“Lena? Lena, the same…” I couldn’t get my words together because as much as they’d liberated him, they’d imprisoned me.
I thought about my son who was currently with Lena, the woman who’d held me a few hours ago, the woman who’d become a surrogate mother to me—never replacing mine but helping me.
Guiding me.
When I’d had issues with breastfeeding, it was Lena I’d gone to—not Google.
When Jake wouldn’t sleep, when I’d tried everything to make him settle for the night, Lena was who I’d asked for tips.
“You let me—” My throat choked. “You let our son—”
He stared down at the ground like he knew what I was about to say without me having to finish the sentence. “I did. I know.” His shoulders slumped deeper, but even the sight of my husband like this, on the path to breaking, didn’t stop the rage that surged to the surface once more when he rasped, “I’ll go—”
“No. You fucking won’t,” I snarled, grabbing his arm. “What happened? Why—” I shook my head. There was no why. Unless… “Was Lena drunk? Is that why she drove off? Why wouldn’t she just stop? If she’d have stopped—” I sucked in a breath as the world began spiraling out of control beneath my feet. “Maybe Mom would have survived!”
“I read the medical reports, Aoife,” Finn murmured regretfully. “She hit her head on the way down. That injury was what led to her death.”
“I’m the one who made the decision to turn off her life support, Finn. Don’t talk to me about what happened.” My mouth trembled as I stared at him, pleading with my eyes. “Make some sense out of this for me. Why didn’t she go to the cops?”
“It’s like something out of a damn spy movie, Aoife. I can’t make sense out of the nonsensical.”
He reached out, but before his hand could connect with my shoulder, I pulled back. I ignored his flinch, just hissed, “Explain, and stop talking cryptically.”
“I’m going to tell you what I know,” he rumbled. “That’s all I can do.”
It wasn’t. There were so many things he could do, could have done over the years, but I didn’t say that.
I needed answers.
I needed to understand.
“Hit me with it,” I whispered.
“You have an uncle, sweetheart. On your mom’s side.”
My mouth gaped. “What? I don’t! Mom was an only child!”
“She wasn’t. I don’t know what happened, but Conor looked into it. A man named Eamonn Keegan is your uncle.”
“Eamonn Keegan?” I tried to rack my brain for a memory of that name, but I didn’t remember Mom ever mentioning it. It rang a bell, just not because I’d heard her say it. “Why would she keep that a secret from me?”
“Because he’s been in HMP Belmarsh all your life.”
“HMP what?”
“It’s a British prison.” He slumped on the side of the bed. “He’s… he ain’t good people, Aoife. I can’t blame her for wanting you to have nothing to do with him.” He drew out his phone. “Recognize this man?”
My eyes widened. “That’s the guy from Verdi! I thought he was just a barfly.”
Finn pulled a face. “Me too. What did he say to you?”
“Nothing important. He called himself Dagda. Just…” My brow puckered. “I remember his voice sounded familiar. His accent was like…” The realization registered, making tears well in my eyes as a deep, painful longing for my mom hit me. “…like my mom’s,” I finally got out.
He tucked his phone away again. “I’m sorry, Aoife.”
“Why was he in jail?” I whispered.
“Because he was a bomber.” At my gasp, he kept his eyes on me. “With a faction called the Éire le chéile go deo. They’re like the IRA, but worse.”
Stunned, I staggered until my back hit the wall. Sliding down it, I stared at him as I whispered, “That’s how I know his name. From the news.”
He grimaced. “It made headlines around the world. One of the biggest terror attacks in the nineties.”
“And my uncle was a part of it?”
“He was the ringleader, sweetheart.”
“Jesus Christ.” Horror hit me. “Was my mom involved with them?”
He hesitated. “We’ve no way of knowing.”
“Is Eamonn why Lena killed her?”
He shook his head. “No. That was an accident, Aoife. It truly was. It doesn’t take away from what happened, but Lena… You don’t have to understand this, baby, but Lena’s calmed down these past couple years because she’s stuck to her meds.
“Before, she was a fucking lunatic some days.” He swallowed. “I remember she had this habit of scratching at her neck. She’d do it until she bled, Aoife. What the Aryans put her through was fucking hell. I’m not excusing her. Don’t you think that I am. But I’m saying she was sick and someone took advantage of her.”
“How do you make someone commit a hit and run?” I demanded scornfully.
He rubbed his eyes. “Let me give you the truth in as much of a logical order as I can, yeah?” He sucked in a breath when I didn’t reply then rattled off, “I spoke with your dad. Some of what I’m telling you coincides with what I just learned.
“Four years ago, your mother’s death triggered a power struggle in the ECD. For all those years since his incarceration, Eamonn had remained the leader of the group even though he was in jail, but the year your mom died, something changed.
“Your father made it sound like the ECD wanted to ensure that there were no filthy little secrets that could ruin his journey to the Oval Office.”
“Filthy little secret?” I breathed, watching him wince.
“I’m sorry, baby. But your existence is a secret worth killing for when you want a corrupt president in power and leveraged to the hilt.”
I blinked at him, his words resonating, the heartache in his eyes, the grief and the pain and the apology, and that was when I knew the man I wanted to go to for comfort was also the man who was causing me this internal agony.
“My dad’s…” Mouth working, I managed to get out, “My dad’s enemies had Mom killed? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? But Lena—”
“No, they were his friends,” he corrected gently. “They almost got you too, sweetheart. He stopped them before… and then I met you, and you were safe.”
My eyes widened. “Safe because the Irish Mob set their sights on me?”
“Who’d you prefer to be detained by? The Feds or Aidan Sr.?”
Shuddering, I rasped, “The Feds.”
“Exactly.”
Slowly, he got to his feet and walked over to me. I watched him. Watched that prowl of his that was capable of setting me alight when he was coming toward me with a different reason in mind, and I remained quiet as he seated himself by my side. I didn’t say anything as he lifted his arm and curved it around my shoulders either.
Did it make me weak that I let him?
That I stayed there, huddled into his side, and took comfort from his supportive hold?