I walked through the corridor toward my locker in a daze. I hadn’t been in school five minutes yet, and the stares were already getting taxing. I guess I hadn’t thought Sarah was serious when she’d said it’d been this bad. A few whispers here and there, sure, but everyone I passed looked at me like I was dating a mobster or something.

“Hey! Emilia.”

I looked over my shoulder, cringing inwardly at the sight of Jimmy.

He smirked and walked over to me. His football buddies stayed behind to laugh and talk shit.

“So is it true?” Jimmy asked. “Are you really seeing one of the O’Sheas?”

For fuck’s sake. “Yeah, he knocked me up on the first date too,” I deadpanned. With a shake of my head, I continued to my locker, beginning to understand why Sarah had opted to ditch today.

A handful of girls were crowding my locker, snickering like little bitches when I asked them to get out of the way. Oh…fucking great. “In bed with the shamrocks” was written on my locker, along with a poorly drawn clover. Very funny.

I took a picture of it with my phone and sent it to both Sarah and Finnegan with the caption, “School’s great!”

Today was gonna suck, wasn’t it?

I opened my locker and stopped short. A white paper bag waited inside—and a freaking Snapple. Whoever had figured out the combination to my lock wouldn’t leave a bag of dog shit and then go, “Hey, she needs something refreshing to drink too.” I picked up the bag and peered inside, and it looked like…lunch, I guess? It was a panini sandwich in a clear plastic container. Wait, there was more. A small box revealed three chocolate truffles. Um, it was a box to hold four pieces.

There was a note too, and it changed everything.

An involuntary laugh slipped out of me, and I shook my head. I probably didn’t wanna know how he’d gotten into my locker. Had he been here right as they opened the school? I got my phone out again to write another message, and there was a response waiting for me.

One of these days, people are gonna fucking learn that a shamrock only has three leaves. Uneducated gobshites.

Right. That was the problem, the number of leaves on the clover. I ignored it and sent him a message.

Thank you for lunch. I won’t even ask how you broke in.

His reply was instant.

Consider it my apology for not respecting your privacy yesterday. Hope your girls’ night was fun.

I was pretty sure breaking in to my locker wasn’t the way to apologize for that particular thing, but I appreciated it nonetheless.

The bell rang, and I grabbed my books before making it to class where I found more students staring at me.

Great.

* * *

By the time lunch rolled around, I was ready to set this whole town on fire. If I weren’t meeting Agent Caldwell in the library in forty minutes, I would’ve returned to the motel already.

As always, I skipped going to the cafeteria, and I found an empty picnic table outside.

“Emilia!” someone hollered. “Are you really pregnant?”

What the fuck, I didn’t even know that person. We had one class together, that was it. It wasn’t the biggest school, so everyone learned each other’s names sooner rather than later, though that was it. This chick—I’d never spoken to her.

“With twins!” I confirmed.

I finished my admittedly delicious lunch quickly, wanting to get the rest of the day over with. I didn’t know what was worse, my free period coming up and meeting with the agent, or my last period where Franny was my lab partner. I hadn’t seen her yet today.

I threw away the trash and was about to head back inside when none other than Nurse Walsh crossed the lot. It was the first time I’d seen her since meeting Finnegan, and I didn’t know if I resented her or—no, I definitely resented her.

She walked straight toward me, and she looked concerned. A bit late for that, lady. Other than sharing the same coloring of her brother and nephews, she was a slight woman and soft-spoken.

“Hello, Emilia.” She smiled politely and wrapped her open cardigan around herself as a cold breeze passed us.

“I’m not actually pregnant,” I said.

She chuckled lightly and eyed the groups of my peers around us. “No, I didn’t think so. That’s not why I’m here.” She paused. “How are you holding up? The rumors don’t escape anyone.”

“They’re only gonna get worse with you talking to me,” I pointed out. “Everyone seems to know that the school nurse put Sarah and me on a list, and now we have the O’Shea brothers after us.”

Guilt struck her for a quick second, and she cleared her throat. “I’m very sorry for the pain this has caused you, but I see something in you, Emilia. When you told me of your paper about women in healthcare, I knew I was right. I don’t want you to be a pretty girl on my nephew’s arm. I want you to be a strong asset. You and Sarah are what our family needs.”

“That’s so not the point,” I told her, half in disbelief. “We were shanghaied into this crap. A yes means absolutely nothing if there isn’t an option to say no, and that’s why Finnegan chose me.”

“I understand why you feel that way,” she replied with a sad smile. “He wants you for many reasons, though, and I have faith you will see that one day.”

There was no reasoning with this woman. Coercion was coercion, whether you used expensive bribes or your fists. The only difference was that I felt like I was partly to blame now. Because I could technically say no, and then what? My ass would be on the street eventually, and I could only hope to get welfare. I would be stuck in this life-sucking town for the rest of my pathetic existence.

“Good talk, Mrs. Walsh,” I said tightly. “I gotta go.”

Shouldering my backpack, I headed back inside the school and ignored every stare and whisper. When I caught a glimpse of Franny in another corridor, chatting with some people, I took a detour before I ended up in the back of the building where the library was.

I had some time to kill before Agent Caldwell would be here, so I sat down by one of the computers and went online. No new local jobs for anyone who had rent to pay, go figure. One of the many furniture companies in Gettysburg was hiring, but I’d need a car. Maybe carpooling—uh, never mind. Five years’ experience minimum.

It wasn’t long before my curiosity took over and I googled the SoM instead of looking for jobs. Only this time, I searched for the Murrays.

John Murray was a lawyer? I shouldn’t be surprised. They all seemed to be scholars.

I snorted to myself. Gangster scholars.

Shannon had his history in the military, plus a master’s in psychology. Finnegan and Patrick had gone to very nice schools, and they’d done well.

Liam Murray.

John Murray’s eldest son was twenty-nine years old, presently incarcerated for manslaughter and possession of illegal firearms. Resting my chin in my hand, I leaned forward a bit and scanned the text. Up for parole in August… Went to Oxford…

He’d gone to the same all-boys’ boarding school in England as Patrick and Finnegan had.

The links tended to stop at John’s and Shannon’s immediate families. The wives didn’t have their own pages, only the men and their sons. Figures. I moved on to an image search of—

“Miss Porter?”

“Jesus.” It wasn’t the first time Agent Caldwell had scared the crap out of me. “Don’t you make sounds?” I eyed him over my shoulder.

He smiled faintly and nodded toward the back of the library.

I followed him after logging out, and we sat down at a table in the newspaper section. A cheap attempt to make people think they weren’t cutting the budget and couldn’t afford more books.

“How are things?” he asked politely.

My stomach tightened with nerves. This was it, and I couldn’t chicken out now. “Not too good, actually.” I fidgeted under his observant stare, and I had to break eye contact. “My life isn’t very easy at the moment, and it’s giving me anxiety to keep this up.” I watched his hands as he clasped them casually on the table, and that was when I noticed a tattoo poking out from under his shirt cuff. So much for him being prim and proper. “I wanna quit,” I blurted out. “I can’t handle the pressure.”

“I see.” He furrowed his brow. “Finnegan hasn’t threatened you, has he? If he has, we can make arrangements for you.” Before I could spit out any word vomit or splutter some nonsense, he pulled out a small notebook from his inner pocket. “This is a safe space.” He slid the notebook with a pen across the table.

“No…?” Oh! It dawned on me. In case I couldn’t answer out loud, I could write it down. Wow, so cops really did that. Or Feds, whatever. “He hasn’t threatened me,” I said honestly. “I hope you guys can take them down somehow, but I can’t help.”

Did I hope they could throw the O’Sheas in prison?

Well. Probably. I mean…yeah. Of course. Yeah. Uh-huh.

“I understand.” Agent Caldwell nodded slowly, thinking. “I assume you have nothing to report to us, then?”

I chewed on my bottom lip and wondered if what Finnegan had told me on his patio was something the FBI could use. About the implying that he was involved in…stuff. Christ, it wasn’t like I had any details. Although…

I cringed as Finnegan’s words replayed in my head.

“Okay. Honesty. Yeah, I sometimes hurt people. If they betray me or pose a direct threat, I have to defend myself and my family, and violence is a language everyone understands.”

“I’m trying to remember,” I fibbed.

“Take your time.” Agent Caldwell leaned back in his seat and folded his arms over his chest. There was a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, and it made me nervous. Could he see through me? I sucked at lying.

“They don’t share details,” I said. “I mean, I can tell you that Finnegan is obsessed with cake and more than a little possessive of his car, but I don’t know anything meaningful. Their parents are supposed to arrive ‘soon,’ and…I don’t know. They’re vague.”

“I understand,” Agent Caldwell repeated. “We appreciate your help, Miss Porter. I’d like you to keep my number if you change your mind or remember anything new, but I will respect your wishes. We won’t bother you.”

He said something else, something about compensation and a check in the mail, but I tuned out. It was a weight being lifted off of my shoulders. One string that’d been cut. One thing less to worry about.

Thank fuck.

* * *

Feeling tons lighter after saying goodbye to Agent Caldwell, I walked through the near-empty halls toward the main entrance. Sarah had cruelly texted me a picture of herself in PJs and holding a bag of Chinese takeout, captioning it, “You sure you don’t wanna skip last period?”

I wasn’t sure.

I was sure that I needed a cigarette before facing Franny, however.

One of the stoners in school loaned me a smoke when I exited the building, and I found my usual picnic table empty. As the sun peeked out, I shrugged out of my sweater and bunched it together between my back and the edge of the table. Then I got as comfortable as possible and closed my eyes.

Stay or go?

To be honest, I didn’t believe there was any point in sticking around, other than to keep up the pretense. Anyone who gave a fuck had started studying for finals, and I would no doubt fail.

“But at what cost are you staying?”

“But at what cost are you staying?”

I took a deep drag and tried to shake the memory of Sarah asking me that question.

“Emilia!”

“Crap,” I muttered. At the sound of Franny’s voice, I forced my eyes open and straightened in my seat. I should’ve hidden out in the bathrooms or the library until class started. At least in there, she would have to whisper.

Franny stalked over, preppy as ever, and put her hands on her hips. “I’m done being ignored, Em. You and Sarah call yourselves my friends, but—”

“I’m not sure anyone who spreads rumors about me is a friend.” I cocked my head, curious. “You’re right, Sarah and I have avoided you, but I think you know why. If you know something, so does the school.”

She clenched her jaw. “I won’t be reduced to some gossip. This is serious. You and Sarah are dating mobsters. People deserve to know.”

Exhaustion and amusement mingled inside me. “What you’re saying is you’re performing a public service? Really, Fran?” The brightness of the sun was getting to be too much, so I held up a hand to shield my eyes. “You have no fucking idea the hell I’ve gone through, and what people deserve to know isn’t up to you.”

“You don’t even deny it?” she asked incredulously. “Do you realize how incredibly—”

“Hey,” I snapped, quickly getting heated. I grabbed my backpack and stood up. “Let me dumb it down so you understand. Sarah and I are dealing with this without you because we can’t trust you. So I won’t confirm or deny anything. Got that?”

She glared. “You’re so full of it. You haven’t even tried to come to me with this.”

“And you think spreading rumors about us is gonna change that?” I got in her face, so freaking fed up. “The first thing you do when you ferret out a rumor is shout it from the rooftops. You think we’re gonna take that chance?”

She tried to go for patronizing instead, and she smirked cockily. “See, all I hear is that you’re willingly dating a murderer.”

“Then maybe you should go fuck yourself.” My voice turned cold, and I was running out of patience. “Go back to your gossip. We all know it’s the only thing you’re good at, you fucking vermin.”

That one struck her like a slap, and it made her gasp. I didn’t stick around for her retort. My day had to be over. I sure as hell felt finished.

* * *

“Man, that must’ve felt great,” Sarah said, lowering the volume of whatever she’d been watching in the background. “Good for you, Em. I wanted to tell her off yesterday, but she was surrounded by her little gossipmongers.”

I didn’t feel much of anything, other than exhausted. Either I was near hysteria or a complete shutdown. I’d take the shutdown over a panic attack any day, but first I had to make it back to the motel. I told Sarah I’d be there soon, and I was totally calling in sick from work today. She promised to heat up some leftovers for me.

I wrapped up the call as my house came into view. My house. Right. All my life, I’d been an unwelcome guest, and another hour inside of it would suffocate me. Luckily for me, it would take less than that to pack up what I owned.

I had every intention of hiding out with Sarah for as long as I could, even if it meant sitting on my ass and waiting for the day I became homeless. And at that, I shook my head. I was already homeless.

You can say yes to Finnegan. You know you want to.

Grabbing the doorknob, I paused for a second and took a deep breath. If I concentrated, I could transport myself back to the night I fell asleep in his arms. Had I ever felt so protected before? And what did that say about me?

I exhaled shakily and opened the door, cringing when I heard the shower running upstairs. Dad was not only home, he was awake. I didn’t wanna face him, so I hurried up to my room and pulled out an old duffel from my closet. I put it on the bed and filled it with the stuff from the box that’d come with my dress.

There was some paperwork I should bring too. Couldn’t hurt, even though I might come back here at some point. A girl could hope I didn’t.

How sad was it that my entire life fit into a duffel bag?

I looked around the room to see if there was anything else I wanted to bring. I guess the picture of my mother, although I wasn’t certain of why. Old school papers, no. Report cards, yes. My meager savings from the diner, yes. The rest of my clothes—that fit, anyway. There was one thing I wanted to bring from the living room too—

“Emilia, that you?”

Dammit. I grabbed the duffel and left my room, spotting Dad outside the bathroom. He was buttoning up one of his nicer flannel shirts, which meant he was heading for the bar.

“I’m not staying.” I jogged down the stairs.

“Hey, now. Hold up,” he replied gruffly. “Where do you think you’re goin’ with all that?”

“It’s my stuff, Dad.” Opening the front door, I set the duffel and my schoolbag on the small stoop. “Unless you want the drawings I made when I was four?”

He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, hands on his hips, belly poking out, and stared at me with so much contempt. “You really leavin’ for good?”

I nodded, and I hoped with all my heart it was true. Moving into the living room, I located the dusty album on a shelf and clutched it to me.

Dad narrowed his eyes and pointed. “You’re not taking that. My Elena made—”

“My mother,” I interrupted. “She was my mom, and she started this baby book for me.” She’d pre-decorated over a dozen pages with moments she’d never experienced, the only thing missing being pictures and dates. A few pages were complete from when she documented her pregnancy. One photo was of her smiling crookedly and holding up a pair of pink baby socks. It was from the day they found out they were having a girl. Lastly, a picture of her belly the day before I was born. The day before she died.

“You ain’t taking it,” he repeated. With venom filling his eyes, he stalked toward me, and it slammed determination into me. I wasn’t gonna let him push me down this time. I was gonna walk out of here with the album Mom had started for me, end of fucking discussion.

I dodged his hand when he tried to take the album, and I hurried out to the hallway, my heart rate spiking.

“You get back here,” Dad growled. A second later, a hand clamped down painfully on my shoulder, and I spun around.

“Let go of me.” I glared at him and held the baby book tighter. “You do not touch me.”

He chuckled humorlessly and scrubbed a hand over his mouth. It lowered my guard for half a second, and I instantly regretted it. He came at me with force and seething anger, the sight of him shocking me to immobility. I flinched as he shoved me up against the door, and then the album was slowly leaving my grasp.

No! No, no, no, no, no!

Adrenaline pulsed in my veins. I pushed back with my shoulder and yanked the book back. “Get off of me!” I shouted. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“It doesn’t belong to you!” He stopped trying to take the book from me, only for his hands to slip up to my throat. My eyes widened at the sheer rage in his gaze. I’d been intimidated by him for as long as I could remember, but I’d never actually been afraid. “You don’t deserve it!” he yelled. “You don’t deserve anything! If it weren’t for you—”

“I get it! She’d be alive if it weren’t for me!” I gritted my teeth against the hurt and struggled to push him away from me. The album landed on the floor with a thump, and I rammed my fists into his stomach before gripping his wrists. “Ow—let me go—that fucking hurts!”

“You’re done stealing from me,” he seethed, tightening his grip on my neck. The crushing pain pulsated throughout my chest, getting heavier and heavier. At the same time, panic closed in on me, and I choked when I couldn’t force air into my lungs.

Our gazes locked for one excruciating second. I didn’t know him. I didn’t recognize him. He hated me with every fiber of his being.

“Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not a murderer,” he rasped. “I don’t care what he says. You killed my Elena, you little whore.”

I screwed my eyes shut, seeing spots. My nails dug into his wrists. Did he even feel it, or was he too far gone?

Dizziness dragged me down into a cold swamp. My lungs burned and squeezed.

This can’t be my life, this can’t be my life, this can’t be my life.

I felt like I left my body. Desperation and instinct took over, and I slammed my forehead against his nose. A sickening crunch resounded in my head, and then my lungs were filling with air. I wheezed and choked, feeling like his hands were still wrapped around my throat.

He wasn’t touching me. He’d fallen back against the kitchen doorway and was cupping his nose.

I saw red. Fury lit me up, and I attacked him with fists and feet. “You almost killed me!” I kneed him in the gut, and as he bowled over and groaned, I landed my elbow across his neck. “What kind of vile monster are you? I didn’t fucking murder your precious Elena! I was born!” I stomped on his foot, punched him in his temple, and scratched up his neck in my blind fit of rage.

It wasn’t until he landed on the floor with a hoarse cry that I stumbled back and saw the damage. Blood was gushing out of his nose. Three streaks of red grazed his neck, and the only position he seemed interested in was the fetal position.

I forced in some air and looked down at my hands. They were shaking, and I couldn’t see properly.

At his pained moan, I tried to get my shit together. Breathe, breathe, breathe. I picked up the album and fled from the house. The panic was right there, waiting to take me. His hands were gone. Why wasn’t it getting easier to breathe?

I managed to slip my arms into the handles of the duffel and use it as a backpack. Then I grabbed my schoolbag and my baby book and walked unsteadily down the driveway.

“Shit.” I had to pause when I reached the sidewalk. Time to call someone. Him. Finnegan. He was the only person I knew who could help me. I pressed call on his number and waited, focusing on breathing through the chest pain.

He answered with, “Well, that’s new. The princess is calling me.”

Only three words existed in my brain. “I’ll marry you.”