The Monster: A Mafia Romance (Boston Belles Book 3)

An hour later, my mother walked into the waiting room. There was still no word from the doctors inside the operating room. Several times, Sparrow, Troy, and Cillian tried to nudge me to check in with the reception, pull some strings as a doctor at this hospital. I noticed Devon and Hunter were surprisingly quiet and solemn. They knew.

Mother flung her arms over my shoulders, burying her face in my neck.

“Oh, Aisling, how terrible. Poor Sam. I hope he’ll be okay. Although, I suppose, he got what was coming for him, doing what he does and all.”

My blood froze in my veins. I peeled her away from my body. No one else had heard what she said, but it didn’t matter. I was done being understanding of her, of her condition. Her loose tongue and looser morals had consequences, and it was time she knew it. I took a step back.

“I’m engaged to him,” I announced robotically.

Her mouth fell open. My brothers must have kept it a secret from her. No doubt thinking the engagement might be short-lived. Well, it wasn’t. There was only one way out of this engagement right now, and that was if Sam died.

“Aisling, you can’t …” She grabbed her gold necklace, rearranging it over her neck nervously. She was clad in a black velvet suit and a vintage Chanel bag, and I realized, a few moments too late, that it wasn’t only her words that bothered me but also the fact she took her time getting ready to come to the hospital when I called for her.

She lowered her voice, grabbing onto my wrist and tugging me to the corner of the room to make sure no one could hear us. “Honey, he is not for you.”

I yanked my arm away, scowling at her. “You don’t know what’s good for me. All you want is for me to stay in the house and cater to you.”

“Honey! That is ridiculous. If anything, I—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” I warned, lifting a finger. “I called you here today because I wanted your support, not to hear you nagging. This is how it’s going to be from now on, Mother. You’ll be giving support, not just getting it. You will not pass judgment on me. You will be a mother. No longer my responsibility. Am I clear?”

She stared at me, blinking, and my heart clenched when I realized we were like a filtered mirror. I looked just like her. Same dainty build, delicate bones, and coiffed hair. Same lips and nose and naturally curled eyelashes.

But I was different. Strong. Resilient.

She touched her fingers to her cheek, sighing.

“You’re right. I did abuse your kind heart, Aisling. I didn’t want to believe it, but of course I did. You were so good, and I was so weak. I wasn’t used to people being good under my roof. Your father and Cillian are cold as ice. Hunter has the best intentions, but I never quite could worm my way into his heart. You were my rock. My everything. And losing you … I couldn’t imagine such a scenario. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I—” she stopped, bowing her head as her shoulders began to rock to the rhythm of her sobs. “I was the one who suggested your father should pay Sam extra not to get near you.”

An icicle pierced through my heart, and I took a deep, sudden breath, reaching for a nearby wall to try to right myself.

My mother continued, her eyes carefully staring at the floor.

“I saw the way you looked at him the first time you saw him. You must believe this wasn’t always about me, Aisling. I was thinking about you, too. He was too old, too dangerous, and too rough around the edges for a gentle-bred girl like you. But yes, in the spirit of honesty, I knew a man like that could scoop you with the same frightening ease you’d take Shelly out from her cage when you gave her baths. You were going to leave me all alone with your father in this big mansion, and I wasn’t ready for that. With each year that passed, I tried mustering the courage to tell you. To come clean. Selfishly, I couldn’t.”

I was fully aware that somewhere in my periphery, our friends and family were watching us, so I refrained from causing a scene. As it was, Hunter and Cillian looked on high alert, ready to pounce on Mother and take her away from me, knowing she had a talent for stealing the limelight, no matter the situation.

Despite the initial shock and deep sense of betrayal, Dr. Doyle was right. There was nothing to be done about our pasts. The only way was forward. I could let what my mother did define our relationship or reinvent it.

And standing there, while Sam was in the operating room, hanging in the balance between life and death, everything was crystal clear to me.

If you loved somehow, you had to give them a second chance.

Not for them.

For you.

I took a step toward her, tilting my head up regally.

“I forgive you, Jane, not because you deserve it, but because I don’t deserve to live the rest of my life motherless because of your mistakes. You are going to make it up to me, though. Big time. You can start by bringing all of us coffees and pastries. The Brennans haven’t eaten all day, and I’m famished.”

She nodded, wiping her face quickly, sniffling.

“Will do. Right away. Oh, Aisling, thank you so much.” She grabbed my hands and squeezed them. “I will not let you down, love. You will see.”

She ran toward the elevators on her high heels, ignoring the disturbed glares of onlookers.

I was choosing me now.

Me … and the man I loved.

It had been six hours since I’d arrived at the hospital, and there was still no word from the operating room. I knew no news wasn’t necessarily bad news. It meant they were still working hard to save his life. I also knew that it didn’t matter.

I was dangerously close to a massive heart attack.

Nurses and doctors rushed in and out of the room, wearing bloodied uniforms and grave frowns. I shamelessly pounced on them, demanding answers, but they shook me off every time.

The waiting room thickened with people. At first, I failed to notice it, too wrapped up in running all possible scenarios and outcomes to Sam’s condition in my head, but now, lifting my gaze from my lap, I saw it.

Troy, Sparrow, Cillian, Hunter, Devon, my parents, and Sailor were here now, together but alone, each of us shaken to the core.

The distress for Sam’s well-being was thick in the air, hanging like fog above our heads.

Troy was on the phone, barking orders, demanding action, no doubt trying to find more information about the attack, planning how to strike back at the Bratva. Sparrow looked so frail, I was afraid if I reached out and touched her she would break.

I moved over to her. “It’ll be okay,” I whispered, trying to convince myself the same in the process.

Hunter had told me the bullets pierced Sam’s shoulder and chest. It was hard to estimate the damage when I had no concrete information.

Finally—finally—a middle-aged doctor in stained scrubs with sweaty temples came out of the operating room. I was the first to dart in his direction, with Sparrow following closely behind me.

“Hello, I’m Dr. McKinnley. Are you the wife?” He turned to me.

“I will be soon.” I jerked Sparrow close to me. “This is his mother. Please tell us how he is doing.”

He ran his gaze over me skeptically. He wasn’t supposed to hand out information to those who weren’t Sam’s kin.

“Aisling is a doctor here, too. An OB-GYN,” Sparrow explained, putting a protective hand over my shoulder. “You can tell her.”

The doctor shot me another look and turned his focus back to Sparrow.

“It was a close call. He is still not out of the woods yet. The main issue isn’t the shoulder wound. We removed the bullet, and although it’s still early to tell, it is my belief that the bullet did not tear through more than muscle tissue and did not touch any of the nerves. Our main concern was the chest wound. It hit too close to home, to put it bluntly. In close proximity to the heart. It took us three hours to remove the bullet alone. He lost a lot of blood. The next twenty-four hours will be critical. We’re moving him to the recovery room as we speak. He needs a good rest. I cannot stress that enough. For that reason, we would prefer if he sees one visitor at a time.”

Sparrow and I exchanged glances. I didn’t dare hope. She was his mom, after all. She deserved to see him first. My future mother-in-law squeezed my hand in hers.

“Over two decades ago I told Sam that one day a woman would walk into his life and prove to him that he doesn’t hate all women. He put up a good fight, I’ll give him that, but I think you finally broke him. It’s you he’ll want to see when he opens his eyes. In fact, I am told by Troy that he specifically asked for you when he was rushed here. You should go.”

“Are you sure?” I bit my lower lip.

She smiled, pain marring her expression. “Absolutely positive, dear.”

I followed Dr. McKinnley along the narrow linoleum hallway like a punished kid, not sure what was waiting for me at the end of the journey. When the surgeon pushed the door open, he said, “Remember, he is frail right now, even if he doesn’t look it.”

I nodded, closing the door after me and staring at Sam from a safe distant. I was a doctor. I’d seen blood and gore in my life. But there was something about Sam’s pain that was too intimate and real to me. He lay there with his eyes closed, this beast of a man, so imposing, so imperial, and yet so quiet and boyish right now.

“Oh, Sam.” I cupped my mouth, rushing to the foot of the bed, sinking down to the floor and burying my face next to his arm. “What have they done to you? Please make it through this. Please.”

Tears coated every inch of my face. I moaned loudly, howling, making noises I had no idea I was capable of. He was finally mine, and I was losing him.

It was the sort of cruelty I couldn’t fathom.

“There is so much I have to tell you. So much news. You can’t die on me now. It’s a highly inconvenient time, Sam. What kind of gentleman are you?” I huffed.

I thought I felt him move slightly next to me, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t even groan, so obviously I was just imagining it.

“I quit my job. I’ll be on the lookout for residencies. I need you to help me sort through them. And what about kids? I want a lot of them, and we need to start practicing. Then there’s the Cillian and Hunter matter. Who will annoy them, if you die?”

Another small movement. I jerked my head upright, studying Sam’s face closely. His eyes were still shut, his breathing labored. I stared at him as I opened my mouth, cautiously speaking again.

“Of course, if you die on me now, at some point in the future—very far in the future—I’ll be able to get over you and move on. But for now, I just want you to—”

Sam’s hand moved slightly. He grabbed my wrist and tugged me to him, his eyes snapping open. He groaned in pain at the sudden movement and flashed me a canine scowl.

“No one is going to get over fucking anyone, Fitzpatrick. Now shut up and let me rest.”

Surprised, I stared at him with open delight. My ploy had worked. I pouted, leaning backward and giving him some space. His hold on my wrist tightened, but he was still so very weak.

“Let me rephrase … let me rest where I can see you, feel you, and smell you.”

“You asshole,” I hissed under my breath. “I thought you were going to die.”

“Yeah, I heard about the Grand Prix dick tour once I’m in a coffin. It’ll have to wait another few decades or so. Sorry.”

“I was just teasing to see if you were conscious. I thought I felt you move,” I explained, watching as his eyes shut again, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow.

“I know, sweetheart.” His tone turned soft, scratchy.

“Can I do anything for you?” I asked.

“Can you climb on top of me and ride me?”

“No.”

“Then you can’t do anything for me, Nix.”

“Everyone is waiting outside. They are worried sick.” I rubbed his uninjured arm. “I should go out and tell them you’re okay.”

He nodded then grunted again, realizing his mistake. Everything must’ve hurt, and I made a mental note to ask the nurses to up his morphine dose.

“But I’m not going to go out there until you promise me something,” I warned.

His eyes were still closed when he asked, “Yes?”

“You asked me to quit my job, and I did, even though I did so with a heavy heart, knowing I won’t be able to help so many people who are in pain. Now I’m asking you to bow out of the battle with the Bratva, Sam. No more bloodshed. No more. I don’t deserve to become a widow because of your pride. Give up Brookline. Turn your back on this side of the city. Troy never took it over for a reason. Promise me.”

“It is not in my nature to lose.”

“Yet sometimes—not often—you will. You have to lose Brookline or you’ll be losing me. This is an ultimatum, Sam. I will not be made a widow at twenty-eight.”

He opened his eyes, looking at me, surprised.

His voice dropped low. “Are you threatening me?”

“Yes,” I said simply.

I had to do this. For him. For myself. For his family and our future children. If he cared more about a piece of Boston than he did about me, marrying him was going to be a mistake. I felt oddly reassured by that simple logic. We held each other’s gaze, silent for a moment. His jaw ticked with annoyance.

“I can make this work,” he said. “I’ll talk to Vasily.”

“Give up Brookline.”

“I’ll get more security.”

I shook my head, standing up from the floor, wiping my cheeks clean of tears.

“I’m sorry, Sam, but it’s not enough. I’m not putting my heart in the hands of a man who won’t take care of it.”

“Goddammit, woman.” He turned his head sideways, closing his eyes, swallowing hard. “Fine. Fine.”

I knew how difficult it was for him to say this, to make this sacrifice. I leaned down and kissed his cheek softly.

“Thank you. I’ll go tell the others you are awake.”

Stepping backward and getting ready to leave, I turned around and heard his voice, sharp and cutting like glass.

“That’s what it feels like, doesn’t it?” he wondered, half in awe. “Love. I can’t believe I caught feelings like some fucking amateur. So many of them, too. This is deplorable.”

I grinned, glancing at him from behind my shoulder. He shook his head, scowling at the wall.

“Say that again,” I said.

“I’m a fucking amateur.”

“The love part.” I laughed.

He turned to glare at me.

“I love you, you little fool. I insisted on no prenup because I didn’t want you to run away, not because I cared about the money. It was never about the money. Even when I took the job with Gerald and Cillian, there was one thing I cared about, and it had nothing to do with power. I had that before I set foot in your house. I wanted to be close to you, even if I hated not being able to have you. I visited your father on a weekly basis. This thing was bigger than both of us, but we had a lot to lose.”

The idea that I wasn’t the only one who waited to catch glimpses of him made my heart stutter. I walked back to him, gently placing my hand on his cheek. He curled his fingers over my arm, looking up at me.

“I was close to blowing it all to shit, wasn’t I? You and me. The night you ran away into the woods. I could feel it.”

I shook my head.

“I never stopped loving you, Sam. Even—and especially—when you least deserved my love.”

“Kiss me, Nix.” He tugged me down to him. Our lips met. His were cold and dry and chapped, and I quivered, wanting to cry with what he’d been through. I pressed feathery kisses around his mouth, chin, and neck, smiling down at him, kissing his forehead one last time.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I fucking live for you,” Sam retorted. “Literally. I’m about to give up a lot to have you.”

“So you should.” I walked away, taking one last glance at him, knowing we were going to have a million more goodbyes.

And a million more hellos, too.

I ran to the waiting room, breaking the good news with a rush of stuttering words. Sparrow squealed and darted toward the room. My parents let out a relieved breath, though I wasn’t entirely sure what my father was doing here in the first place. Was it the guilt of keeping us apart for all these years?

Cillian and Hunter were the only ones who didn’t look visibly delighted by the news. They glared at me hard as I rehashed the moment in which Sam woke up, obviously omitting the lovey-dovey stuff that would make them gag.

“Hey, Ash, can we speak to you?” Hunter cleared his throat, throwing a glance at my parents. “Alone.”

He turned around before I could answer, marching down the hallway. Cillian followed him wordlessly. Frowning, I went after them, something cold and stony settling in my chest. This didn’t sound good.

They stopped when we reached the junction between the elevators and the emergency exit, a good length away from our parents. They both turned to look at me. All I needed was one look to figure out that they knew everything.

“What have you been playing at, Aisling?” Cillian demanded, his voice like icicles dripping down my skin, causing goose bumps to rise in its wake. “We went to the front desk and asked for you when we first arrived here. We couldn’t reach you on your cell, so we thought to go downstairs and check. The receptionists told us there was no Dr. Fitzpatrick in the hospital. Ran through the database. In fact, we went as far as going to the gynecology department ourselves to look for you—maybe you weren’t registered yet because you are still doing your residency—but I’m sure you know we came back empty-handed.”

“You are working somewhere,” Hunter pointed out. “The long hours, the hospital scrubs, your disappearing acts during dinners. What the hell is it you’ve been doing?”

I must have turned pale because even though they still looked at me like they wanted to kill me, they schooled their faces and stopped showering me with questions. I knew I had two options. Come clean and own up to what I did for almost a year or let them live with a half-assed lie. A lie wouldn’t be so harmful. After all, I quit.

Still, I couldn’t lie to them. Not again. My lies were piling up neatly on my conscience. Besides, I could no longer pretend to be someone I wasn’t. Someone tailor-made for my family to ensure they were happy and fulfilled and proud of me.

My parents.

My brothers.

My professors.

Even the late Ms. B molded me into the woman she wanted me to become.

No more.

So I told them. I opened my mouth, and the truth came out. About Dr. Doyle. How we’d met. About Ms. B’s death and how it affected me. About the first time I saw Sam. How it wasn’t the day the Fitzpatricks had invited him over along with the Brennans, but months before that. I told them I had quit. That I couldn’t put myself at risk anymore to help others. That Sam bent my arm and wouldn’t budge.

“It’s the first and last thing that fucker did right,” Hunter mumbled, pulling me into a hug, pressing me close to his heart. “Fuck, Ash, I’m so sorry. We were so wrapped up in our own shit, we never really stopped to consider what you were going through after your governess died. It didn’t help that you always looked like you knew what you were doing. The perfect daughter.”

“He is right,” Cillian said pithily. “We neglected you for far too long. We’ll be rectifying that in the future.”

“So…” I looked between them “…you’re not judging me? For what I did?”

“Judging you?” Cillian lifted a brow. “You just proved to be a true Fitzpatrick. Darkly complex and terribly pragmatic. I’m proud to call you my sister.”