Page 54 of One Love

Through it all, half my brain is on other matters. While Z imagines his empire, I go through a mental list of all the things I need to do to make sure Ronan Callahan isn’t anywhere near Hallie. I put a plan into place that allows me to hack into the citycameras in Savannah, Georgia as well as Cocoa Beach, Florida where Hallie’s staying with her grandparents.

Speaking of those two rats, I’m keeping a close eye on them too because no matter their ages, I don’t fucking trust them.

After all, instead of discussing their wish to take Hallie away from the toxic environment that was the Irish mob, they literally ripped her out of her mother’s arms.

People with worthy souls don’t do that. I know it. J knows it.

It’s time to help my little demon get her daughter back.

Chapter Eighteen

J

“School here sucks and Grandpa is being weird.” Hallie sighs down the phone, and while I’m fully aware she’s a teenager and everything will “suck” for her, I still want to fix it all.

“Why is your grandpa being weird? What’s going on, Kid?” With everything else happening around us, Glitch hasn’t had a lot of time to dig into the grandparents properly yet so I can get my girl back without having the police or feds on my back. We know they’re connected to the Irish mob, but it has never been directly. When I was younger, they always seemed to look down on me and my parents and I just assumed it was because we were lower down the food chain than them. From what I remember, they were suppliers of something, and if Glitch can just find out what, we may finally have the thing on them we need to get Hallie back.

“Ugh, there was a stupid party at the house on Friday and Saturday, with like a million old men in stuffy suits and Grandpa made me talk to their sons, who were also like, totally ancient. When I told Grandpa I was tired and didn’t wanna do itanymore, he got mad and told me I had to stay or he’d take my phone away. So, like I said, weird.”

Okay, now this is worrying. I have an idea why he’s doing this and I don’t like it, but I’m not going to panic my baby girl over it.

It has, however, become a priority to get her out of there. It’s no longer the safest option to let her stay until I’ve sorted my shit out.

To be honest, there’s always going to be shit to fix in my world, there’s never going to be a perfect time to bring her home to me, and while I’m totally unprepared to be a full-time mom, that no longer matters.

She does.

“Oh, gross. I’m so sorry. Did you have to wear dresses?” I faux-shudder, loving the little giggle she responds with.

“Yeah, ugh.” She repeats my faux-shudder and we both laugh. “Anyway, bell’s about to ring, so I should get to class. Talk to you soon, Mom.” That word still sends a tingle straight to my heart every time.

“Talk to you soon, Kid.” Placing my phone down on the kitchen counter, I pour myself a fresh cup of coffee from the pot and inhale deeply.

The scent is like a balm to my soul and I enjoy every burning sip in complete silence as it glides down my throat. Dmitry has been here every night since the first time, and sometimes he’s still here in the morning, while others he isn’t. I still haven’t decided how I feel about it, but I really miss the smell of sausage on the mornings he’s not here.

When he let himself in unannounced last night, he explained what he and Glitch found in Cook’s pantry. Glitch had already given me a run-down, but Dmitry felt the need to go into detail. It pissed me the fuck off to know we had the serial killer in our palms and didn’t make him suffer more. Still does.

Marco’s relieved that he’s dead, as are the other capos, but that doesn’t make the knowledge of who he really was any better. What we still don’t really know is the why.

Why did Cook murder our soldiers the way the Greeks did years ago? How did he do it, considering most of our soldiers are ruthless? Did he work alone? How did he keep losing our tails? All his death has done is pose more questions. The least I could’ve done was make his suffering last a few more hours, get some answers from the gambling psychotic fucknut.

“Honey, I’m home!”

I look over to the door, watching Dmitry work his way inside with brown paper bags and what looks like fresh coffee. Downing the rest of the black liquid from my mug, I move to stand from my stool. I’ve given up on throwing daggers at him. All that does is encourage him.

“Don’t get up, Little Demon, you need to rest that ass up for the pounding you’re getting later.” He’s by the counter and in front of me in seconds, placing the bags and coffees down before grabbing my face in both hands and kissing me like a starved man. His tongue plays with mine like they’re old friends and when I grip his biceps, he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and pulls away. “Mmm, delicious. Vanilla or caramel?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Vanilla or caramel? As in, coffee? Tell me you didn’t destroy the coffee with syrup?”

“Destroy? Nah. I’m telling ya, you’ll love it. Did you know, vanilla is actually a really complex flavor? It gets a rep for being plain and boring, but really—“

“Okay, shh. I’ll try one.” I grab a cup at random and take a sip, surprised that I don’t hate the sweetness.

“See, I knew you’d like it.” He picks up the second cup and taps it against mine. “Bottoms up. Or at least, they will be later.”

“That’s what you think.” I raise my brows at him accusingly just before my phone begins ringing. It’s not a number Irecognize and I know Dmitry notices my confusion before I answer the call.

“I know you’re there. How rude to answer the phone and not even say hello, Jordyn. It’s Jonathan Gallagher.”

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