Chapter 18 Bad Memories
Bad Memories
Lore, Twelve Years Ago
“Good evening, Father.”
I took my seat to his right, where I normally sat at the obnoxiously long dinner table, the other seventeen seats woefully empty as usual.
Mom allegedly chose this table with the hopes we would have large parties to fill it.
That was before Lyria and I were born. A lot was different before we were born.
When the promise of a male heir was still alive.
She never had the chance to give Ryan McGregor a son, or us a brother.
“You’re late.” His voice was gruffer than usual, his eyes never leaving his phone screen as he moved his thumb along it slowly, like he was scrolling. “Where’s your sister?”
It took a momentous effort to keep from rolling my eyes.
He knew exactly where she was. “Still at school, practicing with the orchestra. Her senior showcase is coming up in a month, so she decided to stay in Dublin and practice over winter break. I left the details of her performance with your secretary.”
His secretary… Also known as the piece of ass he was screwing these days.
I hardly kept track. His office was a revolving door of women teetering on high heels with their dresses barely reaching past their pussies.
Father only ever married Mom and Lily—who gave him the son he wanted in Ryan Taylor McGregor II—and neither of them were out of love with the promise of loyalty.
At least, not on his end. But Taylor’s mom, Lily, was smart enough to get the hell out of here and take him with her, instead of subjecting her son to the dark underbelly of the Irish mob.
Taylor stayed close with Lyria and me, visiting us when he could while we were at uni in Dublin.
He joked that as twins, we couldn’t be more different.
Lyria was in the performing arts to be an opera singer, and I was studying computer science, on course to graduate next year.
Taylor didn’t come into our lives until he was sixteen and we had just turned eighteen, but the three of us had quickly become a tight-knit family despite our shared parent being a total asshole.
I knew Father was trying to lure Taylor into the mob business.
But he was just eighteen now, not old enough to do much beyond grunt work.
He wasn’t as knowledgeable about the dark underground as I was. The only detail that kept me from inheriting the mantle of leadership was the lack of a penis, it seemed.
I made my name in other ways, though. Father was less than thrilled about my penchant for hacking, even though he took full advantage of my skills whenever he asked me for intel on competitors or wiping evidence to thwart whatever case Interpol was trying to build against us.
“… join me for dinner with the Messinas tomorrow night. We’re meeting them at seven.”
I just barely caught the tail end of what Father said. “Elio’s in Ireland? What’s the occasion?”
Father sighed as if put out by the question. He probably mentioned it while I was lost in thought. “He’s coming in for the auction this weekend. It was a last-minute decision.”
“I was going to head back to Dublin in the morning,” I reminded him gently. “Finals are next week, and I have projects due, so I have some group–”
Father’s fist slammed heavily on the table, rattling the dishes and startling me enough to jump a little.
He was never this expressive. And he never cared if I was around for mob business before.
“I don’t give a flying fuck what you have going on.
You’re coming to dinner.” His tone left no room for argument, practically snarling by the last word, as he stared with those eyes that were identical to mine.
His were lifeless and cold, hard as the emeralds they resembled.
They looked at me like I was nothing more than a nuisance he had to deal with and not a daughter sharing half his DNA.
I tried not to let the nervous lump in my throat sound too loud as I swallowed it down. “Of course. I’ll be ready to go by six-thirty.”
There were more made men than I was expecting at dinner.
It felt a bit excessive to have six men guarding the door to the private room in the back of Bruno’s, Father’s favorite Italian restaurant, to honor our guests.
It was also strange how Elio was impeccably dressed, with a burgundy suit and matching tie in a flattering cut that accentuated his broad shoulders.
His wavy blond hair was slicked back in his usual style, shellacked enough to double as a helmet.
I expected his sons to be here as well, hoping they would be a bit of a buffer against his leering stares and suggestive comments.
Father gave the impression that the family would be here, so why was it just Elio and a ton of guards?
I chose a simple black sheath and strappy sandals, assuming this was a business dinner between allied bosses.
Father hadn’t mentioned dressing up for anything special, but it certainly felt like I missed the memo.
“Good evening, Mr. Messina,” I leaned in to accept the typical light kisses he pecked on either cheek, gripping my elbows as I placed my hands on his biceps.
“Lovely to see you again. I hope your flight was agreeable.”
Elio didn’t let go as soon as I expected.
His beefy hands, adorned with several heavy rings, gripped my arms even tighter.
“Perfectly agreeable,” the answer blew across my ear where he lingered.
Chills racked my spine that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature.
“You look radiant as always, Lorelai. Good enough… to eat.”
As gently as I could manage, I pulled my arms out of his grasp and turned my head just a little to meet his calculating gaze.
He’s always been a fucking creep. It was no secret he had plans to marry our families together.
Only one of his sons, Lucio, was available; the other was just married off to another Italian mob daughter from the Caruso family.
Lyria and Lucio were close, despite him being three years older than us.
He was getting his modeling career started, but had a passion for music that rivaled my sister’s.
Lyria probably wouldn’t mind marrying him, really.
Compared to her, I was ‘antisocial’, according to my father. And I had zero qualms with that.
“Thank you,” I forced myself to smile at him. “How’s the family?”
“They’re fine. Lucio was traveling for work, or he would have joined us.”
I found that incredibly hard to believe.
From what Lyria told me in private, Lucio hated his father.
Maybe that was the only thing we had in common.
I hated Elio with the fire of a thousand suns.
He looped his arm around my elbow and escorted me to the table set for three with an elaborate bouquet of roses in the center.
I stopped by the chair he led me to and pulled out. “Is there a special occasion?” One brow began to creep higher onto my forehead.
“Not particularly. I brought these for you to enjoy.”
Elio’s voice was probably meant to be smooth, but it felt slimy and opportunistic to my ears.
All of a sudden, my skin where his hand wrapped around mine crawled at the contact.
Every instinct was screaming at me to get the fuck out of here.
Whatever discussion was about to happen was one I wanted no part of.
Not with these romantic gestures from a man over fifty years my senior, who was giving me this predatory smile.
Trying to distract myself from the mounting paranoia making my pulse speed up, I took a healthy swallow of the champagne already served beside the empty dinner setting.
The taste made my nose wrinkle. There was some kind of bitter aftertaste right at the back of my tongue.
I wasn’t much of a drinker in general, so I had little opinion on the qualities of champagnes, but this was one of the worst ones I’d ever tasted.
Elio lifted his own glass in a small toast and took his own drink of it. “Not to your liking?” The question was innocent enough. Paired with that intense stare, however, made it insinuate something else I couldn’t quite grasp. “I picked it myself.”
It took everything I had not to come back with some retort on the correlation to a shitty tasting champagne and anything to do with him. “Maybe it’s a little dry for my liking,” I offered.
Father rested both elbows on the table and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Let’s talk business. Lorelai will be getting more... involved in the sales, so I’d like for her to be included in discussions between us.”
“Of course.” Elio smiled, showing more teeth than necessary. “Let’s chat.”
My eyes struggled to open. It felt like they had been sewn shut with how heavy they were.
A throbbing pain split my head and scrambled my thoughts, beating in time with my pounding heart.
“Ugh,” I moaned and tried to move whatever part of my body would respond.
Something cold pressed against my skin where I was curled up on my side. A lot of skin was exposed to the cold.
Where the fuck were my clothes?
Head lolling to the side, I finally managed to flop onto my back with a hard thud as my shoulder slammed against the floor.
My legs were bent, but when I tried to straighten them, I kicked a hard wall with my bare feet.
The dull pain jostled my consciousness, bringing me closer to functional as I managed to squint my eyes open.
The realization hit me too soon of exactly where I had ended up.