Page 110 of Líadan's Code

Does Lía seem pale today? Holding back my growl is a major feat, but I manage it just the same.

“No lying,” I grunt as I maneuver through the streets toward the cemetery. The lawyer wanted to meet just before the funeral, despite traffic on a Saturday afternoon. There’s some kind of event happening, which means there are too many damn people on the roads.

“Okay, so it’s a small lie,” she sighs. “Maybe I need coffee or something. Or a vacation.”

While the sun is obnoxiously shining, there’s a brisk chill in the air. We ditched the winter gear for long-sleeves and boots, but Chicago’s weather is unpredictable as usual.

“I think a vacation sounds wonderful,” I admit. “I don’t think I’ve ever had one before. Whenever I’ve gone out of town, it’s always been for work shit. We should go somewhere warm… where the weather doesn’t do whatever the fuck it wants.”

Smirking, she looks out the window, her fingers curling through mine.

“I told Mickey yesterday that I don’t want to stay in Chicago,” she says, lost in thought. “He asked me if I really wanted to lead the family. I don’t think anyone outside of you and Jordan have ever asked me what I wanted. It’s always pretty much been expected of me.”

Taking a deep breath, I nod, waiting for her to continue. I’ll follow her wherever she wants to go.

“I need to be involved in the organization’s inner workings to know that it’s not getting fucked up,” she explains. “After the funeral, Mickey and people we trust are going to go to each of the family members’ homes and residences to clear it of their human pets. I know some of them brought them to Chicago and some are using rentals, but it would be catastrophic if someone found them instead of us. We have people who are also flying to Ireland for those who didn’t travel with them. God, I feel like I can’t blow everything up and then leave, you know?”

“You need to know how everything works out,” I murmur. “I grew up in this life, continuing in it doesn’t bother me. Plus, running a sex club the way you want to together will be a lot of fun.”

Lía glances at me in time to catch my wink. Her smile becomes real as she nods.

“So once things are a little more relaxed, we’ll start looking for a place to live. It has to be in the United States so we can keep a closer eye on things, but we can always take our first vacation out of the country,” she says. “I just don’t want to be close enough that they can have me running in to put out fires.”

“Whoever you put in charge of overseeing shit should be able to handle it,” I agree. “I suggest talking to Mickey to see who he thinks should do it. He isn’t always in town because of work. Even multiple people changing hands would work.”

“Yes,” she says. “It’s such a big project. I’m a little overwhelmed, which means I’m trying to keep swimming. If I don’t stop moving, I’ll be fine.”

“You also need rest,” I growl, unable to hold it back this time.

“If the funeral service isn’t a complete shit show, and I don’t find anything in the family tomb, then I promise to take a nap,” she says.

It was decided that instead of Seán being buried in his own gravesite, that it would be easier to bury him in the family vault. The funeral service will be held outside of it, and then later, the gravesite workers will inter him in the vault.

The key Lía has is to some kind of special drawer inside of it. Seán is a dramatic fucker, even in death.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” I grumble, turning into the cemetery and its gates. Lía’s small, bratty snort makes me shake my head at her as I continue the slow ascent through the cemetery to where the O’Brien plot is.

Parking, I turn off the vehicle and get out to walk around it to open Lía’s door. Before Jordan, I’d gotten sloppy about not doing little things like this. She's so damn independent, it’s hard to remember that while she doesn’t need me to do it, I should anyway.

The family is old fashioned enough that no one will think she’s weak because I opened a door or pulled out her chair.

Getting out slowly, Lía takes a slow breath once she’s standing. She moves well after that, her eyes clear until she slips her sunglasses over her forest-green eyes, effectively hiding them as I shut the door after her.

Offering my arm because the ground is still wet from the melted snow, I lock the vehicle as we begin to walk toward the group of men and women in black.

Lía is wearing a black pencil skirt today with a wickedly high slit, flat boots because of the slick ground, and a scooped-neck black sweater. She looks beautiful and timeless.

I can see how everyone attempts to pass judgment on what she’s wearing, but no one can. Her hair is up in a mass of curls, giving a youthful look to the severity of the outfit. All in all, she’s perfect.

Once she’s seated, I prowl the area to make sure there wasn’t anyone hiding to take a shot at us. I even managed to scare a woman who was tending to her husband’s gravesite. She took one look at the gun in my hand and ran off, leaving the watering can by Harold’s grave.

Not one of my finer moments, but her grumbling about the “goddamned mafia men” made me chuckle.

The priest drones on as he talks about Seán and how great of a man he was. A few people stand in the front of his casket to speak, but Lía specifically asked not to be on the list. He was terrible enough to her in life, and while not everyone knows that, no one judges her for not speaking. They simply think she’s overcome with grief.

Instead, they all come up and offer their condolences before they walk away to their cars, and Carmila Wright asks to have lunch soon with her. Lía murmurs her agreement, even though I know that she probably won’t.

Everyone kisses her ass in one way or another as they leave until we’re finally alone in the cemetery. There are no other services around us, so it's unnaturally silent.

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