Caterina #2
He’s Connor Gallagher? An Irish King, in name if not in practice?
Son of a bitch.
I force a breath in through my nose and tuck the blinding anger deep down into my stomach.
I can’t let my father—or Nino—realize anything is wrong.
I’ll have to save my fury for the next time I catch this jackass alone.
My father takes Dane’s—Connor’s—hand in both of his. “Call me Eduardo. No need for formalities. This is my son, Nino.”
Connor turns and offers Nino his hand. “A pleasure.”
Nino stares, the tattoo of our family crest around his ear stretching when he cocks his head. The whole Ricci family tree is skeptical of this Connor Gallagher character.
As they should be! He’s a big fat liar, and he sucks!
After a tense moment, Nino rises and shakes hands with the asshole. “Salve.”
My father waves his hand over his shoulder. “And that’s my daughter, Caterina. She’ll just be sitting in.” Code for no talking.
Works for me. At the moment, I doubt I could manage much beyond a curse on Connor Gallagher’s entire bloodline.
Connor nods, avoiding direct eye contact—and a handshake that would not end well for him, because I would break his damn fingers—as he sits beside my father.
The coffee roils in my stomach, scalding me from the inside out. I’m not sure whether to blame that on nausea or indignation or both. I want to slap Dane-Connor’s gorgeous face straight off his skull.
Or maybe I should slap myself.
The prickly vines of shame twist through me. How could I be so foolish?
I ought to march over and kick him in the balls. Reveal what we did last night so Nino can shoot him in the head. If this truce wasn’t so important, I would.
Why the hell would he do this? What kind of sociopath sleeps with the enemy on purpose?
Connor Gallagher’s a snake. A monster. A rotten bastard I hope to never meet again.
I blot my slacks with a napkin to give myself an excuse to avert my gaze, my fingers trembling against my thighs.
Then I force myself to look up. I won’t let him win, and I need to pay attention to this meeting.
Connor, the epitome of professional businessman, crosses his legs and concentrates solely on my father. “I’ll get straight to the point. The Russians have been doing their best to put a dent in the Los Angeles Gallaghers.”
Father clears his throat and sips his tea. “From what I hear, your brother Brody recently took down two dozen of their soldiers as some sort of favor to Finn. Surprising, given the rift between the East and West Coasts. But you had to expect some kind of retaliation from the Russians.”
I stifle a shiver at Connor’s icy smile.
“The Russians attacked us first. We had no qualms with them before they came after us in LA. Brody was merely finishing what they started.” He shrugs.
“But this alliance between Declan and Finn, while new for all of us, will only bolster both Gallagher branches.”
“Not enough, or you wouldn’t be here.” Nino sneers over the rim of his coffee cup. “Why should we choose you over the Russians? We’ve established some good contacts with them already.”
Connor ignores Nino and concentrates on my father, obviously recognizing the true power-wielder in the room. “I understand you have an offer on your plate, but I’ve also heard you’re an open-minded man, Eduardo. So let’s talk.”
Nino nearly crushes his cup in his hand at the blatant brush-off.
Shit.
Connor and my father dig in deep, discussing the threat the Roguilins pose and the fact that the Bratva’s attacked three Gallagher shipments outside the Blue Hook Port.
The port we handed over to Belinski wasn’t intended to facilitate attacks or stop other families from importing goods. Trouble like that isn’t good for business.
I told Nino that Belinski was a bad idea.
I should listen to the conversation around me, but for the moment, it’s just men talking in circles.
Instead, I mull over everything I said to Dane Ryder—Connor Gallagher—last night. I don’t believe I disclosed any secrets. I was drunk, but not wasted enough to fuck over my family. I don’t recall him asking me any particularly invasive questions either.
So what was he after?
Everything that sparked my interest—the curl of his lips, the arch of his brows, the interest in his eyes—he engineered to get under my skin.
To what end?
Connor’s an entirely different man than he was yesterday. He gives my father his full attention, those dark eyes laser-focused and glittering with lethal intent.
I clench my fingers on my thighs. Connor’s here to broker a deal…and gauge our weaknesses. He’s eyeing the tremors in my father’s hands and noting how he loses his train of thought every few sentences.
Anyone can see how frail the man’s become. Even a stranger like Connor would realize my father’s operating at half the strength that a family head should.
The word “trade” intrudes on my doom spiral.
Connor’s pitching a prisoner exchange by offering one of our guys for one of Finn’s as a show of good faith between our families.
“And why would you or Finn, who couldn’t even bother to come here himself, think we’d even entertain the idea of an exchange?” Nino’s neck darkens to a deep scarlet. I know his stages of fury well, enough to recognize he’s on the verge of exploding. I expect bloodshed any second.
No matter how pissed at Connor I am, I won’t let that happen today. My father’s blood pressure can’t handle that kind of stress.
So I sit up straighter, giving Nino a narrow-eyed glance over Connor’s shoulder. Behave.
He scowls but shuts up.
Father taps his fingers on the rim of his mug. “Tell me why we should consider this alliance, Connor. Sell me on it.”
Despite Connor’s relaxed shoulders and open posture, caution glitters in his narrowed eyes. “Because the Roguilins can’t be trusted.”
Nino barks a laugh. “And you Irishmen can?”
“They’re playing the long game.” Connor hunches forward like he has a secret to share. “You ever heard of the werewolf amoeba?”
Nino scoffs, but my father remains quiet, waiting for Connor to continue.
“It’s a parasite that slowly nibbles at the membrane of the human digestive track, disguising itself as one of the intestinal cells as it goes so that the body doesn’t think to fight it off. By the time the foreign entity is recognized, it’s too late.”
“What’s your point, Gallagher?” Nino nearly spits the words. “You got a tummy ache?”
Our father raises a frail palm to silence my brother. The bruising on the back of his hand stands out like a burn on his olive skin. The IVs have torn him to pieces.
I know Connor notices, and I hate displaying our weakness like this.
I wish I could step in and insist that this meeting reconvene another time.
I would never undermine my father that way, though, not in front of someone like Connor Gallagher.
Connor raises a brow at Nino but keeps his attention on my father.
“My point is the Roguilins are amoebae. You might feel protected right now, but they’re nibbling away, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re rotting from the inside out.
” He leans closer. “I’m sure you don’t want to see your family destroyed. ”
I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from speaking. I’ve been saying all along that the Russians are dangerous and don’t have our interests in mind.
They’ll use us up until there’s nothing left.
Maybe Nino and Father will listen to a man. As long as it protects us, I won’t even be bitter about getting passed over as an heir.
My father disguises a sigh as a deep breath. His energy often wanes after just a few minutes of conversation, and this talk has taken a real toll. “If we agree to this prisoner exchange, who do you have in mind?”
Connor sits back in his seat. His face remains smooth, but I still catch the smug twitch of his lips. “I’ll have to call Finn to find out exactly who the Irish Kings would want. But on our end, we’d be willing to give back Sal Padovesi.”
A bagman and one of my family’s oldest allies. Also a pig, if you ask me. He can’t keep his eyes or hands off younger women. When the Irish Kings snatched him up in a raid last year, I admit I didn’t find myself very disappointed by the loss.
The man’s an effective tool for the Riccis, though. Getting him back would help us.
Connor thinks he just laid down a royal flush.
Maybe he did. Sal doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme, but this exchange could go a long way in earning Father’s respect.
Nino leaves without another word. Walking away has been his go-to protest since he was in diapers.
Father has never indulged tantrums, so Nino always resorts to this to ensure we all know how he feels.
Our father will agree to the trade—it’s the smart action—but with Nino pissed about the deal, Connor may struggle to make headway toward this alliance.
My father nods. “Talk to Finn. Sal’s an asset. And I do have my reservations about the long game we’re playing with the Russians.”
“Thank you, Eduardo. I’ll call Finn now.” He pulls out his phone and excuses himself from the room.
Aside from that first near-smirk, he barely looked at me.
The jackass.
My father closes his eyes and relaxes in his recliner while my foot taps against the hardwood.
Though I’d rather not work with the Russians, I loathe Connor Gallagher. And I sure as hell don’t trust him. The Irish Kings may not be any safer than the Roguilins.
Can’t we just turn them both down?
Minutes tick by.
No Nino. No Connor.
They walked off in opposite directions. Still, one of them could have circled back around. For all we know, they could be in a standoff in the powder room, knives out and blood flowing.
As much as I’d love to kill Connor myself, today can’t end in a fight.
Setting my mug aside, I rise to my feet, smoothing my hands over my thighs. “I think I’m going to go and freshen up.”
My father barely even acknowledges me. He just offers me a small nod with his eyes still closed.
That’s fine. He can rest while I hunt for the rodent.