“Leave the boy alone,” Ma snapped, her gaze drifting over me. “He’s already got a lot going on with school.”
“School? School?” Da pshawed. “What the fuck will school do for him?”
“How many times have I told you not. To. Swear. At. The. Table?” she roared, slamming to her feet and smacking her hands against the table, making the cutlery and battalion of plates and dishes rattle, as the pair of them locked eyes and practically snarled at each other.
Ma was the only person, and I meant, the only person, who would ever get through to Da. It was impressive, considering she was tiny, but it always made me feel like a jerk that I needed my mother to back me up.
I was sixteen, for fuck’s sake.
Sixteen.
I shouldn’t need a woman to get someone off my back, but Da had it in for me. Some days more than others, and today was worse than usual.
I had a bitch for a girlfriend who dangled me around her pinkie, teachers who wanted homework in even though I barely had time to attend school, never mind everything else, and then Da wanting more. Always wanting fucking more.
The only good thing was that Deirdre was terrified of me.
Sure, she liked to pretend that she wasn’t, but she was.
She was well aware that she had a lion by the tail and, as such, she knew to tread carefully. What she had on me could end me. Family or not, son or not, Da wouldn’t stand for it if he knew what she did. So while, technically, she had all the power in our relationship, she was still scared.
Rightly so.
“Are you even listening?” Da snarled, jerking my attention back to him.
I cut him a look. “I’m listening,” I rasped, shoulders hunched, head ducked down.
Unfortunately for me, the whole family was sitting around the table today. It figured Da would choose this moment to outright humiliate me. Aidan Jr. and Finn were here, with two giggling girlfriends at their sides—not that they were giggling now—and Brennan, though he’d just moved out, was eating with us as well. Conor and Eoghan were choking down food like the pigs they were as usual, but that my older brothers were here to witness this shit just put me in a fouler mood than before.
“I can’t make the men respect you,” he snapped.
“He’s sixteen! What kind of crew would respect him?” Ma growled, still on her feet. “You’re acting like he’s twenty-seven and should be acting as your general. But he isn’t. He’s still a boy!”
“Still a boy? Aidan, Finn, and Brennan had power at his age. Why do you always defend him? ‘Oh, he likes looking at paintings, Aidan, leave the boy be,’” he mocked in a high falsetto. “‘What harm is it that he likes to listen to Beethoven?’” he snarled. “I’ll tell you what, it’s turning him into a feckin’ fairy! No one will ever listen to him if they think he’s lifting shirts—”
I jumped to my feet at that, and pretty much like Ma had, slapped my hand against the table. “I’m not gay. For the millionth time, I’m not goddamn gay. I’ve got a bitch, haven’t I? I do everything you ask of me, don’t I? I do more than my fair share. You’ve got me running around Hell’s Kitchen like your personal lackey, and everyone knows to avoid me because I’m usually the bringer of your bad news. If no one respects me, it’s because they know I’m your gofer.
“You want me to get power, then give me something to do with power.”
He was bristling, but he folded his arms and mocked, “And what, pray tell, would you like to do?”
I scowled at him. “I’m good with numbers. Not the best, granted, but I’m good enough. I’m good at organizing. I’m good at matching things up. I know you’re having issues with the warehouses. Let me in there. I’ll get things sorted out. Why shove me onto the streets when you know that’s not my strength?”
“Because you’re my son, and every aspect of the business needs to be your strength.”
The injustice in that statement had me gaping at him. “That’s bullshit.”
He glowered at me. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” I growled. “That’s bullshit. The only son who needs to know every aspect of the trade is Aidan. He’s your heir. But Finn’s good with money, and you shoved him somewhere he can succeed. Brennan’s good with his fists, so the girls and gambling are the best fit for him—”
“Aye, you’re right,” he intoned grimly, then cracking his knuckles, he ground out to Aidan and Finn, “Get your girlfriends out of here.” As they got them out of the house, without even questioning his order, Da kept his gaze glued on me. Only when the front door slammed did he rasp, “Finn’s never been comfortable with wet work. But he did it. He proved himself. And that’s exactly what you’re doing. You can’t do shit until you’ve proven yourself to the men.
“You can’t pick and choose what you want from this life. I put you where I need you after you’ve shown the men whom you’ll be ruling over that you’ve gone through the same shit as them. Do you hear me?”
“What more do you fucking want from me?” I screamed, the urge to pull my hair out a real and living desire. “You shoved me into this goddamn world two years ahead of time. I’ve done everything you asked, and it’s still not enough. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it!”
I knew I’d pushed it the second I blasphemed, but his speed always surprised me. Before I even finished my sentence, he was around the table and his fist connected with my jaw. As I sprawled on the ground, a position I was too accustomed to for anyone’s liking, he spat, “From now on, you’ll be with me. Whatever I ask of you, you’ll do. It’s time you grew up, boy.”
When he turned his back on me, I scrambled to my feet and, without a backward’s glance at my ma or my brothers, ran out of the room.
Working with Da… fuck. I knew what that meant.
My eyes pricked with tears that unmanned me, but I didn’t—
I sucked in a breath as I pretty much flew out of the house and headed for my car. When I was behind the wheel, I put my pedal to the metal and got the fuck away from my family. From this fucking world.
Only then, only when I was away from them, did I take a deep breath as Mozart surged from the speakers at a volume I hoped would wreck my ears because if it did, then at least I’d be half-deaf when Da told me my first orders.
The urge to scream was real so I went where I always went when I was stressed, when I was scared, when I was lost… the Met Cloisters.
Traffic roared past me, and I didn’t notice. Thanks to a freak storm, the Hudson was like ice, the sky gray and grim, matching my mood to perfection, but I didn’t notice.
I needed escape.
I needed relief.
Washington Heights was, technically, Russian territory, but I didn’t care. I headed there often enough that the staff recognized me, and only when I’d pulled up and had parked, barely remembering to lock the door to my Spider as I headed toward the oppressive building, did I feel like I was in another place.
It was in a park, surrounded by trees, and the actual edifice made me feel like I was in another country. Several parts of the building were from monasteries in France, and the stonework had been transported to the States in the twentieth century. That set the tone for the rest of the museum, and with the integral courtyards from the ancient monasteries and the gothic and medieval artwork, it was like traveling in a time machine.