61. Basilio
Basilio
“Y ou locked my sister in your penthouse?” Priest growled.
I met with Dante, Emory, and Priest at The Eastside Club. Tomorrow was our wedding day and I needed everything to go smoothly. I needed my ring on her finger before I lost my shit.
The four of us sat around the office that used to belong to Liam. An authentic Picasso painting was the only thing to witness our discussion.
“To keep her safe,” I told him. Yeah, it wasn’t the best plan but fuck, it was the only one I had.
Until now, nobody knew about that place.
But I trusted my cousins and sister. Although Priest was acting like an overbearing nutjob of a brother.
“Emory, I need you to go and stay with her tonight. Dante will escort you two to the church with our men tomorrow.”
Emory rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re even bothering with the tradition of not seeing your bride the night before your wedding. Considering you broke all the other traditions.”
I flipped her the bird.
“He’s superstitious,” Dante mocked.
“He’s an obsessive idiot,” Priest spat out. “You can’t keep her locked up and shackled for the rest of your lives.”
I shrugged.
“Watch me.” Until she learned to love me and pledged all her love to me, I wouldn’t take any chances. Yes, it was morally questionable, but it got me through and it held my darkness at bay. If I lost her, I’d-
Yeah, it wouldn’t be good for the world.
Priest lost his shit and shot up. I did the same and before his big body could slam into me, I dodged him by shifting to the right. The sound of wood cracking, splinters protesting and the desk crumbled down.
Before he could do anything else, I grabbed his wrists and held my knee to his back.
Both Emory and Dante shot to their feet.
“Priest, she’s my wife. You’ll stay out of it,” I warned, my voice calm and cold.
“Not yet, she’s not,” he roared. He jerked his arm, uncaring if he dislocated his shoulder.
It was one thing my cousins and I had in common.
We’d cut our arm off, as long as we got to our goal.
“Did you ask yourself if she’d be your wife if you gave her a choice?
” Every goddamn minute of the day. “Pick another woman, not my sister.”
“She was mine before she was yours,” I hissed. “I love you, Priest, but I won’t let anyone stand in the way of me and my wife. Understood?”
Not heaven. Not God. Not the devil. Nobody would keep me away from her ever again.
“You men are fucking idiots,” Emory chimed in, annoyed and agitated. “We need to discuss tomorrow. And the fact that Father summoned you.”
“Agreed.” I glanced down to Priest. “Are you calm enough? Keeping Wynter and Emory safe tomorrow and my father away is our priority.”
Priest grumbled something under his breath but nodded. I let go, my body still not relaxed in case Priest lost his shit again.
He rose to his full height, brushing off the little specs off his suit. He was still pissed, it was evident in the tension of his shoulders, his tightened jaw and his darkened eyes.
“I’m calm,” he finally gritted through his teeth. “I’ll always have your back, Bas. But I’ll have her back first.”
I nodded. “Fair enough.”
“This is too much tension for me,” Dante announced, grinning like an idiot. “It’s like a soap opera.”
“I didn’t know you watched those,” Emory remarked dryly.
“I don’t, but the little glimpses of it I caught when you’re watching it was enough to relate.”
Emory flipped him the bird. “Maybe my brother and I will kick Priest’s and your asses. For old time’s sake.”
“You can try, cuz,” he drawled, smiling with a clear challenge in his eyes. I shook my head. We used to do those when we were kids. It always ended with someone’s broken bone.
“Okay, that’s fucking enough.” I slid my hands into my pockets and walked over to the wall with the Picasso painting. “I have to go see Father after this. If something happens, you two watch over Emory and Wynter.”
“I don’t need to be fucking watched over,” Emory hissed, her eyes flashing with lightning. I ignored her, focusing on Priest and Dante.
“I’m sure he got word of the wedding and wants to know where his invitation is,” Dante guessed the same thing that I thought.
“Don’t kill him yet,” Emory warned. “I know you want to, but it’ll bring a whole set of new troubles to us. To all of us and that won’t help Wynter. Just be patient, our time will come.”
Not fucking soon enough.
“Either way, he’s not coming tomorrow.” Over my dead body would he come anywhere near my woman. Or Emory. Or Wynter’s mother for that matter. My father fucking shot her and ruined her career. “Emory, you’ll stay with Wynter in the penthouse.”
“I feel honored,” she mused. “I get to stay in your secret penthouse.”
I ignored her comment. “If Wynter has a nightmare, just talk to her. About anything, keep your voice low and just talk.”
Three sets of eyes watched me with scrutiny I didn’t like. “Jesus, you’re whipped,” Dante broke the silence. “I mean, I knew it but I just didn’t know how whipped you truly were until this very moment.”
I flipped him the bird. “I’m not whipped enough to kick your ass unless you shut the fuck up.”
“Okay, so maybe Wyn will be happy,” Priest muttered pensively.
“Wyn?” Emory and I asked at the same time.
Priest shrugged. “It’s what those close to her call her.”
Did Sasha call her Wyn? She never asked me to call her Wyn. For fuck’s sake, I had to get a grip. I’d call her mine, wife… nobody else would ever get to call her that.
“Dante, you won’t spend the night at the penthouse, but be there first thing. And Priest, monitor the place. If anything unusual happens, just get Wynter out.”
He’d keep her safe, even at his own expense. I trusted him on that matter. I just didn’t trust him enough to bring Wynter to the church so I could finally put a ring on her finger. I suspected if she begged him to take her away, he’d cave.
Because she was his sister.
* * *
My father sat in his office.
It reeked of alcohol, antiseptic, and fucking dead flesh.
My eyes flitted to his knee. It was fucked up. Looked like shit. It stank even worse. Not that I gave a damn. He should have been shot through his black heart.
Ever since he got shot, he rarely sat behind his desk. He couldn’t stretch his knee far enough. Instead, he had to sit next to the table and prop his leg on a stool.
“Finally! What took you so long?” he spat out.
“Traffic.” It was after rush hour traffic. It was a bullshit excuse. We both knew it.
His eyes regarded me closely, that face that my mother detested staring back at me and I knew it was the same face I’d have in my old age. But I’d have Wynter. She’d keep the light in my life and keep me from becoming my father.
“So you’re getting married.” It wasn’t a question. A statement. An accusation. A judgment.
“Yes.”
“To Brennan’s girl.”
“Yes.” Fuck him. He couldn’t stop me from it. Let him bring the entire fucking Syndicate down on me, I refused to give her up. I’d set up enough cash and residences around the world to hide us.
He stood up, reaching for his cane. It was just barely out of his reach but I didn’t bother moving to help him. He never helped a single person in his life.
Finally grabbing it, he stood up that fucking cane wobbling. God, what I wouldn’t give to smash his skull with it! End him for good.
“I’m guessing Brennan doesn’t want me at the wedding.” I don’t want you at the wedding. But I remained silent. Let him come to his own conclusions. “Alliance with them will be good. You better get some more property out of them for taking an Irish cunt for a wife.”
A growl sounded in my throat. It was impossible to hold it back.
His eyes flashed in victory and his lips curved with a dark laugh. I still said nothing.
“You should move into our family home once married.” Never gonna happen. “After all, you were raised here. You’ll want your children raised here.”
The fuck I would. I planned on burning this motherfucking place down to the ground the moment he was dead.
A vein throbbed in my temple, my rage wanted out. To make him suffer. To end him, once and for all.
“I have my own place,” I bit out. “We’ll live in our own house and make our own memories.” Happy ones without your fucking ass in it.
“Angelo will wire your place,” he said. That fucker would never step foot in my home again. “Brennans are not part of the Syndicate. We need to protect the interest of our organization.”
“Send Angelo to my home and he’s a dead man.”
I turned on my heel and stalked out. Or risked murdering the man on the spot.