I dropped down to the floor and curled into a ball with my hands over my head. I held myself there as the gunshots stopped. I could still hear them, each shot ringing in my ears.
It happened. God, they went there, and it really happened. My uncle bought my story, or maybe he didn’t, maybe he saw through the trap and all those gunshots were for Steven.
Maybe Steven was sitting in a car bleeding out right at this moment.
I climbed to my feet and ran into the kitchen. I stood over the sink and retched, but nothing came out. I filled up a glass with water, drank it back, then found a bottle of whisky under the sink.
I poured myself a finger and knocked it back.
I groaned and felt like I was sweating. I peeled off the zip up sweatshirt I wore over a black tank top. I wanted to take off my jeans, but I couldn’t bring myself to go that far. I stood in the kitchen, the burn of the whisky in my stomach, anxiety rolling through my body in wave after wave.
I stared at the tile floor until I heard a sound at the door.
I stepped toward the kitchen threshold and stood there, leaning against the wall, as the door swung open.
Two men stepped inside.
Steven, followed by Luca.
He grinned at me and I didn’t speak. I walked to him, then ran, then threw myself into his arms. He hugged me with a grunt and kissed my neck.
“It worked,” he whispered.
I hugged him tighter as Luca looked away.
“How?” I asked, pulling back. “I mean, how did you know?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “But I trusted you and I took a risk. And it fucking worked.”
“Was… was my uncle there?”
He shook his head. “No, but most of his Club was.”
I felt a surge of panic. “My father.’
“I know. We’re going there now.” He turned and looked at Luca. “Get a car.”
Luca grunted something and headed out the door. He ran down the block and Steven pulled me against him.
“I promised we’d find him,” he said. “And we’re going to.”
I nodded and pulled him against me.
I knew what it took to get here. I knew there were bodies lying in the street not far away, people left to bleed and rot in the street. They were people I knew, or at least people I used to know.
And I sold them all out.
Because I’d do anything for my family. My father deserved so much more, and I was going to give it to him.
I leaned back and reached up. I touched Steven’s face and he smiled before he leaned forward and kissed me.
I kissed him back and let that hunger rush through me.
* * *
We parked outside of my uncle’s house an hour later. Steven turned to Luca.
“You good for this?” he asked.
Luca nodded. “I’m good.”
“All right. The others?”
“Already set up.”
Steven turned and looked at me. I shifted in my seat and pulled my eyes from the house and returned his gaze.
“I got guys all over this neighborhood,” he said. “Guys on the roofs, guys on the block. We’re going to go in, just the three of us, but if things start going wrong I need you to run out. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “I’ll run.”
“Run out the front door and don’t stop until you’re either in this car or with my guys.”
“I will.”
“Good.” He leaned back and pulled his Glock from his waistband. He pulled the slide back and nodded. “Let’s go get your dad back.”
He opened his door and stepped out. Luca glanced back at me and nodded then opened his door.
I got out last. Steven strode up to the house first, followed by Luca. I lingered a little, looking down the familiar street at all the familiar houses. I knew a lot of the Club guys lived around here, that this block turned into a big party all summer long as the Club families mingled and hung out. I remembered some of those parties, remembered coming to my uncle’s house to eat hot dogs and laugh with the other Club kids.
But I wasn’t a kid anymore, and I wasn’t in the Celtic Club.
The Club was dead.
Steven walked up the stoop and banged on the door. He waited a beat, banged again, then tried the doorknob.
It was unlocked.
He glanced back at me then nodded to Luca. He kicked open the door and stalked inside. Luca followed close, gun drawn and ready.
I came in last.
Steven and Luca stood in my uncle’s living room. It hadn’t changed in the decade since I had last been in there. Thick brown carpet covered the floor. The walls were papered with a bird motif. Two bookshelves sat in each corner filled with books about fishing, civil war biographies, Irish poetry and literature, and small fishing lures and carved statues of bears and lions.
Sitting on the old green couch, the color faded and worn from years of use, was my uncle himself. He stared up at us but there was no surprise in his face. The television was on, playing some old western black and white film with the volume down low. The light from the TV cast long shadows across the living room as I pulled the door shut behind us.
Uncle Mathis looked drunk. He wore a stained white t-shirt and a pair of green boxers. He held a glass of whisky in one hand and the bottle sat half empty on the table. Steven didn’t move, but he motioned with his head, and Luca checked the kitchen then the back hallway.
“All clear,” Luca said.
“Anyone upstairs?” Steven asked.
Uncle Mathis shook his head. “Nobody left,” he said.
“Check anyway,” Steven said to Luca.
Luca nodded and hurried up the steps.
I walked into the living room and over to the far wall. Photographs hung in neat rows framed in gleaming silver. Each picture was dusted and taken care of, and I could tell my uncle cherished them. I found my father, and I even found my young
