Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Jade
Down the hall, at the Eden, my father and the rest of the Moretti men are already seated in the private dining room, waiting to finalize the alliance and formally lock the Devlins out.
“Are you nervous?” Malachi asks as I continue to pace back and forth through the meeting room.
“A little,” I admit.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says, placing his glass of whiskey on the table. “You’re doing the right thing.”
“I know,” I sigh, leaning back against the long table. “But I still feel nervous about being in the same room with Papà after he…” I stop, my eyes dropping to his wounded shoulder.
“I’m here, Jade,” he reaches out, his fingers gently grazing my skin. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
“You better not,” I give him a weak smile. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
I get on my feet smoothing the silk of my black dress, preparing to walk back out and play the dutiful daughter.
“Aren’t you coming?”
He nods.
“Shall we?” Malachi pulls away, buttoning his jacket with slow, elegant precision.
The private dining room smells of roasted meat, heavy wine, and cigar smoke. The men around the table are already drinking by the time we walk in. I recognize each and every one of the men I grew up around. The ones who are supposed to be my family and have my back.
“Isn’t it the great Jade Moretti?” Cousin Matteo leans in his chair, a drink in his hand, a smirk on his face.
“It’s Jade Kavanagh,” I correct him, and immediately notice the smile on Malachi’s face when I say it, even though he’s doing a great job hiding the reaction.
“Sorry,” Cousin Matteo leans forward, his glass making a loud sound as it lands on the table. “Married life treating you well?”
Cousin Matteo is five years younger than me and he was recently promoted to handle the affairs at the Canadian border. He was never the brightest pea in the pod, but he was always able to sweet talk himself out of any shitty situation he gets himself into. And there have been many.
“Can’t complain,” I say, sitting on the chair that Malachi has pulled from me, on his left side at the table.
My father doesn’t even look at me. He leans forward, his heavy forearms resting on the white tablecloth, and speaks directly to Malachi, skipping the greetings entirely.
“The southern shipping routes need to be split evenly. And the investments your brother made in the port, the Morettis require thirty percent of the return. It’s only fair, considering the risk of this alliance. ”
He talks about me like I am not there. I try to focus on the glass wine in my hand, but I’m boiling with rage.
“We already had a deal,” Malachi says, not falling for Papà’s intimidation tricks. In fact, I actually can’t picture Malachi being intimidated by anyone.
“That was before Nolan Devlin started running cars off the highway and shooting at my daughter.”
“So now I’m your daughter?” I set my wine glass down. The crystal clinks sharply against the wood.
“Of course you are, Jade,” he responds. “What kind of nonsense is this?”
“Wasn’t I your daughter when your men opened fire at me in your own house?” I continue, my voice steady despite the heat growing inside of me.
“Jade—”
“The port investments were secured before the alliance,” Malachi says, his voice level. “Thirty percent is a vast overreach.”
My father frowns, his expression hardening with irritation.
The low conversations in the room die instantly. He steps back, pulls out the heavy armchair at the head of the table, and waits.
“My wife’s approval is required for any terms drawn tonight,” he continues without raising his voice, but the cold weight in his tone makes Papà swallow hard.
I stand up, my legs shaking as I move to the head of the table. I sit down. Malachi remains standing right beside my shoulder, a solid wall of quiet menace.
“The Morettis will take ten percent,” he says. “And the southern routes remain under Kavanagh control. What do you think, Jade?”
“I agree,” I force the words out evenly over the frantic beating of my heart.
The men at the table nod, debating my terms.
He wants to see how much I can take before I break.
I shift in the leather chair, leaning back just enough that my shoulder brushes his suit jacket.