“I think you’ll find that it was a bomb, meant for me and my family,” Daniel said grimly. “Someone threw a brick to smash the window then hurled the bomb inside.”
“Someone with a grudge against you?” The young man’s face looked shocked.
“Someone trying to teach us all a lesson, I suspect.”
The rain had picked up now, helping to put out the fire but drenching us as we stood there. Liam was crying again. Daniel turned his attention back to us. “We must get you out of this rain.”
“Where can we go?” I said. “We’ve nothing, Daniel. No clothes, nothing.”
“It will be all right, I promise,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ll take you to the Hotel Lafayette for the night. That’s not far, is it?”
I almost laughed at the absurdity of this. The Hotel Lafayette was where my good friend Ryan O’Hare, the flamboyant and roguish Irish playwright lived. I associated it with good conversation, wicked jokes, wild laughter. I allowed myself to be led away, looking wistfully across the street at Sid and Gus’s house. If only they’d been home I’d have been taken in to warmth and security. They’d be wrapping us in blankets, giving us hot drinks, telling us that everything was going to be fine—when of course it wasn’t. How could it be fine when Aggie was dead and we had lost everything, including our home?
We were soon installed in a room at the Lafayette, and Daniel ordered a tray with sandwiches and hot rum toddy to be sent up to our room. Liam was still sobbing softly, his little body trembling against me. I did what any other mother would have done, undid my shirt and put him to the breast. He suckled greedily as if desperately trying to calm himself.
“It’s a good thing I’m still breastfeeding Liam,” I said, “or I don’t know what I’d do.”
Daniel stood looking down at us, an expression of unbelievable tenderness on his face. “When I think how close I came to losing you,” he said. “But you’ll be safe enough here for the night. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
“You’re leaving us?”
“I have to report to headquarters,” Daniel said. “This is what we feared might happen. I told you we had brought the Italian gang boss into custody. I’m afraid we suspected they might try to teach us a lesson, but I never dreamed they would take it out on our families.”
“Then it really was a bomb and it was the Cosa Nostra?”
“I’m afraid so,” he said. “I told you that they were particularly ruthless and violent and would stop at nothing.”
“What are we going to do? Won’t they try again?” I was shivering now, my wet clothes sticking to me, my hair plastered to my forehead. The back of my head was beginning to throb too, where I had struck the wall.
“We’ll have to decide what to do in the morning,” Daniel said, “but I’m afraid I really must go now. I’ve warned the night staff not to give out any information about us to anyone so we should be quite safe. Maybe they’ll be satisfied now that they’ve blown up our house and they won’t try again.” He bent to kiss me then rubbed Liam’s curls. “Get some food inside you then try to sleep.”
“As if I can sleep knowing that you’re out there and there are people who want you dead.”
“I can take care of myself,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
Then he was gone. I perched on the edge of the bed, hugging Liam so tightly to me that he squirmed in my arms and broke away from my breast. How could I sleep not knowing if those men were waiting for my husband at this moment, or were looking for my baby and me? How could I ever sleep again? A few minutes later there was a tap at the door. I froze. I knew that someone would be delivering sandwiches and drinks but what if it was a member of the Cosa Nostra, who had found out where we were staying and wanted to deliver the fatal blow while Daniel was away? Hastily I put Liam down on the bed, buttoned my blouse then looked around the room for a possible weapon to defend us. It was Spartan and lacking in ornaments. There was a large jug on the washstand in the corner that looked sturdy enough. Hardly the ideal weapon but better than nothing. Slowly I inched the door open, the jug in my hand and ready. “Yes?” I said.
“Molly, my darling, aren’t you going to let me in?” said a peeved voice that I recognized, and there stood Ryan O’Hare, dressed in a frilly white shirt and a black velvet jacket that was topped with a crimson opera cape. “Holy Mother of God,” he said, reverting to Irishness as he did when upset. “Just look at you.”
“Ryan.” I felt tears welling into my eyes again. “I’m so glad to see you. Do come in. Excuse the way I look. Our house…”
“I know. I just met your husband on his way out. What a shock. I hardly recognized him. I took him for a chimney sweep. I gather someone lobbed a bomb in your direction and the house went up in flames. Thank God you’re all alive.”