The Tattoo Artist (La Petite Mort #1)

49. Chapter 49

forty-nine

Alexander

F uck!

Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.

This shit cannot be happening. I pulled my phone out and opened it, reading Sebastian's message.

Sebastian: Athena is safe. I took her to the safe house we have up North.

I locked it and shoved it back into my trousers. Quinn showed up, and I was not sure what she heard or saw. But first, I had to deal with Irish.

Fuck my life!

Forty-five Minutes Earlier

I had gone to the house to check on Athena since the doctor said she was no longer showing withdrawal symptoms. She had been clean ever since we rescued her over a year ago, but she recently relapsed a few weeks ago when she saw her parents. Parking my bike out front, I headed inside to check on her before my brothers arrived for our meeting.As I took two steps at a time, the guilt I felt inside was consuming me. I had no other choice but to lie to Quinn. She wasn't ready to hear the truth. She needed to remember on her own time, but what if she never remembered? What then, Alexander?

I knocked, waiting for her to open her door and allow me inside. A few seconds later, the door opened, revealing Athena. Her cheeks seemed to be stained, and I knew she was crying. I wrapped my tattooed arms around her, trying to console the woman in front of me.

"Shhh, it's okay," I whispered, my hand rubbing circles on her back.

"How's Quinn?" She asked, as she always did every time I checked on her. Athena pulled away so that her gaze met mine. I smiled before answering. "She's good. She's remembering little by little," I added. She wiped her remaining tears, and then she smiled—the brightest smile. I hated seeing her like this.

"Tell me about Greece," she demanded, going back to sit at the edge of the bed. I told her about Greece, at least the rated G version, and told her we needed a little more time. I understood where she was coming from. I needed Quinn to know the truth, but I didn't want to lose her when I just got her back.

Not too long after I finished telling her about Greece, Athena started to plead her case again. "Alexander, Alex, please….she needs to know," she begged.

"Athena, please, I can't tell her," I answered, pinching the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes for a second before opening them again. "You have to be patient. She just started to remember, and I don't want her to hate me. I can't lose her," I confessed. She got off the bed and walked towards me, wrapping her arms around me.

Present

Two guards stood outside the room I used to lock Quinn inside. I wasn't sure what I would tell her, but I needed to get rid of Irish. The man was the head of the Irish mafia. Rumor had it that he lost the woman he loved almost twenty years ago and refused to love another woman, so he has no heirs. I chuckled, thinking about the shit show that's going to happen when he dies.

My brother Aristotle was already waiting for me when I entered my office. Irish was sitting facing the door, eating a goddamn apple. I raised a brow in question. The motherfucker just chuckled and shrugged. What can you expect when Ireland's national fruit is Cox's Orange Pippin? Bastard even brought me a case that was placed on top of my desk.

Was this a fucking peace offering?

"I want to put an end to the skin trade," he demanded.

"You want in?" I asked, leaning forward a little more so I was inches away from his face.

"What? Do you think I'm running a fucking book club here? That you can just come in and demand to join," I snarled.

He stopped chewing and smirked, getting fucking smart with us.

"Well, I didn't know you were running a book club, but maybe we can read some fantasy shit next week." Bastard thought he was funny. I got ready to lunge at him and wipe the stupid fucking smirk off his face.

"Enough," my brother Aristotle warned.

I leaned back into my chair, getting comfortable, and he returned to eating his apple.

"Explain," Aristotle demanded.

"Almost twenty years ago, I went to a Catholic all-male school. My mother wanted me to have a soul even with all the darkness I carried. I was heir to the Irish mafia. I was destined to marry someone of my father's choosing—" He paused, his voice cracked.

"I'm sure you've heard how ruthless and dangerous I can be. The reason I went into a full-on killing spree almost twenty years ago was because the woman I loved was ripped away from me. Last I heard, she was trafficked, and I'm not sure if she's alive. So, I vowed to end human trafficking. I'm not God, but I've done well with my men in getting rid of 1500 of the human trafficking rings we have here— in Europe. So, I want to help you and the Russians in ending skin trade in Greece, Russia, and in the States."

"Plus, I want in on the conglomerate," he smirked and took a bite of his fucking apple.

We talked for another twenty minutes when suddenly my brother Sebastian arrived, sitting beside Irish.

"Apple," he offered, handing him an apple. I rolled my eyes at the antics of this man. Plus, I was itching to get back to Quinn. Irish took another apple from the case and offered Aristotle one before he offered me one. I shook my head. "No." The only fruit I craved and wanted to taste was cranberries. Even though I did feel sorry for the man, I wasn't sure it was a good idea to include him. He could join the conglomerate for all I care. The more mafia families that joined, the better. That meant we had more allies. Although, I wouldn't trust all of them.

We took a vote, and both my brothers Sebastian and Aristotle said yes, and I said "No."

"Alexander, since you aren't Don, I don't care what you have to say. I'm helping whether you like it or not," he threatened.

I laughed humorlessly.

Who did this motherfucker think he was threatening me in my home? I stood pushing my chair back, ready to get that fucking apple and shove it down his fucking throat, when suddenly a dagger flew straight through the apple Irish had in his mouth. His eyes widened, and his guards were pointing a gun at the person responsible.I turned around, and my eyes met with Quinn's.

Her blue eyes burned with fury.

"Threaten him again, and the next apple I pierce will be your fucking Adam's apple," Quinn warned. My brother's guns were out and pointed at his guards while I grabbed the hilt and pulled the dagger out—the apple fell to the ground with a thump . Irish eyes followed my brothers' weapons, and he yelled at his guards to put the fucking guns down.

"Guns down. You shoot that fucking weapon, and I will personally kill you," he warned his men, but his gaze never left Quinn. Without warning, Irish dropped to his knees and whispered, "Athena," his eyes full of unshed tears.

"Sebastian," I yelled for my brother, indicating to him to block his view while I got Quinn out of the office. I wasn't sure what caused the Don of the Irish Mafia to get on his knees and cry, but I didn't like the fact that he called Quinn—Athena.