Chapter Six
Sophie…
Once, when I was hiking in the Cairngorms Mountains with some friends from school, we stumbled on a rabbit caught in a snare. It shrieked, a shrill, piteous sound as it pulled away from the wire, its poor leg bloody but still trying to escape us.
We managed to get its paw free from the snare and it hopped off, gait unsteady.
“Do you think it’ll survive?” Daisy had asked.
“I hope so.” I watched the little rabbit disappear into the brush.
The Chieftain, Michael, Duncan and some of the guards stride into the room, crowding us against the wall. Mom makes a high, terrified noise that strangles in her throat, sounding exactly like that poor creature in the snare.
“Ch- Chieftain,” Mom stutters, “please just let me explain-”
He pushes past without glancing at her. “Search the house.”
Her face drains of color, leaving her a sickly white and I put my arm around her, trying to contain her terrified sobbing. “It’s okay, Mom,” I whisper. “It’s okay, give them a minute and they’ll listen.”
Michael walks back into the kitchen, glancing at Mom, expressionless. When his gaze turns to me, though, I can’t conceal a shudder. His eyes are alight like the fires of hell, the green color blackened and crisped into something dark and cruel.
Pleasant, urbane Michael is gone. The man standing in front of me is radiating malice and fury and he looks at me as if I’m a stranger.
A problem to handle.
“Hey, where is everyone?” The front door shuts as a voice calls out from the great room.
“Xenia, in here.” Michael says, barely raising his voice. But when the future Chieftain speaks, everyone hears him.
“Do you have all the electronics in one place?” she asks him, pulling her messenger bag off, not glancing in our direction.
That feels like a punch to my chest. Xenia is a lot older than me, but we used to hang out as a big group: Maisie, her sister Catriona, and all the MacTavish girl cousins and in-laws.
Xenia and I were particularly unskilled at karaoke, so we always sang together to double the audience’s suffering.
Now, it’s like I’m not even in the room.
I understand. Of course, I do. It still hurts and I rub the heel of my hand over my breastbone.
“In the back room,” he says, “there’s two laptops as well as the desktop, an iPad and their phones.”
“On it,” she says, brushing past me without a glance.
“Ian.” Michael’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “In here, please.”
“Aye, boss?” Ian’s at the door, also not looking at Mom or me. It’s jolting, realizing how fast you can become invisible to the people you’ve known for a decade.
“Keep an eye on them,” Michael says. He’s checking his phone, his brows drawn together. He stalks outside to take the call and I can hear his voice through the open window.
“When did this happen?” You could catch frostbite, just from hearing his tone. “Handle damage control with the Inspectors, put in a call to Detective Wilson.”
“The both of ye, kindly sit down,” Ian says heavily.
I wrap an arm around Mom’s waist, helping her across the kitchen and onto one of the mismatched chairs around the big farm table.
The table and the room are really too large for just two people, though we were rarely alone here.
If Maisie or some of my school friends weren’t gobbling down Mom’s apple crisp, there would be a couple of guards, wheedling for a tray of her muffins to take to the security center.
Ian’s been in this kitchen more times than I can count, now, he folds his arms, leaning against the sink.
There’s a crash from one of the back rooms and I jump half a foot. With a sinking heart, I realize it’s my bedroom. There’s nothing there, of course, but they’ll rip my room apart to check.
Mom’s weeping, a stream of silent tears coursing down her cheeks and I lean over to grab a dishtowel. Ian’s hand goes to his gun and I freeze. “I just wanted to get this,” I hold it up. “That’s all.”
“Dinnae move again,” he says, sliding his gun back in its holster.
The silence stretches on, I hear the low murmur of voices and the occasional sound of furniture moving or something shattering.
I’m listening to the soundtrack of the end of life as we know it.
Everyone knows how traitors are handled in the MacTavish clan. For god’s sake, the Chieftain banished Catriona’s bodyguard Lucas to three years in Siberia just for sleeping with her. But for the suicidal fools who betray the clan? It’s death. Despite my best efforts, I’m trembling.
But… I’m supposed to go to law school in the fall.
My foolish brain has nothing more useful to offer than that.
Shame sweeps over me, like boiling water poured down my back. Everything they’ve done for us and Mom’s been selling information. That call Michael took, is that fallout from whatever she’d given this Robert guy?
An hour or two hours or a hundred hours later, Michael and his father walk back into the kitchen. I thought Mom had run out of tears to cry but a fresh round spills from her reddened eyes.
“Take them to my office,” the Chieftain says, looking down at his phone. Ian gestures impatiently and I help Mom up. Another guard, Gary, steps behind us, giving me a shove. There’s a breeze on my skin and suddenly, Gary is slammed up against the wall, Michael’s hand around his throat.
“Ye dinnae touch them,” Michael snaps. “Am I clear?”
“Yessir,” Gary croaks.
Is he saying that because he wants to do the damage himself?
Looking behind me as we’re led through the door, I can see Michael speaking to his father in low, urgent tones. He meets my gaze briefly before his eyes narrow and he turns his back to me.
There’s a tribunal of sorts already formed in the Chieftain’s office when we arrive.
Mala is there, her expression is hard to read, but at least she looks at us.
Cameron, the second in command, is lounging on one of the leather couches in front of the fireplace.
It’s late May, but Edinburgh is always chilly and there’s a fire going.
Most terrifying to see is Ethan, Cameron’s son and the clan’s enforcer. He’s known as the Angel of Death in our world and he’s idly flipping a stiletto without looking at it. The silver blade flashing up, then his scarred fingers catching the handle as it falls. Up, and down.
We are not invited to take a seat, so we stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.
The silence stretches out like my nerves, strung taut and feeling like piano wire, ready to snap.
I used to love this room, dusting all the books lining the enormous walnut shelves, the brightly colored oriental rugs and the floor to ceiling windows looking out on Mala’s garden.
It’s a huge space, but right now, the walls feel like they’re too close, looming over us.
Mom takes my hand and I squeeze hers reassuringly. “It’ll be okay,” I whisper.
“Keep your mouth closed, lass.” Ethan leans forward, spearing me with a cold gaze. “It’s not your time to talk.”
The door to the outside finally opens, held by Miss Kevin, the Chieftain’s personal assistant.
Their silver-blonde bob is perfectly sculpted and their suit is without a single wrinkle, even though it has to be close to midnight.
They give me a kind smile and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying.
I never thought I could feel so grateful for a smile.
Before I can return it, Michael and his father walk in before Miss Kevin gently closes the door again.
God, I wish Miss Kevin could have stayed. That there was one person in the room who didn’t think we deserved to die.
Michael and the Chieftain seat themselves on another sofa in the grouping around the fireplace, and all of the MacTavishes stare at us.
My eyes frantically dart from person to person, I can’t read any of them.
I used to think I was good at that, being able to tell if someone’s telling the truth or lying, if they really liked me or if they were faking it to get close to Maisie.
Maisie.
Oh, god. She’s going to hate me now. Somehow, that hurts worse than anything else.
“Ye have violated the MacTavish oath of loyalty,” the Chieftain says heavily. “Ye have caused considerable loss and the death of one of our guards.”
“Which one?” Mom bursts out. She knows them all.
“Riley,” Mala says, her tone frigid.
Riley is - was - only twenty-four.
“This is your one chance to tell us everything, before we make a decision,” the Chieftain continues. A flash of fury goes across his face like a lightning strike. “Why would ye do this?”
“First, before anything, please know Sophie is innocent,” Mom says, trying to regain her composure. “She didn’t know anything about this, none of this is her fault. I only told her today when I knew-” her face crumples. “When I knew you’d discovered it.”
“I’m…” Mom lifts her chin. “I’m Maureen Graves. Jonathan Graves’ wife. He was the head of the Graves Mafia in San Francisco.”
“What the hell?” Cameron growls. He looks at the Chieftain. “Ye brought a woman from another mafia into your household?”
Mala covers her mouth with one hand. “The Graves Syndicate. I remember them.”
“Jonathan was murdered twelve years ago,” Mom continues. “Along with…” her face twists with grief. “Along with my son, Jordan. I managed to get Sophie and disappear before they came for us.”
“Who was coming for ye?” the Chieftain asks coldly.
“It was Jonathan’s second in command. Robert Taylor,” she spat. “I never trusted him, even though Jonathan said he’d proved his loyalty.”
Cameron looks at the Chieftain and nods. “He runs the syndicate now. I remember when Graves was killed. We thought his entire family was wiped out.”
“He nearly found us when I worked for the Amato family,” Mom says. “That’s when I found out you were hiring and thought well, where could be safer than with another mafia family?” She gives a little, hysterical-sounding laugh.
Is that why she’s always hated leaving the estate? I’d thought she was a little agoraphobic.
“Robert finally found us,” Mom says bitterly.
“He caught me when I was out shopping in May. He told me to…” She starts crying again and I hand her the soggy dishtowel.
“To find out some information for him, or he’d kidnap Sophie and take her back to the States.
That he’d marry her to solidify his claim. ”
Michael looks at me, just for a moment before returning his attention to Mom.
“He had pictures of her, at school, out with her friends. He knew where her dorm was.” I put my arm around her, feeling how fragile her shoulders are. When did she lose weight? Why didn’t I notice it?
“What did he ask for?” Cameron’s voice is neutral.
“He wanted to know about your shipping deals with the Matsumori Yakuza. He knew what docks they used. He wanted dates and times.”
“How did you find that out?” Michael this time, leaning forward, his elbows braced on his thighs. His eyes are fiery again and I get the feeling this deal was one of his.
“I just listened,” Mom tries to clear her throat, croaking a bit. “I picked up bits and pieces from conversations you had, or one of the guards would say something. This shipment - it’s the only one I told him about - I thought that would be enough and he’d go away. I swear!”
I rest my forehead against Mom’s shoulder. They’re going to kill us. Just from what I heard of Michael’s conversation on the phone, I could tell how bad this is.
They never go away, Jordan says conversationally. Mom has to know that.
“Xenia and Georges are still going through their electronics,” Michael says. “She found all the messages on a deleted email account. There’s no indication of anything further. No pictures or shipping manifests.”
“That was all, I swear it,” Mom says.
I don’t think it matters. They’re going to kill us.
“Did it ever occur to you to tell us?” Mala asks. For a moment, I get a glimpse of real hurt on her face. “After ten years, you didn’t think we would help you?”
Mom’s head drops, she looks ashamed and it’s killing me. “I thought after ten years of hiding our past that you would be furious, throw us out, at the very least.”
“The MacTavish Clan has a rule against hurting or killing women,” the Chieftain says heavily. “But, we have never had one of ours go against us like this. Ye caused serious damage. Our deal with the Matsumori Yakuza is in jeopardy.”
“That feck Taylor must have notified law enforcement,” Cameron adds. “We have detectives crawling over the site, trying to find something to pin on us.”
“Punishment for such a betrayal is banishment.” The Chieftain’s eyes are so like Michael’s, a deep green but now they’re polar, like a frozen forest. “You would serve the rest of your life confined, under supervision.”
One by one, they all nod, each one sealing our fate.
Locking my knees, I force myself to stay upright. It’s all over. Everything. This will be worse than prison, because at least in there, there’s hope for parole.
“My son, however, has proposed a different sentence,” the Chieftain says.
“Wh- what would that be?” Mom whispers.
Michael’s leaning back, swirling his glass of scotch, the very picture of a Scottish gentleman who is likely about to pronounce a death sentence.
“I’m going to marry your daughter.”