Page 70 of Bad Blood

“Siobhan says she’s done. She wants to go home and live out the rest of her days as a lady of leisure in Dublin. No more crime, no more mafia.”

Jesus fuck. That’s a bombshell. My eyes find Connor’s face again. He looks fucking exhausted. I wonder how often he’s attempted to talk her out of this decision before it’s come to a head.

“It seems a sudden decision,” I note. Seamus growls, nodding in agreement.

Siobhan Fitzpatrick knew the life she was marrying into when she wed Sean’s brother. She knew the life she was committing to when she relocated to America with Sean and his family after Lachlan Fitzpatrick died.

She knows the life she’s living now, keeping her son’s house while he’s out doing mafia business. So why is she suddenly so leery. If she wanted to live elsewhere in Boston, Connor wouldn’t stop her. She only keeps his house because she wants to, and he has enough sense of familial responsibility to allow it.

“It was the collateral,” Connor says to no one in particular, rubbing his tired eyes. Sean sighs, shaking his head sadly.

“Siobhan says she draws the line at holding children hostage. Now they’re back with their Pa; she’s done. I’ve agreed to pay her way back and finance a monthly amount.”

“That’s very generous of you, Pa,” Seamus nods. “Connor’s sure to be grateful.”

“Connor’s not said whether he’s leaving too,” Sean replies coolly, and both our heads snap around to look at him again. Why the fuck would Connor go back to Ireland with her? His place is here. He’s never so much as voiced a desire to leave.

“Siobhan wants him with her. Says his place is with his mammy, to care for her in her twilight years.”

“Does she now?” Seamus’s voice is cold, and I hold my tongue. This is a family matter. It’s not my place to get involved.

“And what say ye, Connor?” Seamus’ voice lilts, betraying just how angry he is right now. Connor sighs, rolling his eyes as he locks them with Seamus’s.

“I say I’m loyal to ye, Fitzy,” he says evenly. “I pledged my life to ye, and I meant it. I’m not going anywhere. I’m surprised ye even have to ask.”

“Jaysus feck, thank Christ for that,” Seamus mutters. Connor nods, dropping his gaze back to the carpet again.

“I just have to tell me mammy.”

I don’t envy him that responsibility. Siobhan Fitzpatrick has been a mafia wife for a long time. The woman knows her way around a pistol. Connor better watch himself.

Sean looks like the cat that got the cream, turning to his nephew. “Ye’re a good lad, Connor. Sure, and I’m proud of you, and so will yer mammy be. She’ll come round eventually.” He glares at Connor. “But ye tell her that she needs to watch her mouth, no matter how upset with yer decision she is. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

“The road to hell is paved with the bones of lads who broke their mammy’s hearts,” Connor mutters low under his breath as he trails Seamus and me out of the house.

LAUREN

Paddy is quiet as we eat dinner, lost in thought. Honestly, this isn’t how I thought our first night truly alone in our home would be, especially only a week after our wedding.

“Is everything all right, Paddy?”

He looks up from his meatloaf, blinking in surprise. “It’s Connor’s mammy. She’s moving back to Ireland, done with the lot of us.”

I feel a pang in my chest. After all the time we’ve spent together, Connor is one of my closest friends in this life. Even if his mission in life is to rile up my husband. My husband – I smile privately to myself –I like the sound of that.

“Connor’s staying,” Paddy continues, like he can read my mind. “But the lad’s going to be a bit lost. He’s almost thirty, and he’s never done laundry a day in his life.”

Of course that’s what Paddy would be worried about.Men.

“There are services you can hire to do your laundry, Paddy.”

He seems surprised to hear it. “Well, he won’t be able to clean that huge house all on his own. The lad doesn’t know which end of a broom to hold.”

“So he’ll contract a cleaning service.” I wave my hand dismissively because I’m pretty sure I know where Paddy is going with this, and it is out of the question.

“And the lad can’t cook.” He looks genuinely concerned now. “He’ll fucking starve.”

I shrug. “He can order takeaway.”

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