Aidan being the heir, I figured he had a hand in every pot.
Each brother, in turn, had around forty men under him. At the bottom, they had the ‘joeys,’ as Aidan called them. Above them were the runners, and then, there were the captains. Just like in any job, each position came with certain perks.
Mary-Ellen’s husband was a captain, and she was, as my mother would have said, straight off the boat from the Old Country. She was already pregnant and was expecting twins. Every time I looked at her, she seemed to get bigger. Her cheeks were bright red like apples freshly picked from the tree, and there was a constant twinkle in her eye that invited anyone to smile.
In comparison to my best friend, she was staid, but I liked her. Jenny swore like a trooper and would fuck anything that wasn’t pinned down. But Mary-Ellen was surprisingly restful, and with my current health, I realized I needed that. I liked her, and we were becoming good friends with how much time we spent together in this gilded cage.
“Aoife?” She reached over and gently patted my hand. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I miss Finn,” I told her quietly, not wanting Lena to hear.
The older woman grew defensive whenever I said anything like that, would splutter about the men being at war. I figured she missed Aidan just as much as I missed my husband, but rather than moan about it, she got on with shit.
It was easier said than done, though, when you were tied to a seat all the time.
Okay, not literally tied, but I couldn’t exactly bustle around the kitchen like Lena was.
“I know you do.” Mary-Ellen’s smile was sad. “At least he comes and visits though.”
Not every night like he had at the start, but he tried. I’d grant him that. “You still haven’t seen Stephen?” I tried not to gape at that, absolutely staggered by the idea that the men felt okay with dumping their wives and kids here without visiting for weeks on end.
It was disgustingly medieval, I thought, my disapproval ranking up a notch at the way things were ran.
Aidan wanted to think the Five Points were based on good Catholic values? I called BS. Marriage and family were the basic tenet of any religion, and at the moment, the Five Points were in danger of forgetting that.
I wasn’t and never would be overly religious, but as Finn’s wife, there were certain things I had to do, which I’d never have done in my past life. Things like going to church on Sunday and confession as well.
The only good thing about lockdown was that both of those requirements were put on hiatus.
“Stephen calls every night,” Mary-Ellen told me cheerfully as she chopped up potatoes into small chunks.
Refraining from snarkily stating that he damn well should, I slumped into the kitchen seat. My wound was itching—a good sign, Lena said. When it itched, it meant it was healing, apparently. I thought it meant it was infected, but when she or Mary-Ellen cleaned the wound, there were no signs of infection so that was something.
“Do you have phone sex?” I whispered, one eye on Lena who was making clanking noises while she stirred the ingredients she’d prepared for tonight’s dinner.
There were five other women who helped with the meals, and they’d already done their chores. Mary-Ellen and I were the slow pokes.
Her cheeks heated. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
I sometimes wondered if Stephen had kidnapped Mary-Ellen from a convent. I mean, I thought I’d been bad. A twenty-five-year-old virgin? I’d fooled around though. I knew what phone sex was and was game.
Asking if she thought Stephen was getting his rocks off elsewhere would have been cruel, and I hated the idea of it enough to murmur, “Just tell him what you’re feeling.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Do you with Finn?”
“I wish.” I heaved a sigh. “He’s scared I’ll hurt myself.” Then I shot her a grin. “Death by masturbation. What would Father Doyle say?”
Her eyes flared wide and I knew she feared for her immortal soul. “We shouldn’t.”
I shrugged. “Why shouldn’t we?”
“It’s wrong, isn’t it?” She worriedly eyed Lena and then the potatoes.
“The joy of the marriage bed,” I crowed. “Nothing is wrong if you both want it.”
“What do you even talk about?”
“What you wish he was doing to you?” I made it a question because I’d never done it before myself, and I was making the suggestion for her.