Thirty-Five
Aidan
The closer wegot to Manhattan, the more I felt the miles between Savannah and me.
She was safe.
That was my only consolation.
She was in no danger on the family compound, surrounded by my brothers and their wives.
If anything, she’d be in her element, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was asking my siblings for details on shit she shouldn’t fucking know about.
I had to take comfort in that.Needed to.
My da was off the rails, and as much as I expected that, it was Ma who concerned me.
Ma who I kept looking back at to see if she was okay.
Her face looked as if it were carved from stone as she remained tucked under my father’s raised arm, and it hit me then, after watching her dig her heel into the Archbishop’s eye, her own face dotted with what I assumed was Da’s blood, after watching her set a blowtorch to his dick, that my ma was as much of a psychopath as Da was.
Psychopaths didn’t know how to love, and in all honesty, that explained a lot about how we’d been raised. We’d been toy soldiers with a general, reporting back for duty, aware that if we misbehaved, well, we’d be punished.
Brennan’s wrist was one such act of terrorizing, Conor’s scars another. I’d been whipped a few times myself, and I knew Declan had as well—plus, he’d been bullied for his love of the arts.
Eoghan was the one who’d been spared the most, I thought, but as I looked at them, the pair huddling together, reacting to the news I’d shared, it was a strange moment to feel loved.
To see, for myself, how these two monsters were shaken, broken by what I’d shared.
It hurt to admit that I’d expected Da’s ego to be pricked. His rage to be based on the fact that someone had dared defile an O’Donnelly.
But it wasn’t.
I’d seen that when I’d watched him slam his head into the wall.
I’d seen that when I’d watched him tear his office apart, just as his soul was splintering into a million pieces with his grief.
Everyone knew Aidan O’Donnelly had a short fuse, but what I’d witnessed was like nothing else. Was indescribable.
The brutality with which he’d tortured the Archbishop was beyond anything I’d ever witnessed from him, and I’d seen a lot. I’d watched him cut off toes with a blunt knife, and I’d seen him piss on people when they were on fire to blot out the flames.
Tonight, he’d been pure rage.
And that was for us.
His boys.
It made it easier to accept that I’d broken Conor’s promise. Especially as we were heading to St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Manhattan without him.
A part of me hoped Kid would never have to find out that I’d told Da, but I wasn’t so lucky. I knew that. He’d find out eventually. Secrets had a way of doing that, didn’t they? Coming to the surface?
As Finn drove us in a town car, the white van following us with one of our men behind the wheel, I kept glancing back, watching Ma.
Seeing how broken she was, it made me question shit. Why they’d raised us the way they had. Why, when they clearly loved us, they’d had to be so fucking mean.
I didn’t ask them, didn’t say shit. Didn’t even mention the fact that, for some reason, Finn had called Da,Da. Whatever reason for that was something I couldn’t deal with yet. Tonight was for this problem, and I had no idea how it was going to end.
As I tugged on my bottom lip, we drove through Midtown and made our way toward Fifth Avenue where the cathedral, the Catholic Church’s most visible symbol within the city, was found.