Chapter 36
MICHAEL
“What do you think he’s going to want?” Gio asks when we arrive at the private airport, two SUVs already there.
The Irish are anything but not punctual.
“We’re going to find out,” my father says. “But if it’s your brother’s head…” His eyes flip to me as we march toward the vehicles. “You will give it to them.”
I drag in a quick, tight breath. “I will agree to what’s best for this family. You forget that I’m in charge now.”
My tone is laced with quiet rage, and he knows me well enough to sense it.
He snickers from my left. “And you forget who the hell I am.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” I strike back.
“Whoa, you two. Relax.” Gio curses under his breath as we approach the men dressed in black, waiting for us with rifles strapped to their backs.
We stretch out our arms as they pat us down. But they’re not checking for weapons. They’re checking for wires. Can’t be too careful.
Getting into the back of the SUV, we ride in silence through a small town about a hundred miles outside of Boston.
Patrick likes to keep to himself, so he bought a large piece of land—I’m talking acres of farmland—and built a bunch of houses for his three sons and two daughters, plus a few others for those loyal to him.
Rumor is that’s where the next-generation academy is too.
Where kids become killers. But no one has ever seen it.
The car halts in front of a sprawling three-story red brick home, cattle grazing in the distance, scattered across the bright greenery. If anything, the place is deceiving. No one would think that the Mob resides in a place like this.
“Follow me,” one of the men says.
We shuffle out, entering the house, a whiff of garlic in the air.
“Come in, come in,” Patrick’s voice booms as he walks out of the room to greet us by the door.
He wipes his hands on his apron, wearing jeans and a plain old white t-shirt.
His hair is gray, sprinkled with black, matching his thick brows.
He’s almost as tall as my brothers and I.
Looking at him, one would never suspect that he runs one of the most powerful criminal organizations in the country.
Their syndicate runs three states across. They have money. Territory. Weapons.
And most importantly, they have a leader whose only goal is growth.
“You must excuse my bloody appearance.” His thick Irish brogue is hard to miss. “I was making seafood chowder. You will have some, aye?”
“Thank you,” I say, stepping closer, shaking his hand. “But I was hoping we’d get right down to business.”
His grip is firm as he eyes me sharply.
“Ahh…” He waves a dismissive hand. “You young people, always in a rush. Isn’t that right, Giancarlo?”
My father snickers. “You know how it is, Pat. You’ve got boys. They think they’re smarter than us.” He clasps Patrick on the shoulder, and together, they move into the kitchen. “I’ve gotta try that chowder. I keep hearing how good it is.”
“What’s Dad doing?” Gio whispers over to me as we slowly trek behind them.
“What he always does,” I mutter. “Acts like he’s everybody’s friend until he stabs them in the back.”
Silently, we walk into the kitchen, a round wooden table already set with bread and glasses of water.
“Sit,” Patrick says over his shoulder, pouring chowder into bowls and placing them before us.
We wait for him to settle down before we start to eat.
“I appreciate you all showing up.” He takes a long sip of his water, looking me dead in the eyes. “It’s time we settle this.” His cup lands on the table with a thud. “My nephew’s death has gone unanswered long enough, wouldn’t ya say?”
In that moment, my father gives me a knowing look. He suspects it’s Raph’s head he’s looking for, but I know better. I have for a long time.
“What do you have in mind?” I take a spoonful of chowder out of courtesy.
I have no interest in food. I want this done so I can return to my girls.
He sighs deeply, still holding my stare from across the table. “The only thing that will settle this…is a marriage bond between my youngest daughter, Eriu…” He peers at Gio with a slow-growing grin. “…and your brother.”
“Whoa.” Gio backs up into a chair, almost flipping backwards. “Are you saying I’m supposed to marry your daughter?”
“Aye.” He casually dips his spoon back into the bowl, eating as though he hasn’t just announced a marriage. “She’s quite the beautiful young woman.” Patrick’s expression is unreadable as he peeks up at me from beneath his salt-and-pepper brows. “Are you refusing my terms?”
“Look…uh…” Gio runs a hand down his face and breathes a heavy sigh. “I’m not marriage material. Your daughter would be better off with anyone other than me. I promise you that.”
“Well…” Patrick scoffs, pushing his bowl away. “It seems that you’re the one I want.” He starts to rise. “If you don’t agree to this, you’re asking for war, young fella. You understand?”
“Of course he’ll marry Eriu,” my father chuckles, slapping Gio on the forearm. “Isn’t that right, son?”
His features flit with restrained fury.
“May I have a moment with my brother?” I ask Patrick. “Alone.”
With that, my eyes go to my father. I don’t want him here either.
“Of course.” Patrick begins to stand, and my father follows suit. “How about you boys meet us in the living room when you’re done here? My daughters and my sons will be joining us, and you can meet your new bride, Giovanni.”
With a chuckle, he marches out with my father, and we’re alone.
“Listen, Gio, you—”
“Fuck!” he whisper-shouts. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”
He practically flings the chair back as he jumps to his feet.
“I did.” I let out a hard sigh. “I won’t lie to you.”
I shuffle over to him, even as his breathing turns noisy, and he looks about ready to kill me.
“But trust me, this is the only way to save our brother. This is what he wants, or we go to war. One we may never come back from. Are you ready for that?”
“Fuuuck!” he grits, forming a white-knuckled fist, digging it into his forehead. “Why the hell couldn’t you marry her? You needed a wife anyway.”
“He didn’t want me. Said I was too old. She’s only eighteen, and you’re thirty. I guess it’s better than my thirty-six.” I flip my hands in the air.
He paces back and forth, muttering under his breath, slapping a hand to the back of his neck.
“How do you know you won’t like her? Meet her. See what happens.”
“You don’t understand.” He pauses, glaring anger pouring through his eyes. “The girl I was telling you about. That redhead…” He curses once more.
“What about her?”
His eyes grow pained.
“She’s all I think about. All I want. Fucking hell!” he grits in a low tone. “How do I marry another woman when all I want is her?”
His voice cracks, and I’ve never seen my brother hurt this way. Not about a woman. And I pity him in this moment. If this were me and I had to give up Elsie…I’d scorch the earth before I’d allow another woman into my bed. But there’s no choice here. None that I see. Not yet.
“Look, I get it. But the only option we have right now is to meet her.” I grip both his shoulders and level a look at him. “So let’s go do that. Then we’ll figure out what to do. We can stall as much as we can. You’re not marrying her right now. Maybe she won’t even want you.” I grin.
He sneers. “Everyone wants me.”
But even as he jokes, there’s tension there. This is killing him.
“Let’s just get this over with before I find an exit out of this place.”
I nod, and together we walk out of the kitchen, not even sure where to go. But one of Patrick’s men is there.
“This way,” he says, walking ahead of us.
We turn left and then right, until we hear voices and laughter. My father’s. Patrick’s.
Gio takes a long breath, his eyes closing before he cracks his neck and puts on the biggest smile right before we enter the room.
“Ahh, there you two are.” Patrick rises.
And as he does, as he walks over to the two women there, Gio’s face goes ashen.
“Fuck,” he mutters, unable to look away.
“Let me introduce you to my two daughters,” Patrick goes on, oblivious to my brother’s reaction.
We stand across from the two women as their father walks to the first.
“This is Iseult, my oldest.”
The woman stands there, her bright turquoise eyes like two daggers poking holes into the wall she’s staring into.
Patrick moves a few steps to the next one, who smiles at my brother, her lips tight as she practically bats her long honey-hued lashes. “And this? Is your bride, Eriu.”
Gio’s completely ignoring him, though. Because his eyes know only one woman, and it’s not his bride. It’s her sister. And her hair…it’s a bright, fiery red.
“God damn it,” I mutter under my breath, then lean into his ear and whisper, “Is it her? Is she the one you want? The sister?”
He nods, not looking at me.
“This is bad,” he says just under his breath. “Real fucking bad.”
My father watches us intently from the red leather sofa. Three men are beside him, who I presume are Patrick’s sons from their appearances, all with pale green eyes like their father’s. Their expressions are stoic as they assess us.
“What are you boys talking about there?” Patrick calls. “Enlighten us. Please.”
He flings a hand in the air.
In that second, Iseult’s eyes momentarily go to Gio, her brows tightening. But just as swiftly, she hides behind her well-constructed mask, her features turning emotionless.
“May I go, please?” she addresses her father. “It doesn’t seem like I’m needed here any longer.”
“You may not,” he says dryly. “This is going to be your brother-in-law and our new family.” He looks disapprovingly at her with a tilt of his jaw. “Have some manners, darling. You will stay like everyone else.”
She forces a smile, her pale green eyes sparkling. “Yes, Father.”
“It’s so nice to meet you.” Eriu softly smiles, shyly fingering her brown hair.
She looks nothing like her older sister: shorter, softer in her expression and mannerisms. And that’s when I recall what Gio said about having watched Iseult kill a man, and…well, that makes sense. She looks like she could handle herself just fine.
“Sit down, boys,” Patrick tells us, gesturing toward the loveseat. “I want you two to meet my sons, Tynan, Fionn, and Cillian, as well.”
Unlike their father’s short gray hair, theirs is dirt brown. I can see the resemblance with Eriu from their matching green eyes, but Iseult looks as though she doesn’t even belong.
The brothers, all with their serious damn faces, nod curtly while the women stand there gazing at my brother—one with tenderness and one with a wild fury—and it’s no surprise that my brother fell for the latter. He always had a thing for women with, uh…spirit.
Iseult’s gaze jumps between my brother and the wall behind him, and her entire face strains, like she’s unsure if she wants to kill him or run off and cry.
“Let the women sit instead,” Gio finally says, and we move aside so they can do just that.
Except Iseult narrows those eyes at Gio, and the vein at the side of her neck throbs.
“I prefer to stand,” she shoots off harshly while her sister thanks him before taking her place.
“Gentlemen. You see that, Eriu? What a perfect husband for you.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Her cheeks turn pink as she plays with her fingers, tilting her eyes up at Gio.
But all he does is fight the desire to look at her sister, his jaw twitching. Iseult’s gaze skitters up to him, then shoots away as though he’s made of fleas.
This would be funny if it wasn’t dangerous.