Page 19 of Iron Blade

“It won’t happen until the past dies,” he said, his hand reaching up to trace a lock of curly hair from my temple, pulling it behind my ear. “And the past always dies.”

I trembled at his warm touch. The simple brush of his knuckles on my cheekbones was more intimate than when he had ravaged my mouth in the gallery in front of everyone.

“Sweet Kira seems to be the angel that will unite us all. Like a Tudor rose that joined two houses,” he said, as the car came to a stop. I looked past the windows to see my decrepit apartment building with the broken light outside the entrance. “Don’t you think, Cosima?”

“Eoghan, please, just leave her alone…”

Cosima really seemed to care about me. That was a surprise.

Other than girls’ happy hour, and the piece of art I might put aside for her once in a while, I considered her a well-liked customer more than anything. We were casual acquaintances but not friends.

But here she was, bargaining for my life.

“I shall, Miss Durante,” he said, as he shuffled to the other side of the back seat, opening the door. Then he held it open for me. “She’s almost home.”

I unbuckled my seatbelt, and with the phone in hand, shuffled my ass across the plush leather to the sidewalk. I was careful to step out with both feet together so I didn’t unintentionally flash him, and he stuck out his hand to catch my elbow in case I fell.

When I was standing, he leaned in, planting a small kiss on my cheek.

“I take it back,” he whispered. “A rose, even a Tudor rose, is too common. Every painted damsel thinks she’s a rose.”

He took a step back and stood tall, his smirk still on that wretchedly handsome face.

“You’re an orchid. More beautiful in a single stem than a dozen bundled in a bouquet. Surviving in grace and beauty in every environment.” His eyes cut to the doors behind me. The doors of my apartment building were entirely too poor for the likes of a Green. “Though, even the elegant orchid falls short. A thousand perfect white orchids wouldn’t match your beauty.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck! He was making me swoon.

What kind of guy talked like that? Certainly not the cold-blooded killer that terrorized the New York Underground. He belonged in a fucking novel, not on a rap sheet. The rumors had to be wrong about him.

Or maybe I was fooling myself.

“In you go, love. I’ll stay here until you’re safely inside.”

I wobbled in my heels as I walked to my building, fumbling for the keys in my purse.

I looked back at him, the phone still in my hand as I put the key fob on the sensor. It unlocked with a click. I pushed the door open, and he didn’t move, his eyes on me the entire way, his expression blank.

Eoghan lifted a single finger in a farewell wave, never breaking eye contact until I was inside, and out of sight.

“You still there?” I said into the phone, as I hopped into the elevator.

“Yes, sweety, I’m still here. Are you okay?”

I looked at my reflection on the brushed metal of the doors and sighed. I looked okay on the outside, at least.

“Yeah, he’s staying by his car.” I felt the downward pressure as the elevator went up.

“You should never be alone with that man,” she said as the elevator doors dinged open.

I walked out into the hall.

“Why not?” I said, as I pushed the keys into the door, and twisted the handle.

I was prying for information, to see if she’d break the legendary code of silence that existed between the modern Russian Bratva, Irish Mob, and Italian Mafia. Despite the fact that they were at war, they all operated like clandestine officers.

So much so that real clandestine officers like myself couldn’t break in.

“He’s just not a good man,” Cosima finally said.

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