A Ruthless Arrangement (The Irish Demon #1)

Chapter 1

Amy

My family’s estate is haunted. Not literally, thank god, because otherwise, I’d be screwed.

I don’t know how to talk to regular people, I definitely wouldn’t know how to talk to a ghost who wanted revenge.

I’m pretty sure there wouldn’t be any reasoning with them, not with all of the horrific things my family’s done.

Maybe they’d be able to recognize that I haven’t really been a part of any of that and spare me, but frankly, I wouldn’t blame them for including me just because the same blood runs through my veins.

No, it’s not ghosts that make me feel unwelcome here. It’s the people who live in this place. The air is thick with tension constantly, and I’m always on edge, waiting for one of my grandparents to jump out from around every corner.

It’s quiet as a graveyard as I walk through their sprawling house.

Home isn’t really an applicable word. Mansion might be better.

The crystal chandelier sparkles, reflecting in the spotless, large windows of the front foyer.

I feel like I’m invading a home decor magazine as I skip down one of the double grand staircases, taking two steps at a time.

Not because it’s fun, but because I want to avoid being caught out in the open by either of my grandparents.

Okay, maybe a little because it’s fun. My socks make me practically silent as I slide across the marble floor towards the elevator, I press the button to the elevator to go to the home theater.

Yes, the elevator. Crazy, right? Despite coming here every year, I’m still not used to this kind of luxury.

We lived a lower middle class lifestyle since my grandparents cut my dad off because of his gambling hobby when I was a toddler.

My parents divorced shortly after, so my mom and I lived off of her personal assistant income.

A flicker of movement outside one of the massive windows catches my eye.

My grandfather is standing in the middle of the long driveway, speaking to another man who looks quite anxious.

He’s speaking animatedly, making big gestures with his hands, shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, as if he needs to get out his nervous energy.

I jerk my gaze away, not wanting to accidentally witness him pull a gun on him or something.

I don’t know how mafia stuff goes. For all I know, it’s tradition for them to involve guns at every meeting.

I scurry back on my original path towards the elevator as quickly as I can.

For most of my childhood, this was normal to me.

I visit my grandparents once a year in the summer, lap up the luxury life, but deal with the mysterious tension that is ever-present.

My grandparents have always lived in a giant house, great for playing hide and seek— not that I had anyone to play it with.

I never questioned their wealth, or why they were so emotionally cold.

I guess I just internalized it as yet another thing that was wrong with me, like I did with most things.

Getting older came with a lot of revelations.

Like the realization that I didn’t fit in with most people because I’m autistic.

And that my family is rich because my grandpa’s “business” is just a front for his work with the mafia.

Apparently, the Astero family name wasn’t just old money, but old blood money.

Yippee.

I hadn’t figured either one out until I was an adult. It’s not like my parents sat me down when I became a teenager and explained that we were a discreet mafia family. I think everyone just assumed I had figured it out. News flash: I hadn’t.

And maybe that’s because of the autism. I always felt separate from everyone else, so how could I figure out that it wasn’t just that I was different, but because my family was, too?

I hadn’t seen my grandparents in several years, not since I became a legal adult.

Not until they randomly invited me to come visit again.

I almost said no, since it’s always so strained, but…

I have two weeks until the next semester starts and honestly, I’m on the edge of burnout.

I’m hoping spending one week here, where my hardest decision is what kind of fancy popcorn to eat while I watch a show.

Cheddar? Caramel? Extra buttery goodness?

Their crazy amazing popcorn machine down in the home theater does it all.

Which is wild, because I’m pretty sure no one ever uses it, since my grandparents don’t seem to watch movies.

Whenever I’d ask, my grandmother would just laugh and say that they have better things to do than rot their brain with mindless entertainment.

Weird to have a massive home theater with all the bells and whistles.

But that’s just how they are. Most of the things they have seem to be less about actual usage, and more about a display of wealth and rank.

A mansion on a sprawling estate, with only a fraction of the space used.

A home theater that gathers dust. Three kitchens big enough to feed a dozen people each but only one is used, and only occasionally.

It’s stupid. So stupid. I don’t mind the separation from my grandparents, because I’m not sure I’m cut out for this version of the world.

If wealth is about flashiness more than anything, then I’d rather be poor than live in a constant pissing contest with everyone else. Sounds exhausting.

I’ve gotten through several episodes of my k-drama, Healer, and one-and-a-half buckets of popcorn when there’s a knock on the door to the home theater.

I sit up from the two recliners I’m stretched across, grabbing the remote and pausing the show, fingers slick with butter.

My grandmother stands in the doorway, her ever-present smile on her face.

I’ve only ever seen her drop that mask a couple of times, and both times were scary.

“Hi.” I return her smile, trying to be cheery.

I sit in the seat in the proper way and hastily wipe my hands on my pants before she can see.

I have to be on my best behavior around my grandparents, even now that I’m an adult.

It doesn’t matter that I didn’t really grow up seeing them much, now that I am grown it’s like I need to squeeze myself into their small-minded world whenever I'm around them. They expect it. Demand it, even.

“Hello,” she replies, stepping down into the room, approaching my seat in the front row. “I thought you might be down here. Having fun?”

I nod. “Yes, definitely.”

“Good.” She sits in the chair next to me, which my legs had just been stretched across moments ago. “Can we have a chat?”

“Of course.” I smile, trying to conceal the fluttering of nervousness that just went off in my stomach. My grandparents rarely ask for a chat. All we do is small talk, and you don’t really have to ask to do that.

She smiles wider, but something about it feels forced. “I’m glad you agreed to come visit. I know this isn’t when you normally come. You must be wondering why we asked you to join us outside of our usual week in the summer.”

It was true. I had wondered. They’ve never asked for that, not even when I became an adult and my parents stopped having any say.

After my grandparents disowned my father, it was pretty clear that if my parents had any say in the matter, my grandparents wouldn’t get to see me at all.

But the arrangement was that my grandparents paid for my tuition for private schools, and in exchange, they could see me for one week a year.

My grandparents knew not to ask for more and push their luck.

But that could’ve changed once I became an adult and it was up to me to decide.

But they never offer, and I never ask.

Until a month ago, when my grandmother called me out of the blue.

We rarely texted, much less called. And usually her texts were one-word answers.

It wasn’t like we were super close. So, when she did end up calling me to catch up, by the end of the call, she asked me to come visit them.

I was surprised—a bit blindsided, even. But why not?

I never had any problems with them beyond not being able to fully be myself and dealing with their slight passive-aggression.

But, hell, that was how it was with most people.

Masking was a daily occurrence for me. Put on the right smile, meet the expectations everyone has for me, wear the clothes that someone else has decided are acceptable, laugh at all of the right moments.

It was something I learned instinctively since I was a kid.

A skill that was forced upon me to learn.

“Yeah. I did wonder, but I didn’t want to be rude.” I try to focus back on my grandmother’s presence, not letting my thoughts drift off again. I can’t mess this up. I have to stay on my toes.

This makes my grandmother smile. Not her ever-present polite smile, but an actual smile, even if it didn’t quite reach her eyes. But none of them ever did. “You’re such a sweet girl. Always have been.”

Her praise makes me more happy than I care to admit. “Thank you.”

“My dear, do you know what our family values are? You do, don’t you?”

I scrunch my brows in confusion. She says that as if we have a family honor code. As far as I know, we don’t. My mind goes over every moral my grandparents have ever attempted to instill in me. “Well…loyalty, trying your best, putting your best foot forward…”

“Yes, yes. That’s correct. I’m specifically thinking about the loyalty part, especially when it comes to family.

I know you’ve had some…questionable influence in that regard, with your parents and your grandfather and I having some disagreements, but…

we still love each other. We would do anything for one another.

You know that, right?” My grandmother’s eyes narrow, studying me with scrutinizing eyes.

It makes me even more nervous than usual.