Staring back at him, I lifted my hands but didn’t drop my gun either.
“You would have lost,” I told him. If I’d wanted to, there was no way I could have missed him when he was so close. It would have been a perfect shot between the eyes, he’d never have had a chance to point his gun at me. I could have done it. It would have been so easy.
“Maybe.” He couldn’t even admit it as he winced, rising from the ground and standing like a pillar in front of me. Walking over to me, he just glared before putting his gun to my cheek. I allowed him to turn my head to the side so he could inspect my eardrums.
“You’re bleeding. Are you alright?” he asked softly, finally taking his gun off my face and tucking it behind his back.
“Is she alright? Ask me if I’m al-fucking-right!” Wyatt yelled, stepping over the pilot and getting a good footing before reaching back to help Ivy, who he’d been holding back, over the body as well. “I’ve been in this city for less than a bloody minute - one minute! - and I’ve had a shotgun in my face, and blood on my shoes. Why can’t we ever have a normal welcome home? You know, balloons! Maybe a banner or some shit like that?”
Closing my eyes quickly, I inhaled deeply and counted to ten mentally, before opening my eyes again and tilting my head to the side, looking around Ethan’s body to see Wyatt. “Got it. Next time balloons. So… You’re done with Boston now?”
“Donatella,” Ethan interrupted.
Ignoring him, I focused on Wyatt. “You’re wearing a dress shirt…and a tie. Gasp, you must really be home. I should have gotten a ‘he’s a man now’ balloon.”
“We can get Wyatt his balloons later; right now, I’m much more curious about the blood at our feet,” Ethan interrupted, and I looked down at Savino’s blood, which crawled over the gravel to where our feet were directly opposite one another.
“Does it look like I give two shits about your curiosity?” I asked him when I lifted my head to look at him directly.
Ethan’s eyebrow rose as he spoke, “Keep your shit; tell me what happened.”
“So, am I supposed to take sides here or just watch you two glare at each other all day?” Wyatt asked, standing off to the side.
“Wyatt, hold this.” I tossed my gun to him and, not a second later, pulled my fist back before bringing right across Ethan’s jaw.
“I guess I’m watching then,” Wyatt muttered, stepping back from the both of us.
Ethan reached up, touching his cut lip while flexing jaw. His eyes focused back on me. He didn’t get a chance to speak, and I didn’t get a chance to get another hit in because before either of us had time, she got in between us.
“Hit him again and you’ll regret it.” Ivy—messy haired, raccoon-eyed, pale-faced Ivy—had the nerve say to my face as if I wouldn’t beat her down where she stood.
“Belladonna, believe me when I tell you this…” I stepped closer to her, “Even if both my brothers were married to you and every last Irishman knelt at your feet, you still wouldn’t have the power to make me regret a goddamn thing. You have your lane, and it’s not in front of me. So move, or I will move you!”
Before I could step any closer to her, Wyatt grabbed my arm, squeezing tightly as he muttered; “Sister dearest, whatever this is…breathe.”
“Wyatt, take Ivy to the car. Now,” Ethan said seriously as more than three other Ranges pulled on to the air strip.
Wyatt, to my surprise, didn’t even argue; he let go of me and placed his hand on Ivy’s shoulders. She still had the audacity to glare at me with those icy blue eyes of hers as he forced her away. She was lucky… If she was anyone else I’d make her eyes my earrings.
“Don’t get her involved.” Ethan’s stern voice reached my ears.
I laughed bitterly, looking to him; “Why? What are you going to do, oh wise and great one? Lecture me to death? Threaten me? Kick me out of the family?”
He inhaled slowly through his nose, placing his hand on stomach. “I can see you are upset, Donatella—”
“If you can see then you’d already know that while you and your wife were playing house, terrorizing Boston, and almost dying…nice one,” I smiled brightly, lifting my hands and stretching my arms, “I saved your damn city…you’re bloody welcome.”
“I wouldn’t have left you in charge if I didn’t believe—”
“Keep talking to me like I’m a fucking idiot and I really am going to fucking kill you Ethan.” He said nothing. Of course, he said nothing. So, I continued. “You didn’t believe in me at all. You wanted me to get rid of Toby…and test my loyalties…you set us both up!”
“If Tobias fell into a trap it’s his own bloody fault for not watching WHERE THE FUCK HE WAS GOING!” He roared into my face.
“AND ME!” I screamed back. “You set a trap for me! Your sister! If I fell chasing the fake carrot you put in my face is it my fault too?!”
“Good thing you didn’t fall little sister so we don’t have to answer questions like that,” he replied, walking around me toward the cars.
Balling my fist, I turned back to him as I said, “Wyatt and I may be twins, but we do not react the same way to manipulation. I will not come crawling to you. I AM NOT YOUR PUPPET, ETHAN! There are no strings on my back! Next, you’ll want to test your—”
“Your lover; your problem, Donatella! I gave you time and space to deal with him before I had to do it myself…because you are my fucking sister, so you are bloody welcome,” he snapped back at me before I heard the door slam behind him and the wheels of his car pull away.
“Keep pushing me Ethan,” I murmured, still trembling with rage. Closing my eyes and relaxing my shoulders, I tried to calm down.
“Is it safe to approach?” Wyatt asked, coming to stand in front me.
“No.”
“Oh well, then,” he said grinning as he hugged me tightly. I didn’t hug him back but I didn’t move away either.
“I’m fine,” I muttered.
“I’m not. Remember, I had gun in my face…it was scary.” He spoke in a child-like voice, and I just rolled my eyes, pushing him away and standing up straight again.
“Give me my gun.” I reached out for it.
“Sorry.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I left it in Ethan’s car.”
“Wyatt.”
“Let’s use words.”
“I am using words! Would you like me to use my fists?”
He sighed, reaching inside behind his waist and giving me the Glock, but not before asking, “What happened, Dona?”
“What do you think happened, Wyatt?” I replied, taking my gun from him. “Il maestro di burattino mi ha fatto sentire che le sue stringhe mi tirano attorno al mio collo!” (The puppet master wanted me to feel his strings pull around my neck!)
“And whatever the master wants, he gets,” Wyatt stated. For the first time since he’d gotten off the jet, his face was completely expressionless and all the humor in his voice evaporated.
“I have no master, Wyatt.”
Turning around, I looked to Toby’s lifeless body slumped over the hood of my white Ranger…his blood splattered over the windshield…over me…staining my suit. No matter how badly you scrubbed or washed, blood never came out of white. I’d known him since I was child, he’d been in my bed, in me, and now the only permanent thing between was a ruined suit, because he, like Ethan, thought he could control me. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t my brother…so I couldn’t forgive him.
“No one controls me…but me.” Because I was Donatella Aviela Callahan, only daughter of Liam Alec Callahan, head of Irish mob, and Melody Nicci Giovanni Callahan, head of the Italian mafia… I was a Callahan…and a Callahan was a bringer of death.
ONE
“She wears strength and darkness equally well, the girl has always been half goddess, half hell.”
~ Nikita Gill
DONATELLA – 30 DAYS AGO
“Has it been like this since Sunday?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Toby replied, stepping up behin
d me, blocking the sun with his body and casting a shadow over me. “The explosion came from the right side of the church; I don’t know if we should be thankful or not.”
“Not,” I replied angrily, stepping forward into the OS center, the facility my parents had built right in the heart of the city to honor their fathers, Orlando “Iron Hands” Giovanni and Sedric “The Butcher” Callahan. Two great men I’d never met, but grew up constantly reminded of. My mother rarely spoke of her father, but when I shipped off to boarding school in Italy, I’d heard stories of him. Those who did remember him spoke of him like he was the boogeyman. Some believed he wasn’t dead. That he was out there enjoying the mass fortune he’d “earned.”
My father on the other hand, couldn’t shut up about his father. Apparently, dear old grandfather hated his nickname so much, he forbade them to bring it up… I had no idea why, though, and it didn’t matter now. What did matter was their legacy. The edifice my parents had built in their honor was supposed to show how far our families had come. It wasn’t just a soup-kitchen or recreation center. It was reminder of their greatness, only the best of the best of the best went to it. First-class facilities, groceries, and even help with job search. Once a week, every week, we fed anyone who came through the door. The other six days it was open to the public to not only find work and train for better jobs, but for necessities like showers and haircuts. Even people who weren’t Irish or Italian came here… And now… Now it looked like a World War II Triage Center, all because of the Finnegan Brothers and their grunts had placed a bomb in our family church.
“Now I know why Ethan left for Boston so quickly, Tobias,” I said, walking down the corridor and looking at the sleeping mats that were all laid out. It’s easy to get revenge; the aftermath was the messy part.
“Why, ma’am?” He stood directly behind me, closer than I preferred in public.
I glanced over my shoulder at him, “Haven’t you realized my brother has only two facial expressions; Fear Me and Get the Fuck Out My Way, You Bore Me.”
He tried not to smirk, but I saw the corner of his lip turn up. And I couldn’t help but think that he was cute. His long, shoulder length dark-brown hair was pulled back into bun, his light brown eyes staring down at my lips.
“How many children?” I asked suddenly, turning from him and walking on.
“Twenty-nine,” he replied, following.
“And adults?”
“Fifteen.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” I muttered to myself. The bombs went off on the right side of the church, the side where most of the parents sat in order to be able to see their kids in the children’s choir.
“Before, Ethan had the center open to any children whose guardians couldn’t be reached—”
“How nice,” I replied sarcastically, “but this center isn’t an orphanage. Are social services here?”
“Yes, however…”
“I hate dramatic pauses, Tobias,” I said as we walked towards the silver double doors to the main cafeteria.
“Ethan spoke to the major… This is a family matter.”
“Ethan.” I gritted my teeth.
“He simply wants to prove to the people that he will—”
“You don’t need to explain my brother’s reasoning. I know what he wants. I just don’t agree. Since I’m here and Ethan is not, we’re doing this my way and they’re going to have to go.”
“Dona, they’re children—”
“It’s not up for debate. And even if it was, it wouldn’t be a debate with you. The door.” I waited, allowing him to go in front me. He pushed the door open and the moment I stepped through, I wanted turn around and walk back right out.
Clenching my teeth, I wave my hand out to the chaos in front us. “You said twenty-nine children and fifteen adults… Does this look like forty-four people?”
His eyebrows furrowed together as he stared at the herd of people now in the cafeteria…the watering hole of grown-ass men and women, whom I’m sure weren’t in the church at all, stuffing their faces with our food.
“People are selfish by nature; they came because they heard the Callahan name and thought, ‘So what if I wasn’t affected directly, they can afford to give up a few extra plates, drinks, blankets…or straws.” I said the last one looking directly at the freckle-faced woman stuffing straws, into her daughter’s pockets. Of all things…straws?
“Ma’am.” I turned my head to the side as Greyson appeared beside me. His orange hair and thick beard didn’t make him stand out as much normal in this crowd…it was his large build that did that. “The kitchen said they’ve run out of breakfast and will need time to bring out more.”
“More food isn’t necessary,” I said, watching the line grow at the counter. “Less people are.”
“What do you need me to do?” Greyson asked, standing up straighter.
I glanced to Toby, waiting for him to stand up straighter as well. He forced a smile before doing the same.
“We can start asking people to leave,” he said.
“I’m not asking; get me a microphone,” I said, walking them to the front of the room when all of a sudden, a young voice yelled out.
“FIGHT!”
And like the craven people they were, everyone turned to watch yet no one attempted to stop it, not even my brother’s men.
Father, give me strength, I thought as moved toward the “fight”, Toby immediately pushing against the rising crowd.
“Take it back!”
“You take it back, you stupid—”
“GET OFF HIM!” a blonde-haired woman in her late forties screamed, pushing one of the boys away and hugging her son or grandson to herself. “How dare you?”
“He started it!” the other boy yelled, wiping his nose on his arm, ready to charge again. And if it wasn’t for his friends holding him back, he would have.
“Marco, stop!” One of them yelled as they tried to hold on to his arm.
“Say it again,” the boy—Marco, apparently—sneered at the other one. “Say it again! Call me Guido again!”
The moment the word came out of his mouth, more than few of the men who hadn’t been paying attention turned to look at the coward with blond hair.
“I don’t know what you are talking about!” he lied.
“How dare you make up such a lie!” she yelled back.
“I’m not lying—”
“You are, too!”
“And why don’t we just stop there,” I said politely, a fake smile on my face as I walked into the makeshift circle. Everyone’s eyes turned to me. “It’s been a stressful time for all of us—”
“I want an apology!” Marco yelled, yanking his arm away from his friends to stand on his own. He wasn’t look at me. I wasn’t sure if he could see anything other than the target of his rage. So, I stepped in front of him and snapped my fingers.
“Hi,” I smiled again. I just know I’m going to have massage my cheeks tonight. “Do you know who I am?”
He frowned, looking at me for long time, until one of his friends whispered more than a little loudly, “It’s Ethan Callahan’s sister.”
You little shit.
“Orlah.” A few others whispered.
“Ethan Callahan’s sister has a name and it’s Donatella.” I tried to speak with as little venom as possible. “And I said this fight is over. So, it’s over. Am I clear?”
His hands balled into fists, he breathed through his nose, but didn’t say anything.
“Thank you, Donatella, kids like him have no training or respect,” the woman said from behind me.
I turned slowly to face her. She put her hand on her son’s head, petting him as if he were a prized dog. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean? Kids like him?”
She tensed but didn’t back down, “I just mean kids who are spoiled. The ones always trying to blame other people for their problems.”
She’s joking. She had to be.
“He’s my problem!” Marco yelled at her.
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“Marco, didn’t I say this fight was over?” He muttered something under his breath and turned to walk away. “Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”
If it wasn’t for the older, white haired, half-drunk man who put his hands-on Marco’s shoulders, he would have ignored me and kept walking.
“So, rude.” I shook my head and turned back to the woman “What is your name?”
“Claire Eilis, my husband works for your brother,” she said with a smug grin on her face; almost identical to the brat next to her lifting his chin as he glared at Marco.
“Really? Thank you for all your hard work. I haven’t met your husband personally, but I’m sure he’s a good man. Is this your son?” Keep smiling, Donatella. Just keep smiling.
“My nephew, Declan.”
“What a coincidence! I have an uncle named Declan too; do you know what the name means?”
The boy stepped forward, shaking his head and pretending to be innocent, “No, I don’t ma’am.”
“It means full of goodness,” I said, putting my hand on his head and petting him just like his aunt had done for a second before grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling his head back. “So why are you such a little shit?!”
“AH!” he reached up to grab my wrist. “Aunty!”
“Yes, Aunty Claire, please explain to me why your nephew is spitting out slurs in my center?” I asked, tilting my head to look at her clearly.
“He didn’t do that—”
“So, Marco here just decided that out of all the kids here, he was going to frame your nephew and disrespect me using a term not commonly used in Chicago, in order to…? I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to fill in the blanks for me, Aunty Claire. It must be the Guidette blood in me that makes it difficult to comprehend.”
“I… He—”
“In fact, the more I think about it,” I spoke, yanking more of the boy’s hair, “the less this whole situation makes sense. Who gave you the right to call me Donatella? Why is your nephew a little gobshite? If your husband works for my brother, I’m sure you don’t need to be here—?”