"Asshole!"
Mandy opened the door as hard as possible. The knob hit the wall behind the door with a loud thud. She took in the scene, scores of emotions running through her; elation, anger, disbelief, smugness. There was Mickey Milkovich, the most feared thug on the South side of Chicago, on his knees, his face in Ian Gallagher's lap. He turned around, saw Mandy and sprung to his feet.
"Jesus!" he cried. "You ever hear of knocking?"
"$23.65," Mandy said simply.
"What?"
"That's how much I spent on your kid's diapers. I'm on my way to pick him up some bottles, Svetlana needs a breast pump, and I'm about to pillage Goodwill to see if they have any onesies for newborns."
"Well, good luck. Now get the fuck out."
Mandy looked to Ian for an assistance. Besides zipping up his pants, he hadn't made moved since she walked in. His eyes were trained on the ceiling. Mandy turned back to her brother. His eyes were empty, unmoved like she had never seen him before.
"It's probably not even mine," Mickey said softly. Mandy wondered if the words sounded as hollow to him as they did to her.
"He," she stressed. "You have a son, Mickey. You have a week old son who has a whore for a mother, a waitress for an aunt, a rapist for a grandad, and a little bitch for a father. He's gonna need all the help he can get."
Mandy turned on her heels and walked out. She would be damned before she let another Milkovich be raised into a fuck-up. There were enough of those to go around.