Closer to the Edge

“A bomb expert?” Ash asked.

Rowan nodded and couldn’t help but laugh slightly. “It’s, uh. It sounds extreme. But it’s going to be the best way. The explosion can be contained so we take out as few bystanders as possible, it can be attributed to faulty wiring if constructed carefully and specifically enough, it’s not completely obvious, it’s…”

“It’s the optimal solution,” Paul said. “And a fabulous one. I wish I had thought of it.”

“Rowan’s idea, in essence,” Nicolo said.

“But, wait, isn’t the ball in a few days? On Friday?” Martin asked.

“Shit, yeah,” Paul said, running his hands over his hair. “How are we gonna put this together in three days?”

“Tyrice will be in tomorrow to go over everything. In the meantime, you and Ash will need to find something to wear,” he told his daughter.

Rowan groaned, rolling her eyes. “No, dad, please not another dress,” she said.

Nicolo shrugged. “You’re going to have to blend in.”

“Wait, we have to go?” Martin asked, confused.

Paul nodded. “Of course we have to,” he said quietly. “Make sure no one else gets hurt; make sure everyone else gets out alive.”

“Makes sense,” Martin muttered.

Rowan groaned. “What’s the dress code, Paul?”

Paul shrugged. “Black tie.”

Rowan muttered a curse under her breath.

“Don’t spend too much,” Nicolo told her.

“I never do,” she said before walking towards the door.

“Don’t forget a mask,” Paul added.

Rowan paused and turned around. “What?”

“A mask,” he repeated. “It’s a masquerade ball.”

Rowan sighed. “Of course it is.”

+

It was well after midnight when Paul decided that he wasn’t able to fall asleep. After an hour of tossing and turning in an unfamiliar bed, he stood up and stretched. Nicolo had moved his belongings (which consisted of his gun, knife, and hoodie—after it had been washed) to a separate bedroom. It wasn’t really a surprise but Paul wasn’t comfortable.

He meandered out into the hallway, looking both ways. Two guards were standing by the stairs and barely glanced his way. Paul couldn’t help but feel a little bit more at ease; he wasn’t used to being able to walk around a house at ease, without looking over his shoulder, and without wondering who was telling his father what.

It was refreshing.

Sending a quick glance back at the guards, he walked further down the hallway until he got to Rowan’s room. Biting his lip, he opened the door and slipped in, shutting the door quietly behind him. He tip toed over to the bed, as quietly as he could. But it wasn’t quite enough, and he froze in place when he heard the all-too-familiar sound of a gun cocking.

“One more step and I shoot,” Rowan said, her voice unwavering.

“Shit, Rowan, it’s just me,” Paul said, his hands held up in surrender.

Rowan reached over and turned on the light, her eyes narrowing. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Paul smiled; her hair was sticking up every which way, she had trace amounts of eyeliner under her eye, and there was a red line down the side of her face from where she had been pressed against her pillow. Yet all Paul could think of was how beautiful she looked.

Rowan rolled her eyes. “Are you going to answer me?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Paul said.

“You are such a chick,” she muttered, setting the .22 caliber back on her bedside table.

“Then that makes you a lesbian,” Paul told her, climbing into her bed and wrapping his arms around her waist.

Rowan wanted to protest, she did, but she couldn’t deny that everything felt a little bit better when he was around.

+

“My dad will kill you if he finds you in here,” Rowan said, her voice quiet.

“We’ll be fine,” Paul told her, running his fingers through her hair.

“I suppose,” she muttered, her fingers slipping under his shirt to slide over his ribs. “How are you feeling?”

He would have shrugged if he hadn’t been so comfortable. “The ribs are still store, but—“

Rowan sat up quickly. “Am I hurting you?” she asked her eyes wide.

Paul smiled, moving his hand so his thumb could run over her cheek. “No. You’re not hurting me.”

“Okay,” she said, returning back to where she had been laying with her head against his chest.

“We should run away.”

“Hmm?” Rowan asked, surprised and intrigued but not enough to actually move, not when she had gotten comfortable again.

“After all of this is done, we should run away,” Paul repeated, fingers still brushing over her hair.

Rowan shifted slightly so she could meet his eyes. “Run away?”

“This isn’t the life for us,” he mused.

“Us?”

“Don’t act like there isn’t an us,” Paul said, shoving her shoulder playfully.

Rowan smiled. “Running away sounds perfect.”

+

“Uncle Ty!” Rowan exclaimed, releasing Paul’s hand to cross the room and wrap her arms around her uncle.

Though, okay, he wasn’t exactly her uncle.

“Hey, sweets,” Tyrice replied, pressing a kiss to the side of her face. “How have you been?”

“Been good. Been interesting,” she told him. “Um, Uncle Ty, this is Paul DiGio—“

“DiGiovanni,” Ty said, his voice hardening, and he took a step forward.

Paul instinctively took a step back as the six-foot-five man approached him. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“No, no one mentioned I was going to be helping a DiGiovanni,” Ty said, shaking his head.

“You’re not helping a DiGiovanni,” Rowan said. “You’re—“

“Well, technically, you’re helping one DiGiovanni while simultaneously taking out as many other DiGiovanni’s as you can,” Paul corrected. “It’s semantics, really.”

Ty paused, looking back and forth between Rowan (who was scratching the back of her head due to shear nerves) and Paul (who was shifting his weight between each foot, one arm resting against his ribs). “Where’s your father?”

“The office,” Rowan told him.

“I’ll be back,” Ty muttered before walking out of the room.

“Yeah, he won’t be back,” Rowan said, muttering a curse under her breath.

“Did I fuck up?”

Rowan sighed. “No. My father did. He didn’t tell him everything that was going on and now he’s mad. He hates your father as much as my family does.”

Paul nodded slowly. “Yeah, that seems to be a very popular feeling as of late. Who doesn’t hate the DiGiovannis?” he muttered.

“It’s really just your father; the rest of your family is fine. I’m sure no one hates you or your mother,” she said with a shrug.

“No one had a chance to hate my mother; she died ten years ago,” Paul said softly.

Rowan bit her lip. “I’m. I’m so—“

“Sorry?”

She nodded. “I didn’t—“

“Know? Yeah, most people don’t,” Paul said with a careless shrug. “People think my dad had something to do with it, but he didn’t. It was just…good, old fashioned cancer.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, slipping her arm around Paul’s waist and enveloping him in a hug.

He half-heartedly returned it; he had learned years before his lesson about showing his emotions. Of course, those lessons had flown out of the window the minute he met Rowan. But when it concerned his mother, he was more careful. It was a sensitive subject; his father might have been a careless bastard, but he would never have hurt his mother. And he never did. At least, not that Paul remembered. And he had a good memory.

“I’m so sorry,” Rowan said quietly. “I spoke without thinking.”

“You had no way of knowing.”

“I should’ve suspected. Everyone says hateful things about your father but they never mentioned your mother.”

“She’s a Saint, that’s probably why,” Paul said, a small smile on his face. “You know? For putting up with my father for years.”

“Maybe she saw something good in him. I mean, maybe there’s something good in everybody,” Rowan muttered.

“Maybe. No one’s just found his good qualities yet.”

+

“Nicolo, you never told me the DiGiovannis were involved,” Ty said, not even announcing himself as he stormed into his best friend’s office.

Nicolo looked up from the blue prints Paul had drawn up for him the night before. “Would you have refused to help?”

“I refuse to help a DiGiovanni. They killed my family,” Ty said, his tone harsh.

“That boy’s father killed your family. And that boy wants to take his father out,” Nicolo told him. “Think of it as helping me.”

Ty sighed.

“Helping Rowan, then. We all know that Uncle Ty would help her regarding anything.”

With another sigh, Ty nodded. “I can’t say no to that girl. That’s why I’m the uncle and not the father,” he said with a smile.

Nicolo smiled. “You wouldn’t have refused either way. You always come through.”

Ty shrugged. “Yeah, yeah, keep singing my praises,” he joked.

“You’re the best, Ty. That’s why we need you,” Nicolo told him, his voice serious.

“What do you need?”

Nicolo waved him over and showed him the blue print. “We want to take him out at his annual masquerade ball.”

“With so many witnesses?”

“As few witnesses as possible.”

Ty looked over at him. “A contained environment to take out as many people as possible?”

“Yes.”

“My specialty,” he muttered. “What are the plans for after? Who’s doing clean up?”

“We’ll leave that to Boston P.D. I plan to have my family, Paul, and his two friends on a plane halfway across the country by the time it detonates,” Nicolo said.

Ty frowned. “You’re leaving?”

Nicolo nodded. “I haven’t told the others.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve seen more damage done to people this week than I have in years. It’s no longer about just me, about just my business, about my wants and needs. It’s about Rowan. And no matter how many times she tells me she can handle this, she shouldn’t have to. She deserves a chance at a hint of normalcy. And, unfortunately, that includes Paul,” Nicolo told him.

“They’re involved?”

Nicolo shrugged a shoulder. “I wish I could say it bothered me as much as I know it bothers you. They act like I don’t know, but I was a teenage boy once,” he said with a soft smile.

Ty grinned. “Once?”

“And I wish I could say that I hate the kid. But he’s… He’s not his father. It was hard to give him a chance, but I’m glad that I did. He’s good,” Nicolo told him.

“He’s good in your book? And his friends?”

“Yes,” Nicolo said. “I swear by it.”

Ty nodded slowly. “Then let’s make us a bomb, yeah?”