Irish Eyes and Mafia Lies Read online
Irish Eyes
&
Mafia Lies
J. Haney
S.I. Hayes
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to any person, place, or theory is in no way intended or to be inferred as fact or reference.
The work is the singular property of the Author and may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission, unless as part of a Review, Interview or Public push of the work and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Contains adult situations. 17+ only
Cover Design by Author S.I. Hayes
sihayes.com
©2019 Haney/Hayes
ISBN-
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Also, by S.I. Hayes
(The Roads Trilogy)
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In Dreams… The Unavoidable Road
In Dreams… The Savage Road
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(Manhattanites Series)
Xander & Asher
(The Natural Alpha Series)
California Moon
(Guardians of Grigori Series)
Fated Binds
Midnight Run
Branded Wings
Faery Road
(A P.A.R.K.S. Sector Selection)
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Stand Alone Novels
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Battleborn
Heart of Stone
Sweet Girls
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Winter Kisses
Spring Fling
Freedom Rings
Hard Harvest
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Vegas Lights
Hell in Heels
Tatted Up & Tied Down
(Working Class Beauties)
Avery
(Temptations and Troubles in Downers Grove)
The Newbie
(Navy SEAL Liaisons)
Call Sign: Baby Daddy
Stand Alone Novels
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Love at Rincon Point
MisGiving Hearts
Rising Star
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Awakenings: The Wrath Saga
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(Hudson Bros. PI Series)
An Unexpected Love
(A Heart Strings Love Affair)
Kentucky Blues
Playing House
Written with S.I. Hayes
(A County Fair Romance)
Stolen Moments
Winter Kisses
Spring Fling
Freedom Rings
Hard Harvest
(A Sex, Drugs, and Rock Romance)
Vegas Lights
Hell in Heels
Tatted Up & Tied Down
(Working Class Beauties)
Avery
(Temptations and Troubles in Downers Grove)
The Newbie
(Navy SEAL Liaisons)
Call Sign: Baby Daddy
Stand Alone Novels
Under His Skin
Love at Rincon Point
MisGiving Hearts
Rising Star
Dedication
To the convoluted crazy that comes from Jess’s brain. Without which we would write very little. Cheers to her mind even when she’s medicated the gems come flying out!
Tee Hee!
Prologue
Wet nights. I love the sound of rain. The boom of thunder. Wish little Finnigan did. He’s curled up in my bed, just like he has with every storm since he was old enough to climb out of the crib.
I look out my window seeing the Chicago skyline, all the lights, cars and people moving like ants below us. I hear the gravel crunch, looking down, I see unmarked black sedans and a grey stretched Lincoln. A visit from a Boss? This has disaster written all over it. I run out the bedroom door, heading for the stairs as the front door slams open. I’m stuck there while four of Antaine Sorlry’s men come bustin’ in wet and angry looking. They part and standing between them is Antaine himself. Why are they here? The Irish got no business here, not unless a meeting is called, and it’s just us tonight.
That’s when I see it, the Louisville Slugger as it’s passed to him. Finn comes out.
“Onóra, take your brother to bed,” my dad hollers from out of sight. His voice is shaky. He’s afraid. I swallow as the men look up at me, standing there in pink fleece pjs with yellow bananas all over them, wrapping a matching robe over my ample chest. I’m almost eighteen and quite aware these things make me look a lot older. I grab my brother and lifting him like nothing, I race back to the bedroom and lock the door. I hear the shouts, hear the breaking glass. I cover Finn’s ears and start to sing the Ballyeamon Cradle. A song my mom used to sing to me.
‘Rest tired eyes a while
Sweet is thy baby’s smile
Angels are guarding,
And they watch o’er thee
Sleep, sleep, grah mo chree
Here on you mamma’s knee
Angels are guarding
And they watch o’er thee…
After a while, the noise stops, and Finn is asleep. I put him to bed and listen at the door.
“Aye, and if we do go to war, best be believin’ we’ll be comin’ for what’s ours,” Antaine says.
“They’re my children, my blood.”
“But they be my sister’s, my niece, my nephew.”
I step away from the door. “Niece? Mom was his… Sister?” I whisper as the door slams and cars start up. No one told me. Well, screw that, I want no part of any of this Mafia crazy. Irish, Italian, I’m both and neither.
I head down to assess the damage. Dad is sitting in his favorite chair, bleeding from the head and mouth, his right hand is mangled, but his left sure is getting that whiskey to his lips with ease.
“We have to leave,” I state rather than question. I know it’s what has to happen.
Dad nods. “You need to pack up you and Finn. I can stall, say I’ve sent you to New York to look at colleges with April. It will give you time to disappear. Pack everything you can into the car, and I’ll get you some cash. Then you need to rent a U-Haul. Go south…”
Dad lays it out; he can’t come with us. We need to disappear, or the families will use us to unhappy ends. Each wants to control us to make the other fall in line. I pack the car, taking as many of Finn’s toys as I can. I clear out the closets, mostly. I leave some things behind, so it looks like we’ll be back. Of course, I hope for it, but I’m not holding my breath. I’ve seen too much, know too much already. Like Dad says, watch, remember, but don’t repeat, and never write it down. That’s what I’ve done. I memorize everything. I’m probably the only kid from my generation that doesn’t have all their numbers stored in their phone. I text like anyone else, but never the important stuff. Now I gotta lose that phone, so it’s just as well.
Dad’s Jeep can handle our luggage and the photos I’ll have to hide but were too precious to leave.
“Here.” Dad hands me a purple bowling bag. I look at him strangely.
“It’s all of Mom’s jewelry and all the cash I had on hand. I- it’s the best I can do, baby.” He’s got tears in his eyes as he pushes me into the driver’s seat of the Jeep. “You take care of each other, and once you decide on a place, remember to call the number and ask for Rory. He will do everything you need done. You can trust him.” Dad kisses me, and I pull away, watching in the rearview as he hits his knees.
1 Onóra
Being raised in a mafia family, you learn more than you could ever want to know. My father works for the
Italian’s as the Consigliere. He was Venanzio Di Chiaro, right-hand man. My mom was apparently an Irish princess as her brother is the Irish boss. Which would make Finn and me mafia royalty. To hell with that! I’ve never wanted anything to do with this life. I was supposed to graduate high school then go to college ways away from the mafia lifestyle.
I made it almost eight hours before I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. Of course, this was after paying two hundred for an old beater of a Ford. Finn and I have landed in Adams, Tennessee, in some hotel that makes me squirm. It doesn’t have bugs, but it’s not far from it. You know the hotel I’m talking about, the ones where men take their whores to for a few hours then go home to their wives.
I’m just coming from the bathroom. I’ve cut my brown hair to a layered bob of sorts and bleached it blonde. I look horrible as a blonde, and sure I look as stupid as I feel. I need to wake Finn so I can bleach his as well. All I really want to do is scream, shout, and cry. Instead, I’m using the burner phone I bought and making a call. I need to get ahold of Rory so we can help us out with finding a place to lay low.
Dialing the number, I hit the green button, and the phone begins to ring and ring before connecting. To a person? Oh no! It’s a fucking voicemail! There some jumbled something for the name. I click the end button as I shut the hotel room door behind me.
I’m stomping my foot and cursing enough to make a trucker blush when the phone rings in my hand. I drop it because it’s not supposed to be traceable or have a freaking number! It dies for just a moment before the ringing starts once again. I scramble to grab it and answer.
“Hello?”
“Oy- who’s this? What’cha want? How’d ya be gettin’ this number?” A decidedly Irish man spouts off almost angrily.
Fuck me running. “Rory?” I ask with a tremble in my voice that I can’t school.
“That be my pappy, you’re outta luck he’s ain’t around no more, sorry kid.”
“Christ! You didn’t take over the business? You know what forget it.” I pull the phone from my ear. “Madre stronza! Pezzo stupido di spazzatura. What do I do now, dad? You aren’t here.” I thump my head against the railing as I hear a constant beep. This has me looking at my phone. I bring it back to my ear. “WHAT!” I snap.
“Little girl, don’t be takin' that tone with me. How the- you know what, stay put.” The line goes dead.
Stay put! What is he talking about! I can’t stay here long. I’m not far enough away, and I need to get over the border before people figure out we’re gone. Finn’s going to need food. How would I even know what this guy looks like? My father would kill me himself for waiting, but what else do I do? I know how to get away; I can even fight, load, and use guns. Dad was preparing me but for what?
2 Rónán
I should have known. Should have known from the chatter on the lines that something wicked was afoot. My head’s still a jumbled mess and all that, but now I’m driving. See I got this call, and this call was from some kid. I would be stayin’ outta this but for that. When somebody starts messin’ with kids, I can’t help m’self. Probably on account I was a messed with kid for a bit. Then Rory took me in. I owe him, owe those he may still owe. I’m guessin’ this kid is one of them.
My tracker was easily able to zero in on her, them burner phones ain't what they used to be. If it’s a droid or iPhone, it’s a fuckin’ joke. She’s at a fleabag motel off I-24, I’ll be damned if I’m going there and getting shot. Public places. Public places where they mind they damn business. I’m about forty minutes out on a ninety-minute drive when I shoot a text with the address of the Blue Line Dine. A little greasy spoon about twenty from her location. I, of course, get here first and sit so I can see the whole lot.
It’s about a quarter to three when I see a beat-up black, and rust Ford roll up. Out climbs a twitchy little blonde. Fuck, and a little boy. I sigh pushing my dark hair under my Kentucky Wildcats baseball hat, adjusting it, before sending her another text.
Unknown: Come straight inside and sit in the corner booth to the right. Don’t forget to say hello.
Her hand goes to the boy's shoulders as she leads him inside. She’s talking to him, but I can’t tell what she’s saying as her mouth is barely moving. They move slowly toward me, but by the time she reaches me, her shoulders are square, and she’s got herself together.
“Hello?”
She’s not more than five-eight, five-nine at best. The blonde? Faker than a stripper’s tits or a politician’s smile. It’s too brassy; she needs to add a toner if she doesn’t want to look like a hooker. “Suí.” I motion for them to sit as I call Masie, the waitress over with a flick of my wrist. I lean forward as they sit; she puts the boy on the outside. “Smart. He could have easily been grabbed and used for leverage by the wrong guy.” I whisper. “Better you, aye?”
“How old are you?”
“Let’s leave the questions to me. I’m guessin’ from the looks of him; you’re siblings not mother and son, so you’re probably what eighteen-twenty-ish? You called for Rory, also guessin’ you don’t really know um’ or you’d know what happened, by now. So, you’re in a dicey situation. What were you expectin’?”
“Rory knows sorry knew our father. I’ve had Rory’s number memorized since I was young. I was told to call him, and he’d help us.”
“Depends on what you need. Food, clothes, shelter between hideouts. If it’s papers that will take a few days and then there's a matter of payment. Money to grease a few palms, to make heads look other ways and such.”
“Hey there kids, what can I get you?” Masie asks all smiles.
I crack my neck from side to side. “Gimme the full breakfast, over medium, crisp the hash and add some garlic to the potatoes could ya beautiful?” I grin. “Oh, and some more of your fine tea if you will.” I look at the girl and her brother. “How bout you champ, the sky’s the limit, your buddy Rónán, is paying.”
The boy looks to his sister almost pleading. With a quick nod from the sister as if she reads his mind, she begins to speak. “He’ll take two pancakes with a side of bacon, scrambled eggs and milk. I’ll have a western omelet and a fresh fruit bowl with orange juice, please.”
Masie takes her notes, and off she goes. Before I can say anything here comes the busboy, he’s got silverware and placemats, as well as crayons for the kid. I nod, and he smiles at the girl a wee bit too salaciously for my liking. My eyes narrow, and he mumbles under his breath before scampering away.
“We need a new life. Nobody can find us.”
“Right now, you need to eat. Ain’t nobody lookin’ for ya here, that’s for damn sure.”
She snorts a little laugh.
“You need to lose that piece of shite phone ya got. Unless you wantin’ the whole family up your arse faster than I was.”
“Which one?”
I look at her. Was this kid really the one they’re chatterin’ over? Did I really wanna get involved? Was I already in too far to go back? I run my hand down my face. “Look I don't do this. I don’t get involved. That was Rory. I do, however, owe the man. If squaring you, squares us, then consider it done.”
She runs her fingers over the table but never takes her eyes from me. She’s contemplating on what to say. “It’s both, isn’t it? Already? Just tell me, what’s the word on Russo? You wouldn’t be here if you haven’t heard word.”
“I don’t- it’s just chatter about two kids missing. Goin’ rogue. No names. Just descriptions right now, but it’s all out scrambles.” Russo? Mac soith. She’s a damn halfer. “Wasn’t your mother?” I don’t have to finish the sentence her eyes tell me everything. “Fucken hell.” She’s an Irish Princess with Italian legs. Nasty combination. I’m gonna wind up getting shot. The question only begs as to by who?
3 Onóra
We’re all quiet while eating. Rónán watches me as I watch him and everything around us. I can tell you the couple on the left all the way to the back is arguing about what to name a cat, and one of
the waitresses likes to pop her gum every half a minute. I was trained by one of the best families I know. I just never expected to have to use it.
He leans forward and stays my apparently twitching hand. “Aye, ease up. Ain’t nobody here gonna be a lick of trouble. ‘Cept maybe you and that boy. So stop your patterin’ and eat the food. You got a long day ahead.”
“You don’t know that anymore then I know that.”
“Maise has been here for more than a decade; the little gum popper is her daughter. You can tell that from the dark blue eyes with gold flecks, not a usual color, so it denotes relation. The sign out front says family run, so it goes to sense that the cook is either a husband or brother. The busboy is probably a cousin for the hair color and build. So that covers staff, the truckers at the counter? From the familiarity to the menu and miles of coffee leads me to think they probably have their names on them seats. So regulars. Only ones really outta place in here are us, and they ain’t paying us a second glance. That says they get passers-by a lot. So long as we’re nice, quiet and tip moderately they’ll forget us before they remember us.”
“Did you not grow up in the same world I have? Money can buy anything and if someone won’t take the money, they lose it with blood or life, you choose.”
‘Seems you’ve never been south of Chicago land.” He stuffs some egg and toast into his mouth. “These people are a different breed. City folk just make em laugh, and they come off in such a way that most just would rather leave um be. Now you can keep makin’ a fuss, or you can trust me. If you can’t do those things, I can’t help ya, and you and that boy are on yer own.”
“Nora, listen to him, please. We need help; I’m scared.”
I wrap my arms around his shoulder and pull him into me. “It’s okay Finn we’re going to do this together.” I kiss the top of his head like our father always did. “Now, eat up, we can’t stay here.” I look at the man sitting across from me. Do I trust him? I’m not sure. I’d feel better if he’d stand and I could see if he was packing. Dad made sure we had protection. I didn’t know it till I was looking in the bowling bag this afternoon. “I’m going to need to be aged up by a few years, let’s say six. Without it, I can’t work or pass for what I need to pass as.”