Page 93 of Merciful Lies

I’m only wearing shorts, and everywhere she touches I ache.

“You’re my wife, Anna. You sleep in my bed every night. Remember?”

It’s a low blow, reminding her of the rules I set when we first got married. Before I ever told her I love her.

“I don’t want to.”

“Anna, what you heard, it’s not what you think,” I try to explain, but the feel of her against me has my mind all foggy.

“Sure, it’s not.”

“I swear, it’s not.”

“How do I know you're not lying?”

“Rosebud, I love you.”

I think that will reassure her, but it doesn’t. My wife shivers, her whole body trembles against me and the taste of her salty tears is on my tongue before I realize I’m kissing her face, trying to stem their flow.

“You told me you weren't merciful, but I didn’t believe you. Is this what you meant?”

“What?” I have no idea what she means.

“Saying you love me and then going to another woman?—”

“I didn’t go to another woman. Anna, look at me.”

I tug the shirt all the way off her, and I am shaking now, too, as I sit on the bed and drag her nude body onto my lap.

And I am shaking with anger.

“I don’t have mercy in me because no one has ever shown me any. But understand this, what I am about to tell you is more than I have ever told anyone.”

I take a deep breath and slide my hand to the back of her neck, forcing her eyes to stay on me, even though she made no move to look away.

And then I tell her.

I tell her everything.

Every. Single. Fucking. Thing.

I tell her every bad fucking thing I did in my whole life. I’m leaning back against the headboard, and she’s watching me, listening, unmoving.

And I confess it all. I lay it out for her. I tell her the real monster she’s married to.

I tell her how I knew her brother was a loser. How I knew he couldn’t pay me back, but how I used him to manipulate her into my bed.

How I kept her there because I am selfish and greedy.

I tell her that what she overheard was me making a business deal with the person who is going to take over the O’Doyle family business. I tell her about Sanchez, and how we’re still looking for him. And I tell her how I control the docks.

Every drug dealer, gunrunner, and anyone involved in illegal imports has to come through me. That’s how I started making money, by using my muscle to control the waterfront from Newark to Jersey City.

I tell her about my legitimate business, and how there is very little difference between being a real estate mogul and a crime lord.

The good news is I can control what goes on in my territory. That means no fucking trafficking of any kind. And absolutely no crimes against children.

I explain that if I ever told her a lie, it was to keep her from knowing about the darkness inside me.

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