My brother had just bought a pair of them, and they stuck out like a sore thumb. This was our territory, so technically, I should offer to help, especially since the convenience store paid us protection money.Įspecially when one of the kids, in a pair of retro-ed Air Jordan XIIs, caught my eye. The sight of them told me exactly what was about to go down, but I made no move to get involved.

They had tights over their heads and were packing heat. Leaning back against the wall, I felt the bricks dig into my bones, but I was used to being uncomfortable, so I just stared straight ahead, patient as ever until, in my periphery, I saw about four or five kids running toward the store. And when you were the Pakhan’s woman, death was a kind fate. You married into the Bratva and you didn’t get out.

It wasn’t like she was married to some shoe salesman. We’d lost two men in a stupid goddamn raid with the Haitians, and the waste of life as well as the futility of our work just made me wonder what the fuck I was doing all this for. I needed to get off like a junkie needed a fix, so getting some smokes was only going to delay what my body craved. Heavy duty Cubans were his poison of choice, and whenever she smelled them on me because Da had a habit too, it always took her twice as long to get into it. Dealing with Mariska’s repugnance, however, was another matter entirely. I could cope with her pulling on my ear like it was stuck on with Velcro. My wrist was fucked, thanks to how many times Da had broken it, and I’d been shot at twice.

Ma’d already threatened to lop off my head if she caught me stinking of smoke, and while I wasn’t averse to a clipped ear, what with being twenty, I didn’t give much of a shit anymore. It was either that or head into the convenience store opposite and grab some cigs, which I couldn’t do. Hunching my shoulders against the cold, I watched my breath mist out in front of me. With kids like Seamus around, maybe, just maybe, we can make the next generation more understanding. So, don’t hate on me for raising a topic of conversation, one that might take place around any dining table around the world, and drawing light on it. I make this warning only so you’re aware that I AM 100% anti-homophobia, and a full believer that love is love is love. If we don’t open a dialogue, how do we get people to understand that hate is hate? It’s a disgraceful standpoint, however, I’m of Seamus’s ilk. If you’d like to hear a curated soundtrack, with songs that are featured in the book, as well as songs that inspired it, then here’s the link:Īt some point in this book, you will come across terminology you won’t appreciate.īut many people, especially of Aidan Sr.’s generation, do agree with it. To Christine, Cynthia, Jennifer, Anne-Susann, Gem, Amber, and Jemma.įor your help, support, and most importantly, friendship.

Filthy king serena akeroyd