The Untouchables (6 page)

“No love making of any kind?” I mocked, sitting up against the headboard. “I guess that went out window the moment you sat on my face. You taste divine by the way.”

“Fuck you,” she said, as she pulled the sheets around her and reached for her laptop beside the bed.

“You already did, three times, and quite nicely I may add.” I laughed when she glared at me.

Neither of us had spoken on the car ride over. We didn’t even look at each other, yet there was still sexual tension between us, because there was always sexual tension between us. By the time we got home, both of us were horny and annoyed with one another. Sex seemed to be the only thing we could agree on.

I knew she was using me as a distraction. She didn’t want to focus on the shit in front of her. Neither of us did really, so instead we’d had our fill of brandy, wine, and sex.

All of the sex had calmed her down, and now she was ready…or at least I hoped she was ready. Two bullets from her were enough for a lifetime.

She sat next to me and placed the flash drive in as I leaned back to see the list. Hundreds of names, some of them I knew, some were before my time, others I had never even known existed. Each person had a name, photo, date of birth, and the day that they were murdered going back at least twenty-five years… Aviela DeRosa had been killing for a long time.

“Orlando,” Mel whispered softly, as she looked at the name and photo. It didn’t say Orlando but Iron Hands.

“She didn’t kill him,” I stated the obvious.

I tried to grab the laptop, but she slapped my hands away and did it herself.

“Iron Hands. Arsenic,” she read before freezing. Inside the file was a photo of what happened to be another list with dates and doses.

“She poisoned him,” Mel whispered. “For six years straight. She poisoned him slowly. Orlando never knew because he always figured he would get cancer. He had done everything to prevent it, but when it came, he just thought there was no fighting it. That it was too deep in our family line. She gave him cancer. She poisoned him and just waited.”

When I grabbed the mouse from her, she didn’t fight me; she was in too much shock to fight.

“What’s your grandfather’s name on your father’s side?” I asked her trying to sort through.

“Ignazio Giovanni, the second,” she said, still dazed.

When I hit enter, there he was. He died at sixty-one after being diagnosed with stage four colon cancer; he died in four months, his dosage of Arsenic were ten times higher than Orlando’s. They wanted him dead, fast, but without raising suspicion.

“Orlando had an older brother, Francesco Angelo Giovanni. He died at twenty-six.” She searched and he came up as well. He died a year before his father. Two months she spent killing him. It seemed the only person she tortured for so long was Orlando.

One by one, Melody typed up names of who I guessed were her family, and one by one they popped up.

“She’s been killing off your family for years,” I whispered. But why?

“And now she’s coming after the last Giovanni.” Mel tensed.

“You’re a Callahan, not a Giovanni,” I said. “And she isn’t coming near you, or anyone in this family, unless it’s in a body bag.”

She looked back at me, her eyes blazing with fire.

“Everything I know is a lie. She’s the only one that knows the truth. When we get our hands on her, we can break her, but we’re not going to kill her until I know the truth,” She said before looking back at the screen.

But, as I went through the list, looking for any of my past family and finding none, I wondered if a woman like Aviela, who had killed the father of her child, and left that same child for dead, could be broken.

How could you break something that was obviously never whole to begin with?

FIVE

“All the motives for murder are covered by four Ls: Love, Lust, Lucre and Loathing.”

—P.D. James

MELODY

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been seven days since my last Confession, in that time I have…”

“You have lied,” Father Antony interrupted me.

“Yes, father and I…”

“You have killed, stolen, and much worse,” he cut me off again. Only a man of God could do that and still have his tongue.

“You’re going off script, father,” I whispered, leaning against my seat. He could neither see me, nor I him, but I felt more comfortable. Not because I felt ashamed, more because I liked the darkness here; it was the only place I wasn’t afraid of it. I liked the peace it gave me within the church.

“Yes, well I cannot offer you forgiveness.” He sighed. “You’ve come in here once a week for the last year asking for the same thing. Yet neither I, nor God, can forgive you for something you do not truly wish forgiveness for. It doesn’t work that way.”

“May I continue, Father?” I asked him.

“Very well,” he said.

“Since you have confessed my past sins for me, I shall confess my future ones.” I felt the rage and hate crawl up inside me as I thought about it. “I will kill my mother. I swear it.”

He was silent. We were both silent for what seemed like forever.

“Honor thy father and thy mother, Melody. Of all sins to break among man, the one you speak of is…”

“Honor thy father and thy mother?” I snapped; it was my turn to cut him off. “Where is honor thy child? Why is that not written in stone somewhere for us to hold above our heads? Some fathers and mothers should not be honored! Some should not even be given the title.”

“What was done to you, my child?” he whispered, but I didn’t answer. Instead I stared out at the stained glass.

It made me think of my childhood.

“When I was a child, the church was the only place I felt at peace. I would lie in the pews and stare up at the paintings on the ceiling. Sometimes I would speak to God, sometimes I would dream, but often times I would think about my mom. Wishing she would come find me, worried because she couldn’t find me in the house. I even prayed about it and God never answered. I knew that wasn’t how it worked. But, I was angry. In my mind, he was Santa Claus, and the one thing I wanted, he wouldn’t give me.” I sighed at my own stupidity, “Here I am, years later, and my mother is alive and well.”

“Is that not something to be thankful for?” he asked, slightly confused.

I looked to the screen blocking our faces. “Not when she is worse than I am…far worse, and sadly, I’m not being sarcastic.”

“I see.” I could feel his worry even though I couldn’t see it. “Is there a sin I can ask the father to forgive, one in which you regret?”

I thought for a moment.

“I shot my husband.” I said.

“Is he still alive?” he asked with amusement.

“Yes.” For now. “He’s still alive. I shot him out of anger, and I’m sorry for it. I abuse him often, actually.”

“You don’t seem regretful,” he added.

“I am.” That wasn’t a lie. “ I lov…I love him. But, I’m not good with caring for anyone but myself, my own needs. With each passing day, I notice more and more sex won’t distract him.”

“Distract him from what?”

I knew I set myself up for this, but I didn’t want to think about it.

“Distract him from getting even closer to you,” he answered his own question. “You love him, but you live a life of constant loss. You do not want to hurt him. You do not want to love him. You’d rather push him away because you want to have control over how you lose him…if you lose him.”

I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want to admit to it. But he was right. It was one of the reasons why I came back every week. He was the only one outside of the family that did not judge and could never speak about our conversations, even with a gun to his head.

“Yes, Father,” I whispered finally.

“Pray to our mother for guidance and loving heart. Ask our father for the strength to forgive. Go and do these things, for you are forgiven, my child. Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good.”

“His mercy endures forever, Amen.” I blessed myself before leaving my peaceful confessional at the back of the church.

I mentally sighed at the sight of Coraline and Olivia, both sitting up front in the pews. Taking care of the family was trying—all their issues, their problems, hopes and fears. I wanted to go back into the confessional and just rest. But it was my job, mine and Liam’s, to take care of the family, to keep things going, to keep each other safe.

Despite all the killing we’d done, that really wasn’t our role. We weren’t hired killers. We were business people who sometimes had to bash a few heads in to make sure things got done.

That was part one.

Part two was to make sure the family was happy and safe. That meant listening and handling problems in their lives. Yes, there were times when we had to knock some sense into them, but that was the life.

My red heels echoed throughout the church as I walked right past them and towards the altar to light a candle before kneeling to pray. I believed in God, but talking to him was difficult. I was a conversation starter. I listened and reacted. Liam was the talker.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been kneeling there before I heard Coraline or Olivia’s cell phone vibrate for what had to be the ninth time. Rising, I turned to them; I wanted to chuck a motherfucking candle in one of their faces.

Do not kill in the lord’s house. Do not kill in the lord’s house.

“I’m sorry, it’s Evelyn,” Coraline whispered. “We’re late for the charity brunch.”

“We’re Callahans, we’re never late. Everyone else is early and impatient,” I stated as I grabbed the phone from her and turned it off before taking my kneeling stance back at the altar.

But no sooner had my knees touched the pillow did Olivia’s phone go off. I turned towards her again, and the fear that crossed her face meant that she saw the hell I would unleash on her if she didn’t shut her phone off immediately. She did, which only made my private phone go off.

Looking up at the cross, I sighed. “You see what I go through?”

LIAM

“When did you get so good at hand-to-hand combat?” Declan snickered as I dodged Neal’s fist.

“I’ll do my best not to take that as an insult.” I grunted, blocking my face before jumping back and landing one to the side of Neal’s face.

He and I danced around the ring, staring down each other like hungry lions.

Over the last year, this had been my and Neal’s thing. After years of not speaking to each other, except when needed, we were working ourselves back to brotherly status. I wasn’t sure how long that would take, but every Saturday, while my beautiful wife was at confession and her charity, we boxed. When Neal was in his fighting mode, there was no speaking, just calculated attacks. He was almost like a robot. But in the moments in between our attempts at killing each other, there was a look or a smirk that passed between us. That smirk said far more than any words. We were in a much better place than we were a year ago.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I asked, ducking down slightly as Neal’s fist came towards my jaw. “My wife tries to murder me every other week. A few of those times, have in fact led to combat…amongst other things.”

“One day your dick is going to fall off. I’m just not sure what will castrate you first; the sex, or the fighting before the sex.” Declan laughed.

“The sex,” my father said from the sideline. “You do know the walls are thin enough that every sound carries, right? We all can hear you.”

“I know, I just don’t give a fuck.” I tried to punch Neal once more, but he blocked. “It’s my damn house, if we want to make love in the center of the dining table at dinner, we shall.”

“Please don’t,” he said.

“She puts a bullet in your thigh and you make love? I still don’t understand your relationship. After a year, she still hasn’t warmed up to you,” Declan said as Neal kicked into my side.

Of course he would think that. My Mel didn’t show much emotion other than anger or fake kindness in public. However, it was different when we were alone. We had gone from murderous fuck buddies, to husband and wife. She let me hold her, which often led to more sex. But even after that, we’d fall asleep in each other’s arms. She didn’t say ‘I love you’ as often as I did, but when she did, it made me want to stay in bed with her forever. Love wasn’t her thing. She struggled with it. How could they expect someone who never really received love to express it to others? I wasn’t going to push her any more than I already had.

“How can you understand my relationship when you’re just beginning to understand your own?” I grunted out as Neal bore down on me. The damn giant.

“Prick,” he yelled. “We’re in therapy.”

“Something I still do not agree with,” Sedric snapped. “I don’t understand why you allowed such a thing, Liam. Matters within the family should be handled by the family or a priest, if you insist.”

“It has been helping. We’re finally talking and not yelling anymore. There was so much I didn’t see or simply overlooked. I’ve learned loving someone isn’t enough,” Declan said, and I could see Neal smirk for a split second before I knocked it off his face.

“I allowed it. That wife of his destroyed a million dollars worth of equipment, with a baseball bat…
my
baseball bat. I almost preferred it when she gave all our money away to charities,” I answered just before Neal took me down.

“She gives because of her parents—it’s the only way she feels needed. She likes being there for others because at least then they see her. If I told you how her parents treated her…” He sounded worse than me, and I was the one who was getting my face pounded in.

“Couldn’t you have spoken to me and your aunt? We would have helped.”

“Both of us would have felt like you were being judgmental. We know you wouldn’t, but we wanted to speak to someone on the same playing field as us…”

“We’re Callahans, no one is on the same damn playing field as us!” I yelled out, flipping over and returning the favor to Neal.

“Fine, someone under us then.” He rolled his eyes. “Either way, it’s working. We were even going to have sex for the first time in months, before your wife came in like the fucking Terminator!”