Chapter 2
The walk back to the restaurant was quiet.
Sarah held her son's hand tight. The boy—his name was Leo, we learned—stuck close to me, his small hand wrapped around two of my fingers.
He was so small. So fragile.
And yet he had run into a restaurant full of tattooed strangers and begged for help.
He was braver than most men twice his age.
When we walked through the door of the restaurant, the regulars turned to look.
They saw Sarah's bruised face. They saw Leo's torn clothes. They saw the look on our faces.
No one said a word.
But everyone knew something serious had happened.
Tony spoke to the manager, told him to close up early. The regulars finished their drinks and left, quietly, respectfully.
Soon it was just the seven of us.
Five brothers.
Sarah.
Leo.
I showed them to the rooms above the restaurant. They were small, but clean. We'd fixed them up a few years ago, never really knowing why.
Now we knew.
Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, holding Leo in her lap. He'd fallen asleep, exhausted from the day's trauma.
"Thank you," she said again. Her voice was barely a whisper. "I don't know how to repay you."
"You don't have to repay us," Tony said. He stood in the doorway, his big frame filling it. "We want to help."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"Sarah... we need to talk about Marco."
Sarah flinched at the name.
"What about him?"
"You said he left three months ago," Tony said. "Do you have any idea where he went?"
Sarah shook her head. "No. He just... left one night. Took some clothes, some money, and was gone. Left a note saying he was sorry, that he had to take care of some things, that he'd be back when it was safe."
She looked down at Leo.
"I haven't heard from him since."
"Do you know what he did?" I asked. "Before he left? Why those men came after you?"
Sarah's eyes filled with tears.
"He got involved with bad people," she said. "Gambling. Loansharks. He owed them a lot of money. I kept telling him to stop, to get help, but he wouldn't listen. He said he was going to win big, that he'd pay everything back and we'd be happy again."
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"I should have left him a long time ago. But I was scared. And I wanted Leo to have a father. Even a bad one, I thought, was better than none."
Her words hung in the air.
I thought about our father. A good man. A hard worker. Who had been taken from us because of Marco Rinaldi.
And here was Marco's son. Growing up without a father because Marco was a coward who ran away.
Somehow, that felt like another injustice.
"Sarah," I said gently. "There's something you need to know about Marco. About us."
She looked at me, her eyes wide with fear.
"What is it?"
I took a deep breath.
"Ten years ago, Marco Rinaldi walked into our father's auto shop. He shot him in cold blood over a debt. Then he disappeared."
Sarah's hand flew to her mouth.
"Oh my God," she whispered.
"We've been looking for him ever since," Tony said. "We swore we'd find him. That we'd make him pay for what he did."
Sarah looked from one of us to the other, the truth dawning on her.
"You're the Donnelly brothers," she said.
We nodded.
Everyone in this city knew our story. Everyone knew what had happened to our father.
Sarah looked down at Leo, then back at us.
"And now you know," she said. "That I'm married to the man who killed your father. That my son... is his son."
She started shaking.
"You can hate me," she said. "I understand if you do. But please... don't hurt Leo. He's innocent. He doesn't know anything about any of this. He's just a little boy."
Her voice broke.
"Please," she whispered.
I knelt down in front of her.
"Sarah," I said, my voice as gentle as I could make it. "We're not going to hurt you. And we're definitely not going to hurt Leo. You heard what we said in the restaurant. We protect people who can't protect themselves. That includes you and your son."
I looked at Leo, sleeping peacefully in his mother's arms.
"Marco is the one who has to answer for what he did," I said. "Not you. Not this boy."
Sarah stared at me, tears streaming down her face.
"Why?" she asked. "Why would you help us? After everything he did to your family?"
I thought about it.
I thought about our father. The man who had taught us to stand up for what was right. Who had taught us that strength was for protecting, not hurting. Who had taught us that every person deserved to be judged on their own merits, not on the sins of their father.
May you like
"Because our father would want us to," I said.
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