The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,45
his sister-in-law, Danny said his goodbyes and left. He’d only made it a few steps past the gates outside Old St. Patrick’s, though, when someone grabbed his elbow. He whirled, his mind full of gangsters and their threats.
But it was Rowan.
And he was furious.
He gripped Danny’s arm firmly—almost painfully—and looked right in his eyes. “Someone saw you slipping money to Eliza.”
Danny swallowed. There was no point in denying it. “Aye. Now you can—”
“I don’t need your charity,” Rowan snapped. “Especially not your ill-gotten charity.”
Danny glared up at him, jaw tight.
His brother released his arm but didn’t look away. “I swore to Mum and Dad I wouldn’t let nothing happen to you. Anything does after they’ve already lost Hugh and Robert, it’ll kill them both. You know that.”
“Of course I do.” Danny held his brother’s gaze just as intently. “And what kind of brother would I be if I let my nieces and nephew starve when I—”
“My children will not starve,” Rowan growled. “And neither will Hugh’s.”
“Aye? And what about you and Eliza? Is there even enough left to feed the both of you after you’ve made sure—”
“I don’t need your help looking after me and mine.” He grabbed Danny’s wrist, shoved the money into his hand, and closed his fingers roughly around it before letting him go. “I don’t need your charity or your dirty money. What I do need is for you to promise me that you aren’t being a fool who’s gonna get himself killed.” Through his teeth, he added, “Don’t make me tell Mum she’s lost a son like I’ve already had to twice. Don’t you dare, Daniel.”
“Don’t make me tell her your pride let your children starve and—”
Rowan backhanded him hard enough to make Danny’s head swim. “I don’t need your filthy money to keep my children fed.”
Danny stared at him, his eyes stinging as much as his face, but to his surprise, there was a hint of tears in his brother’s eyes too.
“We didn’t come to America for this, Daniel,” Rowan whispered shakily. “We came here for a better life.”
“And this is what we found, ain’t it?” Danny waved a hand toward the streets stacked with tenements as dark and cold as his and Rowan’s. “This city doesn’t give a damn if we live or if we die. No one does but us.” He rubbed his jaw gingerly. “This ain’t the Promised Land. This is hell. And I intend to survive it any way I have to.”
With that, he turned and stormed down the street. Rowan shouted at his back, but Danny ignored him. He glanced down at the money in his hand, and he realized it wasn’t all he’d given to Eliza. Good. She must have handed it over to Rowan when he’d demanded it, but she’d wisely kept a couple of dollars out of his sight, because while she was a proud woman, she was no fool. As long as she held on to a little of what Danny had tried to give her, then maybe there was a chance it would feed the family and heat their tiny apartment.
Shoving his hands and the two dollars into his pockets, Danny ground his teeth so hard they hurt. He knew his brother had his pride, and no man wanted to take charity or admit he couldn’t look after his family. But couldn’t Rowan see the truth that was all around them? This was hell. There was no one on this godforsaken island who gave a damn about any of them except themselves and each other, and every man had to do whatever it took to look after his own.
Guilt made his eyes water as much as Rowan’s slap had. He wasn’t proud of being a criminal. He dreaded facing the Lord one day with his list of sins. But what else could he do?
Maybe ask the Lord why He lets children starve on the same streets where the rich drive their fancy cars.
Cringing inwardly, Danny quickly crossed himself and murmured a heavenward apology for the blasphemous thought.
If Rowan ever found out where Danny’s money was really coming from—that it wasn’t just from petty theft and pickpocketing anymore—he’d be telling Mum and Dad that Daniel’s dead because I killed him myself. He’d loathed the Sicilian gangsters as much as anyone in their neighborhood, but after they’d killed Robert, he’d wanted them all dead. Danny wondered sometimes if it was only Eliza’s calmer temperament that had kept Rowan from joining the White Hands along with Hugh.