“I love you too,” she whispered. “God, I don’t know when that happened, either. I know what you are and what you’ve done, but I can’t help myself. After everything… is it wrong that I want this?”
“No,” I take, squeezing her hands tight in mine. “It’s not wrong at all.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Nothing,” I said, and kissed her.
There was nothing to do. We loved each other, and my heart felt like it might burst free, and maybe it should. Maybe that would be a fitting end to me, and to all this.
Except I wanted more time with her. I felt like we were only just now realizing how important everything was, and I didn’t want to let it go. I heard the flicker of a shutter, and opened my eyes to see the photographer capturing this moment.
“You go back to the party,” Tara said sternly, glaring at the photographer as he snapped a few more shots. “We’ll call you over when we need you.”
He shrugged, grinning, and walked off.
“They’ll be good pictures,” I said.
“Should we tell the Don?” she asked.
“Fuck the Don,” I said, and meant it. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”
“He thinks our marriage is for politics.”
“Let him.” I continued to hold her hands, and wanted to get away from here. All those mafioso, all the Capos and soldiers, all the men I’d grown up with, I felt like they were a dream, some distant version of myself that was gone.
After I killed Fergal, the war lost steam. I thought it’d break out into raging fires as the Healys tried to hit us back, but instead they went quiet. I heard on the streets that the Healys were consolidating their strength, and that there were internal squabbles over who would take Fergal’s position in the hierarchy. I hoped they’d keep fighting forever, because I had enough blood on my hands to last a lifetime.
“Come on,” I said, and tugged her close to me. “Let’s go enjoy this while we can, okay?”
“Sounds good to me.” She beamed up and shook her head. “This is crazy, right? Loving each other?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “It feels good and that’s all I care about.”
I led her back to the party. The photographer did his thing again as we went through the usual shit: first dance, cake cutting, all that crap. The sun slowly went down, and massive lights were brought out. The dance floor was a patch of mown grass, and the DJ dumped tunes loud enough that the entire park was a party.
“What do you think?” Dean asked me as we stood near the bar. Tara danced with the Don and a couple Capos, her hair swaying around her shoulders, grinning huge, cheeks pink, perfect.
“I think being married’s not so bad.”
Dean laughed. “You’ve been married for a few hours,” he said. “The hard stuff hasn’t happened yet.”
“I don’t know.” I sipped my drink. “It’s not so bad, when you’ve got the right girl.”
“Well, shit, I’d better find the right one then,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Seen too many fucked-up, broken families in this line of work. I don’t want that for myself, my wife, or my kids.”
“Got to find the right girl,” I said, nodding. “Then you can worry about making kids.”
“You think you’ll get her pregnant?” he asked seriously. “I mean, you really want a family?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “For her, I think I would.”
“Damn,” he said. “It’s real then, isn’t it?”
I nodded seriously. “I think it is.”
“Good for you.” He seemed thoughtful. “I don’t know how my father will feel about that, though. He wants you to pump her for information.”
“He knows how I feel about all that.”
“And he still thinks you’ll do it anyway.”
I clutched my glass and turned to him. “I might have to leave,” I said, meeting his gaze. “If your father goes into the girl trade. I might have to cut town, because I won’t be a part of that.”
Dean nodded slowly and seemed more sad than angry. “I figured that’s what you’d do,” he said. “And honestly, you have my blessing. I’m not happy about this decision. Maybe not as mad as you are, but I’m not happy.”
“So what are you gonna do about it?” I asked.
And he only shook his head.
The party kept going late. I danced with my bride, with some of the other mafia guys’ wives, before I found myself out on the edge of the tables, sipping whiskey as people slowly melted off into the night. Only the most hardcore were left. The Don left hours ago, and Dean was a wasted wreck. I’d have to make sure he got home all right. Ah, hell, someone else could do that. It was my wedding, after all.
I heard a whistle nearby. I turned and saw a guy coming toward me, wearing a slim black suit, his hair slicked back. I watched him curiously, head tilted to one side.
Colm Healy stayed back, out of the edge of the light.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” I said.
He shrugged a bit. “Thought I’d come wish you a happy wedding,” he said. “I know I’m not invited, which is why I’m so late.”
“You going to stay for a drink?” I asked.
He gave me a sharp smile and shook his head. “Better not. I hear they don’t like me much around these parts.”
I shrugged a little and moved back to join him. I should’ve been more on edge, but for some reason it felt like we had an unspoken truce.
“That bullet was meant for you, you know,” I said softly. “I thought you lived there. Not Fergal.”
“I thought as much,” he said. “Shame you got him and not me. I’m sure your Don would’ve loved if you’d caught me in bed instead of my poor, departed brother.”
“He wasn’t too upset
