke, looking out the window.
“Declan cut a deal with the FBI to lead them to Seamus so they could put him away in exchange for then turning a blind eye to any Kildare business here in New York.”
The room goes silent.
Shit. Now that’s a fucking tidbit I’ve never known.
Hades’ eyes narrow. “Are you fucking shitting—”
“I don’t condone ratting,” Cillian growls. “Not at all. But this was different. This was putting evil incarnate back in Pandora’s box. And Declan didn’t make the deal on his own. It was sanctioned by the Council, who viewed it as a last measure to put Seamus down.”
He shrugs.
“Anyway, that’s how—”
“That isn’t all.”
We all start, turning to see Dimitra standing in the doorway, looking grim, meeting Cillian’s gaze.
“That isn’t the end of the story, Mr. Kildare.”
Neve quails. Cillian’s jaw works as his eyes flicker with green fire.
“No, it’s not,” he hisses quietly. “Seamus got wind of what went down. He managed to break out of the first prison they had him in. Then the second, and…”
Neve’s face is turning to pure terror, her eyes dim and faraway, like she’s about to pass out again. I frown, stepping closer to her and dropping a hand to her shoulder. She flinches violently, gasping and whipping her gaze to me.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” I mutter quietly, snatching my hand away from her shoulder.
“Anyway, he was caught again,” Cillian says in a clipped tone, continuing his history lesson. “And this time, they threw his ass in ADX Florence and threw away the key. While in there, he’s put forty prisoners and seven guards in graves.”
You could have heard a pin drop as Cillian takes one final drag of his cigarette and stubs it out in a potted plant on the table next to the window. His eyes stab across the room through haze of the smoke.
“Seamus O’Conor isn’t the Devil. He’s who the Devil is smart enough to run and fucking hide from.”
Kratos whistles low, his face grim as he shakes his head.
“The man who came on the night of the wedding…”
Every eye in the room turns to Neve as she finally opens her mouth. I frown, and even though I have this weird pull to touch her—even just to put my hand on her arm or something—I resist.
“When he raised the gun, he said ‘An Seiceadóir says hello’.”
Cillian shoots her a look, but she ignores him.
“An Seiceadóir is Gaelic for The Executioner.”
My eyes snap to Cillian’s. And it’s right there all over his face.
He knew.
I see fucking red as I surge across the room, until I’m eye to eye with him.
“You knew,” I hiss dangerously. “You heard what that fucker said before I cut his throat.”
“Perhaps,” Cillian says quietly, that thin, lethal edge to his voice. “And?”
“And you didn’t think to fucking say something?!”
“I did,” he growls back. “Then I decided not to.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because it wasn’t Drakos business. It was Kildare business.”
“The whole point of this,” I snarl. “Was to combine our business—”
“It concerned things that do not concern you,” Cillian hisses. “And while I’m very grateful for the way you reacted, what happened at your wedding will not ever be repeated. That was Seamus’ one card, and I’m betting he’s been waiting to play it for years.”
My blood turns hot as my brow furrows.
“Why Neve?”
Cillian meets my eye, but his look gives nothing away.
“Answer me, you son of a—”
“Mind your tone, God of War,” he murmurs thinly.
“What if he gets out?” Calliope whispers, her face paling.
“He won’t.” Hades shakes his head. “It’s fucking ADX Florence. There’s a reason they call that place the Alcatraz of the Rockies. You don’t break out. No one has, and no one will, ever. It’s impossible.”
Castle and Cillian begin to squabble with my siblings about the security measures of the fucking prison, and how they might be compromised, and Seamus, and his seeming ability to project his power outside the walls, like at the wedding reception.
I barely hear them. I can barely even fucking see straight through the rage and the fury throbbing inside of me, like a bomb on a timer about to go off.
Slowly it dawns on me that my rage isn’t solely directed at Cillian for not telling me about the Seamus connection sooner, or about what the killer at the wedding said. I’m not angry because I wasn’t informed, or because this whole connection to the Kildare family just got about ten times more lethal.
I’m angry because the idea of any harm coming to Neve is…
Confusion twists my insides.
Intolerable.
And that’s a side effect of fake-marrying Neve Kildare I never saw coming.
“Ares.”
Cillian, Castle, Eilish, and my sister have circled the wagons around Neve, with Dimitra looking on from a distance, her face still lined with concern, as Hades and Kratos take me aside.
“This is more than we signed up for,” Hades hisses under his breath, turning to glare across the room at Cillian’s back. “Like way fucking more.”
“I agree.” Kratos’ jaw grinds. “Seamus O’Conor is a goddamn monster. Those fucking stories we used to make up as kids aren’t that far off from the truth. If anything, they’re tamer. You know what that motherfucker used to do to people?”
Hades frowns. “Yeah, kill them, Kratos. In large numbers.”
Our other brother shakes his head. “I mean how he killed them.” His face darkens. “He used to string up the families of his hits and honest-to-fuck crucify them.”
My nose wrinkles in disgust before my eyes dart across the room.
To Neve.
“Fuck that,” Hades mutters. “Ares, this really isn’t what we bargained for. If that fucking freak has a debt he wants paid by the Irish, that should be between him and them alone. Now, there’s going to be a target on our backs too.”
I turn to level a cold look at him.
“And what exactly should we do about that, Hades?”
His jaw clenches.
“I’m just saying, if he’s after Neve…you know—”
He chokes as I grab him by the collar and slam him against the wall behind him.
“Who is my WIFE,” I snarl savagely. “In case you’ve forgotten that.”
Hades glares at me, knocking my hands away before straightening his shirt.
“Chill,” he mutters. “I was just saying.”
“Kindly do yourself a favor and never just say it again.”
He lifts a curious brow at me before his gaze darts to Neve. Then back to me.
“All right, all right,” he murmurs, putting up his hands in apology and eying me. “I didn’t mean shit, okay?”
I breathe slowly, nodding.
“I’m going to get Neve back to my place. Security here has been beefed up, yeah?”
Kratos nods. “Yeah, we’re good.”
I give both my bothers a firm hug before I go over to kiss Dimitra on the cheek.
“Nothing’s going to happen, Ya-ya.”
She lifts her eyes to mine. They’re dark and worried.
“He was the stuff of ghost stories for you and your friends,” she says quietly. “But I lived through that monster’s reign of terror in this city. Cillian isn’t wrong, engonós. Seamus O’Conor isn’t the Devil. He’s the one who sends the Devil running.”
My jaw tightens. “Well, you’re safe here. And he’s not getting out of Florence. It’s impossible. And this parole hearing nonsense?” I scowl and shake my head. “I’m going to call in some favors, just in case anyone on that parole board is criminally insane enough to even consider freeing that son of a bitch.”
She smiles nervously, patting my hand.
“Go home, Ares. Take care of your wife.”
As everyone starts to leave, Neve and I finally catch each other’s eye. She chews on her lip as I walk over to her.
“C’mon. Let’s go home and—”
“Can we…” Her brow knits. “Can we go for a drink or something?”
Are you fucking serious, woman?
“We can have a drink at my—our—place.”
“I know we can. I just…I’m going to feel trapped if we go straight home right now. I need to get out.”
“Neve—”
“Look, you lock your door and listen to death metal until your ears bleed when you need focus and escape, right?”
I smile wryly.
“Well, I need the hum of pub conversation around me and some whiskey in my hand.”
She looks up into my eyes, still chewing on her lip.
“That motherfucker is behind the most secure walls in the world, Ares. He’s not coming for me.”
“He did come for you.” My brow furrows. “And while we’re on the subject—”
“Can we get off it?”
I frown.
And while we’re on the subject, I’d like to know fucking WHY he’s coming for you, when you had fuck-all to do with his incarceration.
“Ares,” she sighs. “Please. I’m going to lose my fucking mind if we go home right away. I’m used to being out and about in the world. Can we please just grab a drink somewhere?”
My jaw grinds as I let the idea percolate in my head.
“Fine,” I finally grunt reluctantly. “Fine. But we’re bringing security.”
“As long as they keep their distance.”
I nod. Both of us go quiet.
“You understand I’m choosing to let some of these questions go. For now.”
Neve smiles a wan, crooked smile. She reaches out and squeezes my hand.
“Thank you.”
