Chapter 4
CONDITIONS OF A CROWN
Brendan
“Mr. Black experienced a major cardiac event this morning.”
The man who introduced himself as Dr. Jenkins stood at the end of Dad’s hospital bed, peering around the room full of Blacks with the same expression I imagined Daniel had worn when he marched into a den full of lions.
I didn’t think it had anything to do with his actual job of saving lives.
“You say that like he had a nice little acid trip, not a fucking heart attack,” Ronan said from his new perch on the windowsill like he was a fraternity brother and not an executive vice president of global distribution.
“Two arteries were substantially blocked,” Dr. Jenkins clarified as if he hadn’t just been insulted.
“We had no choice but to rush him into surgery immediately, where I conducted a double bypass surgery and repaired the damage in his aorta. There was, however, significant trauma to the surrounding tissue, and while it’s likely he will need future surgery, there’s nothing more we can do right now. ”
“What does that mean?” Violeta asked. “‘Nothing more we can do’?”
“Mom, calm down.” Shea set a hand on her mother’s shoulder like she was soothing a small child.
“It means we wait,” said the doctor. “That’s it.”
“And are you the best doctor in this hospital?” Owen demanded.
I shook my head. “Jesus, Owen.”
“Like you wouldn’t have asked.” He crossed his arms in that way of his that was more threatening than needed and stared the doctor down. “Well. Are you?”
“Maybe we need a second opinion.” Shea’s statement was almost a question as she looked to me, then back to the doctor. “Why hasn’t Daddy woken up? Shouldn’t he be up and talking by now?”
Dr. Jenkins took a deep breath, drawing up as tall as he could make himself. It wasn’t much. He couldn’t have been taller than five-foot-six. Even Shea had him by a good two inches in bare feet.
I almost felt sorry for the guy. Until I remembered that he chose this career, and he was the one who had cut into my father’s chest without telling a goddamn person in this room.
Yeah, he could receive the third degree and then some.
“I’m the preeminent cardiac surgeon on the East Coast,” he replied, with more than a little bristle.
“I’ve personally performed this exact surgery more than three hundred times, and similar procedures countless times more.
Bypass surgeries across the U.S. have a more than ninety-eight percent success rate, so I see no reason for Mr. Black not to make a full recovery.
That said, recuperating from open-heart surgery is never easy, and your father will have to make extensive lifestyle changes to prevent this from happening again. ”
“Lifestyle changes?” Ronan repeated. “What, like attend a Pride parade and get a nose ring?”
“Ronan, shut up,” I ordered.
To my surprise, he did. For a few minutes anyway.
“You do know who he is, right?” Owen growled from his perch at the window.
“Here we go,” Liam muttered.
Dr. Jenkins looked a bit peeved with all of us. “I’m aware of Mr. Black’s identity. Your father has received the best treatment available, and I will continue to watch over him while he is in our care.”
Owen looked unconvinced but stayed silent.
Despite my display at the nurses’ station, most of the time, I was the only member of this family who didn’t throw around our name to get special treatment.
And this wasn’t reservations at the newest Michelin-starred restaurant in Manhattan or courtside seats for the Celtics.
This was a goddamn hospital, and Owen’s question made us look like assholes to the man responsible for our father.
Not that I cared if people thought I was an asshole, but there was a time and place. Owen had never learned that kind of finesse.
“Why isn’t he awake yet?” I was striving for calm but ended up sounding shrill. “They said he’s been out of surgery for four hours, but he’s still just lying there. Is he in a coma? What’s going on?”
“It can take time,” the doctor replied. “This is a bit unusual but not unheard of, especially for a patient of his age.”
For a half second, Simone’s face flashed through my mind. The pure, unadulterated concern in those sky-blue eyes as she took my hand and assured me that everything would be all right. Somehow, that memory calmed me more than the doctor’s assurance.
Why? I had no goddamn clue. But even though I very much needed to finish this conversation, I was glancing toward the door again, dying to find out.
“What can we do now?” I continued. “How can we…support…you?”
Even I cringed. My family looked at me like I had just sprouted another head. I was known for a lot of things. Empathy was not one of them.
Until today, apparently.
“How long until he goes back to work?” Owen followed up. “Will we need to find a replacement?”
“That’s right,” Ronan chimed in. “How long until Brenny here gets the crown?”
Shea, Liam, and Violeta all turned their gazes to me.
I shot Ronan a glare that would have cut any man down a foot, but he just kicked one sneakered foot over the other and grinned. He wasn’t even a little fazed. If anything, all my siblings looked ready for a challenge.
For a second, it was like we were all back in South Boston, brothers constantly pitted against each other in the backyard.
The three of us were boxing as soon as we could walk, and Dad used to make us spar behind the house before we left the old neighborhood.
He’d even call over his friends to watch.
Strongarm the neighbors into placing bets like he was still a two-bit bookie and not one of the wealthiest men in the neighborhood.
The money was never the point. The point was dominance. Learning to fight. Learning to win.
I decided to change the subject. “Should we be preparing for nurses at his house for when he comes home?”
“Let’s just wait and see right now,” said the doctor. “We’ll know more in a few hours.”
“He should wake up soon, then?” Violeta asked. She checked the gold watch hanging from her wrist, and I would bet my stock portfolio she was wondering if she could take the helicopter back to New York for another show before he woke up.
“That’s correct,” Dr. Jenkins replied.
Violeta just barely managed to hide her disappointment. “I’ll wait, then. I want to be here when he wakes up.” She nodded firmly, like she was convincing herself, then spoke to Shea in Spanish—something she knew drove the rest of us crazy.
Shea glanced at each of us, her cheeks red. “Sure, Mom. I can do that.”
“Lemme guess, Mommy needs her ‘special medicines’ to get through her day?” Ronan snickered. “Is it benzos or barbs? You know you shouldn’t mix meds, Vi. Dad won’t want to wake up to a zombie bride—”
“Qué te den,” Violeta snapped.
I didn’t need Spanish to recognize the insult.
“I just need a change of clothes,” she went on in English. “Forty thousand ostrich feathers on this dress. I can’t sit for more than thirty minutes without crushing them.”
“Huh. I would have guessed flamingo,” Ronan remarked.
Even I had a hard time not chuckling at that one. Liam just slapped his forehead while Owen stared out the window, his mouth twitching too. Shea looked like she was torn between agreeing with Ronan and wanting to beat him up.
“It’s couture,” Violeta told him. “All of you look like bankers. It’s like you don’t even care about the family business.”
Every single sibling in the room—even Shea—rolled their eyes.
Yes, Blackguard had recently bought a large share of the Savage Fashion conglomerate in New York on top of plenty of other luxury industries we were heavily invested in.
But that didn’t mean we cared about any of it.
And if you didn’t know that Violeta hadn’t been born into the world of extreme wealth, her adoration of stupid shit like labels, flashy handbags, and pink fucking feathers gave it away.
The woman owned more Birkins than a Saudi Arabian shah’s wife (despite the fact that Hermes was owned by our competitor).
What the fuck was she carrying in them, a bowling ball? That’s what assistants were for.
The loudest secret in the world of real money: don’t stand out. You can make a fuck lot more cash if no one notices you doing it.
The doctor cleared his throat. “I’ll be back as soon as he wakes. If you have any other questions, ask the nurse on duty, and they’ll let me know.” He left the room looking relieved to be done with us.
Exhaustion washed over me. It had been a long day. Meeting after meeting, a failed negotiation for a company I knew Dad wanted to acquire, and now this.
But when I saw Mac wave Liza Kelly through the door, I knew my day had just gotten a lot longer.
Liza, our CFO and Liam’s mother, was one of the few people in my life who just was.
With her knife-sharp intellect and no-nonsense demeanor, she’d been my father’s right-hand since before I was born.
Honestly, she was probably the only woman he’d ever been able to tolerate for more than sex and compliments, and she was more of a mother to my brothers and me than our own mothers ever were.
Liza was also a shark, and she made zero apologies for it.
“Is he going to be okay?” she asked after I returned her perfunctory air kiss.
Her low voice made me realize that none of us had been whispering until now. Instead, we’d been talking like we always did—at the top of our voices, like we were in a boardroom. In the middle of the goddamn ICU.
It was the Black family way: boom until everyone else breaks.
“Not if Brendan has anything to do with it,” Owen answered. His eyes met mine—murder for murder.
It had to be a sin to hate your own blood this much, but sometimes I really did.
“He should be all right,” I told her.
Liza placed a ringless hand over her heart, then adjusted her glasses. “Good.” She greeted my other siblings with similarly vacant kisses, gave her own son a slightly more affectionate one, then turned back to me. “Brandan, we need to talk.”