I was dying. Blooded poured from the gunshot wound in my stomach. The pain seared through me as I pressed my hand against my stomach tightly, trying to stop the bleeding, but knew it would do no good, it was too deep, too late. I could feel the burning pain coming from my back as well. The exit wound. Just fucking great.
I was dying.
I coughed; blood dripping from my plump, pale lips as I staggered towards the door, pushing it open with my free hand as I clenched my stomach harder. It was getting harder and harder to breath, my shoulder scraping the cold, slick tile walls of the abandoned hospital.
How ironic, right? Dying in a place where people were once being saved. I chuckled to myself, dropping to my knees as I started to crawl down the stairs. My feet no longer wanted to work and my head was spinning. This was it. I was really dying.
Dying had never really scared me. Not even as a kid. Nothing really scared me now that I had come to think of it. I had always been a risk taker, an adrenaline seeker… a bad ass, per say. Guns turned me on. The sound of a gun cocking turned my knees to jell-o, and at only twenty-two years old, I had heard plenty of guns being readied for use.
But the thought of dying like this made what little blood I had left boil. I clenched my fists against my stomach angrily as I grunted, the pain in my stomach intolerable. I was suffering and the exit was only fifteen feet away. I was looking at the door right in front of me and for the life of me (or lack there of) I just couldn't bring myself to crawl down the rest of these stairs and push that door open. If I could get outside, I could get help and keep on keepin' on.
I stopped crawling down the stairs, pulling myself into a sitting position, laying back, resting my head on the top step. Blood gurgled loudly in my throat as I closed my eyes, ready for what was coming.
It was for the best. Really. It was, trust me.
"Oh fuck." I groaned. I thought heaven was supposed to be filled with clouds and pearly gates… this… was not heaven. 'Crap' I thought to myself. I was in hell. This is what hell looks like. A run-down, cruddy loft apartment. A run-down, cruddy loft apartment with two very handsome men sitting against the wall, staring at me in shock as I blinked, gawking at them.
Apparently, I wasn't the only one who thought I was dead. The two men, who clearly had to be brothers stood up, racing over to my side as I croaked pathetically in hunger and thirst, my body weak and still burned with a harrowing pain.
"Ye' a'right, Lass?" One of the men asked in a thick Irish accent. I was a little taken aback by it but shrugged it off as I tried sitting up, instantly regretting this decision, I lay back down, closing my eyes.
"C'mon, say somet'in'." The other man coaxed me quietly, the words just rolled off his tongue. I opened my eyes again, looking at both of the men in utter disbelief that I was actually alive.
"Fuckin' A." I muttered, bringing one hand to my stomach, tracing what felt like a bandage over where the gunshot wound should have been.
"D'er she is, Murph, look'it dat, wouldya?" The lighter haired brother crowed, giving his darker haired brother a solid pat on the back, a smile spreading over his face.
"Oh Holy name, she is, isn't she, Con?" The other brother exclaimed, grabbing a glass off the floor near the side of the bed.
I watched as the two men looked down at me, checking me to make sure I wasn't going to pass out as one of the brothers handed me the glass of water.
"Where am I?" I asked after taking a small sip of the water, clenching it tightly in my hands. The brothers looked at each other, then back at me before giving me a soft smile.
"'Dis is our place, Lass." The lighter haired man explained, looking around the small, one room apartment. "We brought ye back 'er, cleaned ye up, saved yer life too!" I cleared my throat after a moment of silence, making both men look at me with concern.
"Who are you?" I asked, pulling my chin into my chest, feeling slightly embarrassed now.
I had never been the kind to ask for help, or need help in that case. I had been on my own since I was sixteen. I never needed anyone and now, these two strangers had saved my life. I didn't even know how to thank them, nor did I really want to. They really had no right saving me the way they did, I didn't really deserve to be saved, and yet here I was, all because of them.
"Murphy and Connor MacManus." The darker haired one nodded along side his brother. He had pointed to himself when he said Murphy, so the lighter haired one must be Connor. "Yer above McGinty's bar, ye ever heard of it, Lass?" He asked.
I had to think for a moment. McGinty's. It sure sounded familiar. I wasn't sure why though. I was born and raised in Boston so an Irish pup was no where out of place, and they all ended up feeling exactly the same in atmosphere and in company, so no one bar was easy to remember.
"Dunno, doesn't ring any bells." I shook my head as I shrugged my shoulders. "I'm Kristina." I held my hand out to the men and they both shook it carefully.
"How ye feelin'?" Connor asked, a look of worry in his eyes as I ran a hand through my hair.
"Like I got shot in the stomach?" I smirked at him, wincing as I tried to shift my weight in the bed so I could sit up a little. My lower back ached as I pushed myself up onto my elbows and sucked air between my clenched teeth. "Motherfucker." I hissed quietly.
The boys rushed over to my sides and both took one of my arms carefully in their grasp. They delicately pulled me back towards the head of the bed and propped pillows up behind my back and head so I could lean comfortably against them.
"Thanks." I grumbled quietly to myself. My head felt fuzzy as I looked around the room. It had a pool table in the center, then random items scattered around in an unkempt matter. I groaned as my head throbbed and my stomach ached and panged with hunger.
"Do ye' remember what 'appened, love?" Murphy asked me, raising his eyebrows in question. I sighed and winced as the wound in my belly seared violently.
"No… not really." I lied, pushing my curly hair out of my eyes once again. "I remember being in that old hospital down on Mallory, how did you find me?" I asked curiously, my eyes moving from one man to the other.
"'Appened t'be walkin' by, heard ta gunshot." Connor explained, lighting a cigarette. My mouth watered at the smell of tobacco and I eyed the pack of Marlboros slightly exposed from his coat pocket. He noticed me watching and grabbed his pack from his pocket, handing it to me. "Help yerself, Lass." He nodded, handing me a lighter as I pulled one from the pack, placing it between my lips.
"Ya don't happen to have a phone, do you?" I asked, lighting the cigarette and handing both the lighter and the pack back to Connor, watching as he slipped them back in his coat pocket.
"We do." Murphy piped in, standing up from the his kneeling position near the side of the bed I was in. He grabbed a cordless phone and handed it to me, watching as I pressed the button to turn it on.
"Could… I maybe have a minute alone?" I asked, looking at both men as Murphy moved to his brothers side. They looked at each other before nodding.
"Of course, Lass. We're gonna run an' get somet'ing ta eat, d'ya want anyt'ing?" Connor asked as Murphy pulled his own pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
I nodded as my stomach growled hungrily. "I'll eat anything." I explained honestly.
"We'll be back shortly, Lass." Murphy called out as they left the building.
I dialed his number and pulled a large cloud of smoke into my lungs, waiting for him to answer.
"Who the fuck is this?" He spat into the phone. I grinned and shook my head.
"Frank, it's me." I sighed, running my fingers across the tape that held the bandage over the entry wound in place. "It's Kristina."
Silence. For a minute I thought the phone had died but I heard him moving through the phone. I grumbled softly and flicked my cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed.
"Frank!" I exclaimed into the phone, "C'mon! It's me." I growled. "Ya gotta know it's me." I suddenly realized how desperate I sounded.
"They told me you were dead." He hissed. I heard the distinct sound of him snorting a line of coke. I rolled my eyes and sighed loudly.
"Of course they did, what the fuck did you expect them to tell you?" I spat. "Delahunt shot me in the fuckin' stomach and they took the fuck off." I was nearly shouting now but I tried to keep quiet. I knew if I keep yelling at Frank, he'd kill me and wouldn't think twice about it.
"He did what?" He whispered.
"Delahunt fuckin' shot me. Was that your call, Frank?" I asked, trying to keep my anger contained as I listened to Frank scoff on the other end of the phone.
"Me? Get rid of you? You're my money maker, Kristina. You know that." He cooed me back to submission with his smooth talk. "Where are you now?" He asked.
"With two Irish fuckers in some shit hole studio." I explained, looking around. "I don't have any idea where though." He sighed loudly. "They seem like good people though, no reason to worry." I reassured Frank and I heard him snort another line.
"Ya been gone about a week." Frank said after a couple moments of silence. "I was gonna start planning your funeral." He added. I smirked and held the phone between my shoulder and cheek as I grabbed the ashtray next to the bed and placed it on my thigh, flicking my ash into it.
"Pretty pink flowers an' everything?" I teased, placing the cigarette between my lips again. "Frank, I gotta go. I'll leave tomorrow, call ya when I figure out where I am." I explained. I heard Frank chuckle on the other line.
"Keep the boys in the dark about this." I explained, "Especially Delahunt." I added before hanging up the phone.
"So, if ye don't mind me askin', Lass, what were ya doin' in an abandoned hospital?" Connor asked me as they walked through the door, under his arm were two foot long subs. Their aroma filled the small room quickly and soon enough, my stomach was growling and my mouth was watering in anticipation.
"Uh… I… Uh- I got pushed in." I lied, rubbing my hands together as he placed the sub in my lap. "Some guy pushed me in through the front doors, dragged me around the hospital going on and on about some random shit, then he mugged and shot me." I shrugged my shoulders and tore apart the paper that held the sub together.
"Really?" Murphy asked, looking at Connor suspiciously.
"Yes." I spat quickly, picking up a half of the sub and quickly biting into it.
"Mallory used to be such a nice street." Connor sighed, pushing himself up onto the pool table. "Did ye grow up 'round'er?" He asked, giving me a curious look. I nodded, swallowing a mouthful of food.
"Where ye stayin', love?" Murphy asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked my way. I cleared my throat, darting my eyes from Murphy to Connor. They both were looking at me with great curiosity.
"My Uncle Frank." I lied.
I had become a good lair over the years. I was able to come up with something without missing a beat. I had that face. That, 'trust-me-I'm-a-good-person' face. I was only twenty when Frank found me living on the streets of South Boston. He took me in, under his wing, showed me the ropes and he created a monster.
Which is why Delahunt tried to kill me.
"Uncle Frank must be worried." Murphy nodded at me.
"I called him earlier, no worries." I eyed the brothers curiously. They both looked familiar but I couldn't put my finger on where I had seen them before.
"S'he comin' ta pick ye up?" Connor asked after taking a big bite from his sub. I shook my head.
"No. I'll be leaving tomorrow." I explained, "If that's alright with you two." I asked, moving my eyes from Connor to Murphy once again. "Seein' as how I'm sleeping in one of your guy's bed." I explained. They both laughed.
"Lass, yer welcome ta stay'er as long as ye need." Connor explained. "Ye be sleepin' in me bed, by ta way." He stood up and put both his hands on his lower back and stretched dramatically. "Been hurtin' me back sleepin' on ta pool table."
I smirked. These two men were sure charming. They really had no problem making me smile, which was hard to do now a days. I could barely keep my thoughts straight since Frank had taken me off the corners and put me with Billy Costigan.
"Fuck." I yawned. "I need to be out of here early. I think I'm gonna go to bed." I stifled another yawn and scooted down in the bed, bringing the covers up under my chin as I watched the boys stand up and look at each other before looking at the door.
"Well, we're gonna be downstairs if ye need anything, Lass." Murphy said, placing a glass of water at the side of my bed. "Sleep well."
"My Uncle says that Frank Costello is roughing people up for money, selling drugs out of family owned businesses." A man who I didn't know explained. I was laying on my side, facing away from the men, still in bed. They had come up later that night, either forgetting I was there, or not caring. They must have thought I was asleep because they spoke in normal voices.
"Frank Costello, eh?" Connor asked. I kept my eyes closed but listened very, very closely. "Rocco used ta work fer him, didn't he Murph?"
"Name sounds familiar." Murphy agreed quietly. I dared not move. I tried to keep as still as possible so I could hear more of the conversation.
"Uncle Cesar says that the police can't get him arrested, can't keep him in jail. He's running big all over Boston." The unfamiliar man explained.
"Well we do what we do best then, don't we?" Murphy's voice filled the apartment again and I couldn't help but smile. "We kill him." The smile suddenly left my face and it took every ounce of self control I had to not jump up from this bed and kill all three of them.
Kill Frank. My Frank. Who the fuck did they think they were? Frank Fucking Costello. One of the biggest mod syndicates in Boston and they wanted to take him down?
Then it hit me. MacManus. Papa Joe Yakavetta. Concezio Yakavetta.
The Saints.
I had read about them and seen them on the news when I was growing up. I was eleven when the boys had first started their mission to rid Boston of it's worst drug dealers, mobsters, money launderers. You name it, the Saint's were coming after it.
Now they wanted to come after Frank? Fuck that. I wasn't going to let this happen.
Frank had worked with Papa Joe, he had told me about it. He told me about how these two Micks had murdered him in cold blood at his court hearing in front of his entire family.
I wasn't gonna let Frank die that way.
"Frank we gotta fuckin' problem." I growled as I pushed the door to his apartment open after unlocking it with my key. I slowly made my way into the interior of the apartment, seeing Frank and Gwen sitting on their sectional in the living room with French.
"You're alive?" Gwen and French both said in unison as I stepped forward, holding my hand over the bandage that covered my wound. I nodded and pushed forward towards Frank.
"Frank, we need to talk." I whispered, leaning in as I sat down across from him. "It's important." I added, looking at Gwen. She gave me a look of distaste and stood up. She grabbed her jacket that was slung over the back of a chair leading towards the hallway towards the door.
"I'll be back later, Frank." She called out. The door slammed behind her and French took a seat beside me.
"Frank." I shook my head and ran my fingers through my hair.
"You smell like a stale ash tray." Frank wrinkled his nose and leaned back, shaking his head at me. I rolled my eyes and narrowed my eyes on him.
"Frank, I'm fuckin' serious." I pointed a finger at him. "Those two Mick's who found me in that hospital, they're the fuckin' Saint's." I whispered. Franks eyes grew wide and he pursed his lips together tightly.
"Ya killed'em, right?" He asked quietly, his eyes locked on mine. I shook my head and let out a loud, exasperated sigh.
"With what, Frank? I didn't have a gun." My body ached and I wondered how he could ask me this question. One of Frank's most 'loyal' men had shot me, left me for dead in an abandoned hospital and he expected me to kill them? I could barely move when I had first woken up and getting out of the bar was a task it's self.
"We gotta kill'em." French said after a couple minutes of silence between Frank and myself. I looked over at him and nodded.
"We got bigger fuckin' problems." Frank spat, grabbing the mirror that sat on the table between us. He cut himself a line and snorted it quickly, rubbing his nostrils with his thumb, sniffling quietly for a moment before looking back at me. "We got a rat in my crew." He explained, leaning forward. He rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together.
"What?" I had been hit with a ton of bricks. Not only were there two Irish motherfuckers trying to kill Frank, but now, someone was trying to corrupt our gang from the inside. I wasn't okay with this. I had looked at Frank like a father. Someone who would protect me if I needed him too, but wasn't overbearing in the least.
"Frank." French said softly, giving me a sideways glance. I raised an eyebrow and looked from French to Frank and then back to French.
"What? You think I'm the rat?" I snorted, standing up, wincing as the gunshot wounds twisted with my movements. Frank shook his head and motioned for me to sit but I was to on edge. Everything that I had learned in the past twelve hours was making me go crazy.
"I don't think you're the rat, Kristina. I'm just telling you that there is one." He explained, eyeing me as I walked over to the large bay window that looked over the river.
"Frank what are we gonna do about these fuckin' Irishmen?" I asked, feeling the lump in my throat growing. I held the tears back though, I knew not to cry in front of Frank. He didn't like crying.
I heard Frank sigh as I looked out over Boston. I chewed on my thumb nervously and then felt Frank's hand on my lower back.
"We're gonna send them a little distraction. Keep them… preoccupied." He explained quietly into my ear. I looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.
"Distraction? Like what, Frank?" He smirked down at me and leaned in close, so close I could feel his breath on my skin. I shivered and closed my eyes.
"You."
"Me?" I hissed, backing away from him. "Frank, why me?" I couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.
"'Cause you're the only one here who's got a fucking pussy to keep these two Micks fucking busy while I try and find out who is going to get me sent to fucking prison!" He screamed, throwing his hands up in the air. I backed away from him more and shuttered at his booming voice.
"Frank, calm down-" I started but he cut me off.
"Don't tell me to calm the fuck down!" He screamed again, pointing his finger at me. "Get yourself cleaned the fuck up, get some God damned rest and then get back to those boys and make them forget about Frank Fucking Costello, do you hear me!?" He shouted. "Or would you rather be working the fucking corners again!? Would you!?" I shook my head and pulled my chin into my chest, clenching my fists at my sides angrily as I stormed into the bathroom that connected to my bedroom.
"God-damned-good-for-nothing-son-of-a-bitch." I mumbled to myself as I unbuttoned my jeans. I pushed them down my thighs and then grabbed the hem of the black t-shirt I was wearing. It was at least two sizes too big and I figured it must have been one of the brothers.
Perfect. My reason for seeing them again.
I tossed it aside and looked at myself in the mirror. The bandage covered the bullet hole that sat right below my ribcage. I turned around and saw the other bandage that was more near my side rather than on my back.
Fucking Delahunt.