3. Quinn
3
QUINN
O ne of the things that drew me toward health care to begin with was my insatiable curiosity. Because my father never spoke business in front of me—or at least he tried not to because my mom hated it. All of it. If it were up to her, I don’t doubt she would have preferred to live in squalor knowing my father and brothers would be safe. And I wanted to know about the world he tried so hard to keep me isolated from.
But like my father, Killian is drawn to the game of strategy that is ruling the Irish Kings. In my brother’s mind, New York is just one big chessboard. Only each borough has its own king or queen and army to manipulate.
Unlike my father, though, Killian saw the value in my ability to patch him and his men up without the legal ramifications that can come with going to a hospital after an illegal shootout. And that meant, by my first year of college, I finally realized my family isn’t in the shipping industry. Not the legal kind of shipping anyway.
Still, listening in on conversations over sutures has been my best source of information when it comes to my brother’s dealings, because he doesn’t want me to fall into a life of crime any more than our father did.
Ironic, considering that their nefarious means of making money is what put me through college. It’s what continues to put a roof over my head and food in my belly.
And eventually, my brother has gotten comfortable enough to talk business in my presence that he even lets it trickle into dinner conversation every now and again. Tonight, however, tension permeates the room as we eat our steak, potatoes, and creamed spinach.
I glance silently toward the head of the table as forks and knives clatter over our dinner plates. Once upon a time, my father occupied that chair. With my mom to his left and Killian to his right. Now Natasha sits to Killian’s left, Lance on his right.
And because it puts butterflies in my stomach whenever I sit too close to Lance, I’ve taken up residence in the chair beside my brother’s new wife.
She eats delicately, cutting her perfectly cooked filet mignon into small bites before sliding each piece between her full lips and pearly teeth. Her sister didn’t stay for dinner—probably because Tatiana and Killian can’t seem to occupy the same space for more than five minutes without arguing.
But Natasha still looks tense, reflecting the same growing frustration building in my chest, tightening like an iron fist around my heart. Only Lance seems perfectly at ease in the notable silence.
Killian keeps casting glances toward his wife, as if anticipating the impending explosion. “Just say it,” he says finally, setting his fork and knife down on his plate as he turns his full attention toward his Russian bride.
Natasha sighs, setting her knife and fork down as well before interlacing her fingers and placing her elbows on the table. “I’m just tired of the fighting. I’d hoped we would have avenged my father by now—without turning it into a full-on war. But Don Lucian has such good reinforcements…It doesn’t matter what you or Tatiana throw at him. This isn’t the right angle, and you know it.”
Killian’s expression darkens, and Lance looks up from his food, suddenly interested in the conversation at hand.
“He has been harder to kill than anticipated,” Killian concedes. “But in the meantime, our combined forces are putting a dent in his business—and his pride.”
“I know. I just…” Natasha trails off, and for a moment, I think she might bring up the fact that Killian and his men are risking their lives for a fight I wouldn’t consider theirs at all.
But she doesn’t. Instead, she just shakes her head, as if at a loss for what to say next.
And in the silence that follows, my building frustration bursts from me before I can’t rein it in. “Maybe it’s time you stop risking your life—and your men’s—to avenge someone else’s father,” I blurt. “Haven’t you done enough, Killian?”
I almost pull Lance into the conversation, to use him as an example of the kind of loss we might sustain in Killian’s attempt to lessen Natasha’s devastation. But nothing is going to bring her father back, and we have so much to lose if things go wrong. It seems foolhardy to waste lives avenging one man’s death.
Before I can say anything else, though, Killian cuts me off. “You wouldn’t understand, Quinn. Because Father and I have both intentionally chosen to keep you out of the mafia business for a reason. But helping the Sokolovs isn’t just about avenging Boris. Survival in this business means alliances, and Tatiana needs our support. If the tables were turned, she would be risking her men for ours.”
“From the sound of it, she’s not even risking her men’s lives to protect yours when you’re fighting her fight!” I insist, my temper rising. “Lance could have died today, and for what? To put a hit on some captain because you can’t get access to Lucian? What’s the end goal here, Killian? Have you really considered the price you might have to pay while you’re playing allies?”
“That’s enough,” Killian commands, his eyes flashing.
I tip my jaw up petulantly, fighting the urge to cry. He’s acting like this has nothing to do with me. Like his decision to wage war doesn’t affect me. But my brother’s not the one who has to put each of his wounded men back together after one of his fights.
He’s so focused on proving his mettle. At this point, I genuinely think he’s disregarding the risks in the hopes that he can ease Natasha’s pain. Meanwhile, I’ll be the one who pays the ultimate price. Because Killian and Lance are the two people I care about most in this world, and I don’t want to lose them to satisfy his—or the Sokolovs’—overdeveloped sense of vengeance.
“Maybe Quinn has a point,” Natasha cuts in, surprising us all.
Three sets of eyes snap to look at her determined expression, and my lips part in shock.
“I know you don’t like it, but maybe it’s time for me to get involved,” she says, meeting Killian’s eyes directly. “The most logical plan would be for me to take care of the don myself. It’s how my family has handled situations like this in the past. It’s what my father would have done if he were in charge. And though I know you and Tatiana are more nervous about it after everything that’s happened, I think it’s time we reopen the possibility for discussion.”
Natasha’s slender shoulders are square, her chin lifted with regal conviction. And though I have no clue what she means by “taking care of the don herself,” I can tell Killian does. And he’s not happy about it.
“Absolutely not,” he says, clenching his jaw until the tendons pop beneath his skin. “It’s far too risky.”
“Killian, I’ve trained my whole life for this kind of situation. I can help?—”
“This is different,” he counters fiercely. “You’ve never successfully dealt with a man as high up as Lucian before. What if he has the same level of training I do?”
Once again, I sense that I’ve been left out of a larger discussion. It’s as if Killian and Natasha are holding an entire second conversation within their argument—one I’m not privy to but am burning to know more about.
I glance at Lance, wishing he might step in and lend some assistance, or clarity. Maybe break the tension building between my brother and his wife. But I should know better than to expect Lance to back down from a fight.
His steady gaze meets mine with a gravity that knots my stomach. And he shakes his head ever so slightly, confirming that, in this, he’s not going to be on my side. I don’t know if he always aligns with Killian or if he simply feels obligated to back my brother as his right-hand man. But he rarely questions my brother’s decisions, even when I see thoughts churning behind his deep ocean-blue eyes.
“The Italians need to be put in their place,” he states firmly, his low baritone rumbling through the room like a death knell. “They nearly killed Killian. They need to understand that no one threatens a King and lives. It doesn’t matter if their target was the Sokolov sisters. No one touches Killian.”
It’s about as impressive of a speech as I’ve ever heard Lance give, and my shoulders slump. Killian won’t listen to reason if Lance is on his side. The two are impossible to discourage once they’ve joined forces. No matter how reckless.
Natasha seems to realize it, too, and she slumps into her chair before casting me a gloomy look. One that shares in my misery.
Lance might not be verbose, but when he speaks, he delivers a sense of finality to conversations that shuts down the debate completely. The silence that follows confirms it, and I bite my tongue.
My tears threaten to spill over because my concern isn’t going to sway them—even if Lance’s argument proves the very point I’m trying to make. Killian risked his life to protect Natasha that night, and once again, he’s using himself as her sword and shield. With no regard to his own safety—let alone Lance’s. And of course, Lance still thinks he’s invincible, even with thirty-seven stitches in his chest.
It’s only a small comfort to see Natasha is as unhappy about it as I am.
Though, I’m curious what she thinks she could possibly do to deal with Lucian that none of the countless King and Sokolov men haven’t tried already. And the silent exchange she and my brother share only intensifies my desire to know.
“It’s settled, then,” Killian says, reading the quiet room as concession.
My heart sinks as I realize nothing I say or do is going to keep my family out of harm. My brother is going to do what he thinks is best. No matter the consequences.